She Walks at Night

CW: Emotional abuse, sexually suggestive content

I can see the stranger watching me from across the pub and I allow a small smile to stretch across my lips which he returns with a much lazier, drunker version. Sitting up a little straighter, I reach out one hand and delicately beckon him over to the corner where I sit. He stands, unsteadily, and begins to push his way through the crowd. I glance at the mirror on the wall next to me to check my lipstick. My reflection, as always, is that of a beautiful woman. Long deep-brown hair with slight waves that drop down my back, a small nose which suits my full face, and those seductive large eyes with thick lashes to match. My husband likes to say that they look like the ocean before a storm with their dark blue-gray coloring. The table jolts my leg and I turn, making sure to feign a look of surprise when I see the drunk leaning against it. He still wears that lazy smile and his boozy eyes wander over my figure before resting on my face.

“Hey there”, he says and I am pleasantly surprised to hear an American accent. “What are you doing over here all by yourself?”

“A better question,” I lean in, letting my dress hang low, “is what is an American doing in a place like this?” He laughs before motioning to the seat across from as if asking if he can sit. I nod and smile but he has already slammed his pint down and is clambering onto the wooden stool.

“I’m a fisherman and I’ve never been to Scotland before so when a spot opened up to I thought ‘Hey what the hell, it's beautiful over there!’. But it turns out Scotland meant Orkney and these godforsaken northern islands are so small and cold that I’m just drinking my time away until I can go home.” He grins at me and I suppose it is a charming grin. And then his eyes widen. “I haven’t even asked you your name, oh God I’m so rude.”

“I’m Selcha.” I smile, “And you are?”

“Micheal. Not quite as lovely. Wow,” he puts his head in his palms and shakes it slowly “Selcha is so unique and beautiful. A unique and beautiful name for the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen isn’t that just perfect.” I make sure to blush properly and lower my head.

“It's wonderful to meet you Micheal,” I say and reach my hand delicately over the table. He takes it and instead of shaking it, kisses the back tenderly. I don’t pull away, instead I giggle slightly and twist my hair with my free hand.

“You should be careful here Selcha, these men can’t be trusted around a woman like yourself,” says the American, his eyes glittering, “fishermen live awfully tough and lonely lives. These men, albeit all fishermen and fish mongers, don’t want anything to do with me but he doesn’t know the stories. He’s a foreigner.

He leans back, my hand still in his, and begins to ramble on about life at sea. I nod to pretend I’m listening, but really I’m watching over his shoulder because my husband has just walked in. He was never a large man but years on the sea and in the wind have changed him into somebody who looks older than he is. He lumbers over to the bar and takes his usual seat in the middle. I know, from years of testing, that he cannot see me from here. My table is dark and pushed into the furthest corner of the room, away from the rowdiness of the locals. Despite this, it is only a matter of time until the bartender or one of the other regulars mentions I am here. I must be quick.

“...and the FOOD. I’m telling you Selcha, everything is too salty and so fake its…” I press a finger to his lips.

“Come with me.” I whisper this into his ear and then bite his earlobe softly. When I pull away, he looks ravenous.

“Absolutely.” He downs his beer, leaves some cash on the table and begins to turn towards the front to leave but I yank his hand back.

“I know a better way,” I say as I wink at him, “follow me through the back.” And so he does. Of course he does. I guide us along the wall where the shadows extend from my corner, keeping us in darkness. Moving past the restrooms, there is a door that the bartender always keeps propped open slightly to air out the smell of vomit and men. I push the door open and breathe in the salty tang of the sea. It sings to me and I can hear the waves lapping against the shore, even though we are at least a mile from the dark water.

The moon is full and the cobblestones reflect the light as we make our way back to the place I share with my husband. Not once have I ever called it my home. The American man is large, which is why I chose him, but this makes it difficult to keep him upright. Every time his foot catches a stone and he trips slightly I have to use all my weight to hold him steady. It's beyond frustrating but when he looks back at me, I fake a laugh and pull him tighter to my side. It's slow progress though and I’m almost sure somebody will have told my husband I was there tonight.

Finally, we are out of the village center which means no more cobblestones, just a clear line down a dirt road until the cottage. I turn to him and say, “Let’s race!”, before taking off down the road. He stands, wobbles for a second, and then takes off after me. Panting, I pump my legs as hard as I can. On my right, the dirt slopes down onto the beach and I see glimpses of the glittering water as I run. My soul aches, separate as it may be. The American catches me and scoops me up. I almost scream and then remember to laugh so I do.

“Which one is yours?” he asks, lips pressing into my neck. I push out of his arms and rush a couple more meters to the house with the deep blue door.

“This one.” I say with a flirty grin, and push it open.

The house is dark. With the man holding my waist, I light a lamp. We keep them by the door and I’ve always preferred them to electricity which I find too human an invention.

“Spooky,” he says as I lift the lamp to illuminate the room, “but also kind of sexy.” I hang it on a hook that protrudes from a beam in the middle of the cottage. The American takes in his new surroundings with furrowed brow.

“This place is a shithole. If you were mine,” at this he moves his hands further up my waist, “I would give you the world.” I sigh but he takes it as a moan which I suppose is good.

“Theres one thing I need you to do for me first.”

“Anything.” With this, I slip out of his grasp and move towards the bed. He follows eagerly but I put up a hand to stop him. Kneeling on the wooden floor, I slide the chest out from underneath the bed. It is large and metal and cold and ugly. I’ve tried everything to break it but nothing has worked. The rocks along the shoreline only dented it when I smashed the chest into them. When I dropped it into the fire, it only turned an angry red. When I tried to pry it open, the crowbar bent in my hands. I run my fingers along the lock in the middle of the chest, fingering the keyhole. My husband hides the key, sometimes around his neck and other times around the house. Tonight, it was not around his neck.

“Oh my Selcha,” says the man giddily, “what type of freaky things are you Scots into?” I stand and press my hands against his chest.

“Just wait and see” I say, returning his giddiness, “but first you have to find the key.” I slip one shoulder of my dress down and sit back on the bed, staring at him with what I hope is an intriguing smirk. He tears the tiny cottage apart.

Ten minutes pass and I can tell he is getting annoyed, as am I. He stands in the middle of the room, amongst cushions and papers and pots. Pushing the hair out of his face he turns to me with an eyebrow raised.

“Ok, can we be done? I didn’t come here for this and although I’m sure you have something very sexy and fun in that chest, I don’t need anything extra when it comes to you.” He makes his way towards the bed and my heart begins to hammer in my chest. He searched everywhere didn’t he? He’s tall enough that he ran a hand along the beams on the ceiling and the tops of the kitchen cabinets. He was able to move shelves and furniture that I never could. How had he not found it? Then, his foot creaks and I blink. There is a loose floorboard. The planks of wood are usually nailed down but when I look at where he has stepped, I notice a nail is missing. My husband forgot to secure it back down. I scramble to the floor and shove his foot so hard he stumbles.

“Hey,” he laughs briefly but in a confused sort of way, “watch it!” I pay him no mind. I dig my fingernails into the gap between the boards and lift. It comes up with a creak and there is the key. I grab the thing and, crawling on my knees, lunge to the chest. The American only watches, perplexed by my sudden burst of energy. The key slides into the lock. I turn it with a pleasant click and I suck in a breath before I lift the top. There it is. Tears come to my eyes and I gather the fur into my arms and gently raise it out of the chest.

“A fur coat?”

“No,” I whisper, rubbing the fur against my face, “it’s MY coat.” And I turn, brushing past the American who looks like he might say something else, and sprint towards the ocean. The beach is so close I only have to step across the road and kick off my shoes to stand in the sand. My husband thought it was funny how close we were to something I wanted so badly but could never have. Until now. I continue down the beach pulling off my shawl and my dress. I clench my fur, my skin, tightly the entire time until I am ankle deep in the water.

“Wait,” it's the American who, less gracefully, is following me, “you’ll freeze in there what do you think you’re doing? Please Selcha let me take you home ok?” For the first time all night, I raise my head to the sky and laugh. A real laugh.

“Oh dear man, this is my home.” I have my skin up to my knees when I see a second figure coming towards us. My husband. I stand taller and give him a look that stops him in his tracks. He does not own me anymore. Then, I pull my skin around me tight and feel myself become one again, whole again. I dive into the waters and when I am several yards out, I turn back. The American, gaping, stands at the shore while my husband has dropped to his knees a ways back, head in his hands for he knows death will come for him sooner than she should. I raise my tail to the American and nod at him, my huge eyes bright in the moonlight. Then, I submerge myself in the sea’s deep, glorious depths and succumb to the embrace of the water.