Kristoff pulled into the gravel driveway and parked his truck, drumming his fingertips on the steering wheel as he stared at what he could see of his parents' private beach house in the dark. After several months of working two jobs, his mother had finally told him to take a vacation because heaven knew he needed one, almost as much as he needed a wife (her words, not his).
He unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for his suitcase in the back seat, which contained just enough clothes to last two weeks. He got out of the car and slammed the door behind him, pausing to feel the cool night air. It was peaceful, the only sounds provided by a soft breeze rustling the leaves of the trees and the gentle lapping of the waves behind the house.
Kristoff unlocked the door and stepped inside. Flipping on the light switch, he looked around at his temporary home. It had only one floor and was more of a cabin than a house, just large enough for two or three people-a kitchen, dining room, living room, two bedrooms, and one and a half baths. It was the perfect place for a romantic getaway, or in his case, a couple weeks of solitude.
He slipped off his shoes and walked down the narrow hallway to the master bedroom, the hardwood floor creaking beneath his feet. He set his suitcase on the king sized bed and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was almost midnight, but he was too hungry after his long drive to go to bed just yet. A snack probably wouldn't help him sleep tonight, but neither would an empty stomach, so he decided to explore the kitchen for options, surprised at how well his mother had stocked it for him. That amount of food could rival the supply of a doomsday prepper.
Not wanting to go to too much trouble, he decided a simple turkey sandwich would do the trick. After searching through the fridge and several cabinets, it didn't take him long to find the items he needed. He paused with the sandwich halfway to his mouth.
Was it his imagination or did he hear...crying?
He set down the sandwich, his appetite forgotten. The sound grew louder as he approached the back door.
He opened the door and stepped out onto the deck. Definitely a baby crying, but it didn't sound like the newborn crying he remembered hearing from his nieces and nephews. More like the uncontrolled sobbing of a one year old. He ran down the steps, adrenaline pumping, following the sound until he felt wet sand under his feet. A few steps farther and the water reached his ankles. What was a baby doing out alone in the dark? Was it drowning?
The baby was close now, it's panicked cries oddly out of place in the peaceful silence of the night, but because the moon was hidden by clouds he couldn't see a thing. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Why hadn't he grabbed a flashlight?
Taking slow, cautious steps, he headed toward the sound of faint splashing to his left. Something touched his foot and he paused. The clouds parted and moonlight illuminated the silhouette of a wriggling infant. He knelt, not caring that the water soaked his jeans and that sand crept up his legs. Now that he was closer he could see that it was stuck, tangled in long strands of seaweed, though he couldn't imagine how it had ended up like that in the first place.
He glanced around for any signs of another human being, but saw only the wide expanse of sand and water.
Kristoff reached out and felt for a loose piece of weed he could begin with, finding that most of it was wrapped around the baby's legs. It suddenly whimpered at his touch and tried to pull away.
"No, no, shh, it's okay!" he whispered as he attempted to pull it free. But it was no use. He would need something sharp to cut it away.
He felt the baby's neck to make sure there wasn't any seaweed that could choke it, then gently wrapped his arms around the baby and lifted it out of the water. He hesitated. Something about the infant didn't feel right, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
The baby stopped crying and grabbed the front of his shirt tightly in its fist, its body shuddering with an occasional sob. Kristoff felt a warm feeling spread through his chest and his arms tightened protectively.
He carried the baby back into the house and headed towards the kitchen where he saw his uneaten sandwich lying on the counter. Had he dreamed the whole thing? He glanced down at the baby in his arms. Apparently not.
In the brightly lit kitchen he could finally see a few more details-it was a girl, and her lower half was completely covered in rough, scratchy seaweed, as well as small patches of wet sand. No wonder she was crying; that must have felt awful on her bare skin.
"Alright, princess," Kristoff murmured as he grabbed a pair of scissors from the utensil drawer and a folded towel from the counter, "let's get you out of this stuff." He spread the towel on the table and laid her on top of it. He worried that she would start crying again, but she just stared at him with her incredibly wide brown eyes.
But the strange thing was no matter how much Kristoff cut away he couldn't seem to find her legs. Puzzled, he picked up the pace, still careful to avoid cutting her with the scissors. But he still couldn't see any skin, just...scales?
He gasped and pulled the rest of the loose weeds off, brushing away the sand. That's when he saw the fins.
"What in the world…?" He took a step back and slid a hand over his face, staring in disbelief. "No way…"
The baby had no legs. She had a tail.