The Acerb Taste of Loch Morar

The lapis water of Loch Morar splintered as Kelven emerged from the icy depths. Slick with wetness, his coarse mane weighed against his sable coat. As he neared the coastline, his stomach gurgled, the cycle of digestion working to eliminate the mass resting inside his stomach. His lips curled back in a failed smile – Kelven couldn’t remember the last time he had been so delightfully satisfied by his meal. 

Hooves sunk into the murky mud and he nickered in anger. Diving into the loch, prey helplessly trapped and screaming; that was his favorite part. Leaving the loch in search of his next victim was a hassle between the clotted mud in his hooves and the risk of being captured. There was an undeniable thrill rooted deep within him though that Kelven felt while continuously playing this warped game. Surface, transform, seduce, eat, repeat. Even after centuries, the pattern never bored him.

Kelven licked the sticky metallic blood from the front of his teeth and reveled in its bitterness.  The taste compared to nothing else; acerb and delicious, unlike the saccharine tang of his youthful victims. Hair coiled around his molars reminded him of the one negative side effect. The older ones always had more hair which either tangled uncomfortably within his stomach or laced around his teeth, causing him annoyance. Removing the hair would be the first task he completed once his opposable fingers were restored. 

When he entered a small clearing fenced in and protected by the terrestrial flora, Kelven bowed, muzzle lightly pressed against the dancing grass. His eyes shut tight in anticipation as he pictured his human form. Pain pricked the back of his neck, so he let his mind wander in search of a distraction. Alabaster skin freckled by the sun, hollowed cheekbones that intersected at pink lips; Marvina and her temptations raced to the forefront of his mind. She had been innocent, carefree and far too trusting of Kelven – in the end, Marvina’s humanity had been her undoing. 

If Loch Morar were not his home, Kelven might have considered remaining in his human form to live out the rest of his life with Marvina in her brick-built cottage. The smell of Scot Blue Bells would forever remind him of Marvina’s sultry sweet singing. Her humming of Hilinda, a Scottish folk song favored by many in the Highlands, had captured his attention and marked her as his quarry. Later that same evening, as they sat close together, idly chatting while the wind rolled over the landscape, Kelven made the mistake of becoming attached. Shamrocks danced alongside junipers inside her eyes. It had been the rare specks of chestnuts hidden within the green that almost led Kelven to cave – to give up his mission, his fantastical life, all for her. In the end, his appetite slaughtered the feelings arising within his heart. 

Kelven lifted himself from his low bow and shook out his arms, rolled his wrists and flicked his fingers. With his top half transformed, Kelven’s brain processed the past better than before, catastrophically jamming puzzle pieces together. A sharp pain encased his front left leg and his knee buckled. His two front legs thudded to the ground, debris from the loch’s bank matting into his coat. Unable to watch the horrific metamorphosis, Kelven looked up towards the sky and humorlessly remembered staring at the same sky with Marvina. 

When you’re sixteen, the world is dazzling and full of undiscovered wonders; he had been around long enough to understand the simplicity of the human mind. Sometimes his game fell into his trap easily while others preferred to taunt him, unknowingly stretching out their lives. Marvina had not been as stupidly daring as a child or as cautious as an elder. At sixteen, she had fallen into the void that was the middle. It had taken Kelven a mere two days to lead her away from safety and to his loch. 

He hissed in pain as the front and hind legs on his left side began to morph with one another. Biting down on his lip, the taste of his own blood mingled with the remains of Marvina. Although he had planned to feast on her the entire trek to the loch, there had been instances of doubt plaguing his mind. When she stopped to pick the wildflowers and proceeded to braid them into her hair, when she challenged him to a race down the steep hill, laughter bubbling from her lungs – each spark from her made him question his motives. But once they reached the cool waters of the loch, there was no going back. 

“It’s freezing!” Marvina squealed, toes dipped in the shallow end. “I don’t think I can muster the strength to combat the chill.” She was mirthful as she stepped away from the water and perched herself on a rock. “The view was worth the long journey though.” 

Kelven was acutely aware that he could have left it at that, used her hesitation as a means to backout. If he had accepted her refusal and led her back to her tiny brick cottage buried within the thicket, they could have lived out their lives together. If he hadn’t been so consumed by his instincts, poor jovial Marvina would still be alive. 

Eyes glued to her, Kelven peeled off his shirt and tossed it aside. Next, he shucked his trousers and gave her a dashing smirk. Her cheeks flushed and she ducked her head. “Well, I for one am venturing in. I do hope that you’ll reconsider.” With that, he plowed into the water. 

There had been no need for him to turn around to know that she was already stripping down to join him. He felt the gentle swish of the loch as she entered and swam towards him. “I’m not a strong swimmer,” she admitted once she reached him.

He twisted his lips and gazed down at her. “That’s alright, I’ve got you.” His hand gripped hers and tugged her forward, further into the loch. 

Marvina giggled as she toted behind him. Once they were deep enough that their feet no longer scuffed against the dusty bottom, she pressed against him. Kelven wrapped his arms around her and leered; usually he had to force his prey into the trap, yet Marvina went willingly. 

She rested her head against his chest. “This is nice.” 

“Better than you’ll ever know,” he whispered. He felt her tense and try to push away, but it was no use. In the loch, his skin became adhesive, a vital instrument in capturing his meals. 

Kelven knew the moment Marvina recognized her fatal mistake. Harder and harder, she attempted to break away from him, but to no avail. “Y-you! You’re a kelpie! Monster!” she sobbed in horror. 

He stroked her spine as her warm tears seared his skin. “I’m surprised it took you this long to catch on, love.” 

“Your handsome looks and ravishing personality,” she mumbled, defeated. “The silver necklace–”

“Should have all been a dead giveaway,” he interrupted. “I am not a monster, I play fair. I always give my prey the chance to save themselves by planting the signs so obviously in front of them. Yet you humans are all alike – too oblivious.” 

“K-Kelven, please,” she cried brokenly.

“I’m here, don’t you worry,” he purred into her ear. “I’ve got you, just as I promised.” Kelven yanked her underneath the lapping water, Marvina’s screams disappearing into the abyss. 

With a gasp, he keeled over, face hitting the ground. He winced as he stretched out his human legs before standing up, wobbling as he fought to keep his balance. Kelven limped through the thistles until he reached the loch, sunlight glistening on the surface. His reflection stared back at him, clouded gray eyes and sable hair. He ran a hand through his knotted hair and winced. In her final moments, Marvina had desperately clung to his mane, as if she could overpower a large aquatic mammal. 

Perhaps he was the monster Marvina saw. Regret coursed through his veins and his breath hitched. It was too late to undo it, too late to bring Marvina back from the dead, but it was not too late to walk away from this life. He could abandon his true form, become a human and live out a life away from evil – he owed her that. 

The thought fled from his mind as soon as it entered. There was no denying it; Kelven simply loved being a kelpie. It was his innate nature to want to devour flesh and blood, not curl up beside a pretty girl and live a mundane life. Rolling his neck and shoulders, Kelven turned his back to Loch Morar. He began the uphill hike back towards the village and wondered whether he was in the mood for the sweet succulent blood of a child or another dose of the acidic ichor of someone older.