Selkie Daughter

I am really excited to announce that I came in third place in Oakland University’s University’s Flash Fiction competition for my short story “Selkie Daughter.” I won’t be able to attend the actual event to read it out loud (since I am living in Scotland), but I am always amazed and humbled when anyone decides that they enjoy my work. If you’d like to, the story is available to read below!

Onward,

xx

Selkie Daughter

by Jessica Malen

Ula’s mother kept her away from the sea. The other children of the island were allowed to play, splashing in the salty waves or collecting beach glass along the shore. Her birthday parties had to be held indoors, even on the hottest days of the year when midges filled the air. Never was she allowed to venture out with her Da to bring in the fish like Callum or Maeve.

Yet all along, when she lay awake during the deepest parts of night, she could hear the song of the sea. It was sweet and sad and longing. Pulling at her gently, luring her down to the shore while the house sighed with her family’s slumber.

Until the day she turned fourteen, Ula resisted.

That day, her birthday party had been the same as it always was. The other children from the village came for her mother’s blackberry cake thick with frosting, then they scampered off down the beach to play. Ula was left with all the Grans, who sat clucking in their knitting circle, sipping on teacups filled with whiskey. Her mother pet her hair, giving her that look — the one that meant she was sorry, but she wouldn’t say it out loud.

Earlier, Callum had sung a silly song about a selkie, trapped on the shore. Her mother, unable to bare a child of her own, had found the baby trapped in lobster netting. The mother took the seal skin and buried it, so her child would never leave.

Ula’s mother had shushed him up. “Quit with that,” she’d hissed. “You’re nae baby.”

From the heather-covered hilltop, Ula watched the others clamber up the rocks where the old crab traps were scattered. August sun made the water sparkle. Maeve was splashing in the froth, throwing fistfuls of bladderwack at the boys. She was laughing.

Ula watched them play until her mother called her in for supper. After, she went to sleep and waited.

When everyone else was asleep, Ula stood outside her parents door just to be sure.

They were snoring.

She tiptoed across the creaky floor, snuck out of the house, and went down the hill in nothing but her white nightdress. Outside, the song was so loud it was deafening. A tinkling, tingling, magical thing she could no longer deny. When she glanced back, the windows of her house were still dark. The wind howled against her, tearing across the black water. The moon hung silver and full, lighting her way to the shore.

Ula stepped onto the beach, sand and rocks between her toes. For a moment, she stood frozen as the tide lapped up at her ankles, washing over her feet.

The song was so loud Ula could no longer hear anything else.

When she lifted her head to the waves, she saw dozens of eyes like black pearls shining back at her from the sea.

Ula waded into the water, then disappeared into the deep.

As soon as she went under the song stopped. A chorus of voices rung out:

Selkie daughter, you are home.