‘Watershakers’ by Christi Nogle

In ‘Watershakers’ by Christi Nogle, a young girl is captivated by a mysterious being that emerges from stagnant water. Dive into the pages of Pulp Literature Issue 26 and watch as the carnivorous creature comes to life. A mail-order Sea-Monkey this is not! 

Watershakers

Mom screamed at me to do something about the horse trough. When I went out there, the mosquito larvae’s herky-jerky dance hypnotized me. Algae, seedpods, and grass floated on the surface. 

I considered pouring in some bleach, but that’s no good for horses. I imagined suck-starting a hose, imagined the horses dancing around, all joyous to have clean water. The idea of sucking that water grossed me out, though. I didn’t see a hose right away. Then I got distracted. The horses don’t mind running down to the creek if they get thirsty, anyway. 

By the time I came around again, the water was low and dark. I thought, I really do have to do something about this. The larvae were doing more of a belly dance now, sinuous hip shakes instead of the jerk. I lifted out a handful of water and saw three little transparent women rolling their hips in my palm. I just about screamed. Even as I held them, two slowed and stopped moving. The centre one kept on.

She was clear like mineral jelly, her skeleton built like a human’s but made of silver wire, her pale organs more or less like ours, as far as I knew.

A jelly head but no face, no skull, a little pink brain floating on its stem.

I dropped her in a big tumbler of water on my nightstand. She stood and moved her hips in swift circles again. I watched — too long. When I returned, Mom had managed to tip over the trough. I cried seeing what all was scattered on the ground.

The one in my water glass seemed to be all right, though. She twitched and twitched her imaginary hula hoop all that night. I woke up several times to flick on the lamp and check her. I knew she needed food because she was moving more and more slowly each time, and by morning she jerked barely at all. 

I guessed they’d been eating algae and leaves, but every pet I’d had has loved raw hamburger, so that’s what I tried. I impaled a ball of meat on a toothpick and lowered it down to her. The blood aura wafted toward her head, which stretched up to meet it. I imagined what would happen: the dimple in the top of her head would deepen to engulf the meat and suck it into a throat that opened above her collarbone.

I didn’t get to stay and watch. I had chores, school. When I returned, she’d grown an inch and shook at full speed. I thought she must be happy.

To find out what happens next, pick up your copy of Issue 26, Spring 2020 here!

Christi Nogle’s short stories have appeared in publications such as PseudoPod, Escape Pod, Vastarien, and Tales to Terrify. Follow her at christinogle.com or on Twitter @christinogle.