by Ksenia Anske

We continue our chain story. Read about how it started here.

Please welcome our 6th author, Franziska Dirnberger (aka @agirlmadasbird), a poet at heart who sometimes dips her toe into writing stories. She is currently obsessed with Dylan Thomas, loves the smell of a new book, is interested in life's difficulties and sometimes starts singing and dancing in the streets for no particular reason.

Photo by Helen Warner

BLOODY SANTA vs ZOMBIE SIREN. Chapter 6 by Franziska Dirnberger

Back in the olden days a rumor, widely spoken about, had filled Kaffeeklubben Island. When Edwin and all the first-born elves were still alive, a tale was whispered of beautiful women drowning entire armadas by luring them into a seductive net of soft melodies.

One of them was Laira, an elder amongst the emancipated tribe of the ladies of the water. Her slender figure, black hair and piercing blue eyes had led countless strangers into termination. They were so oblivious to the approaching of their end, that not until acute teeth sunk into arteries, fate dawned on them. Countless eyes filled with terror had gazed at Laira while her heart had widened with excitement. But on the eve of the centennially nomination of a new Santa everything as she knew it changed.

For hundreds of years the Sirens had lived in coexistence with the elves and Santa. Until this one particular nomination day, this impertinence, this human stepped onto Kaffeeklubben Island and claimed his right to the throne of Arctica. Santa Claus the Redeemer, as he called himself, slayed the unprepared Council of retired gift bringers and announced a new era of Christmasy Traditions. The bloody battle fought to prevent this wrongful uprising  left the Kaffeeklubben Siren tribe defeated and smaller in numbers. Upon the dawning of his victory, the new Santa Claus raised his theatric dooming voice and cast a curse:

“No one will ever see you as flesh and blood, you will be damned to live a life as ghastly antics, only the sun will reveal your awful faces. Not dead, nor alive your figures get frozen. As beautiful ghostly creatures you will walk the land by night, haunted by a craving for mammal flesh.“  This was before the steriliziation started and Santa degenerated to a clumsy sack of curse words.

The aftermath of the bane had severely devitalized the Siren tribe of Kaffeeklubben Island. Driven by their urge for meat, neither elves nor baby reindeer were safe from their sharp claws.

Before, hunting had been a dance of pleasure and pain, equally arising as the season of the tides. After Santa’s brutal strike the Sirens collapsed in a cloud of desperate preying on the weak and least tasteful members of the food chain, cloned elves, first generation.

Sometimes Laira would keep one of the elves alive for interrogation, but their numbly brains only revealed fractures of Santa’s growing dictatorship. The fictional numbers of weapons and H&K USP what-nots were no reason for not eventually drowning them.

So much time has passed since the unspeakable had happened that almost everybody had forgotten about the very existence of the once so beautiful women.

Laira’s heart ached of the mere memory of it. Since then, her tribe has gathered strength and power. Now it was time to act, to reclaim back their rightful territory and teach that bastard of a Santa a lesson.

Pacing up and down the hallway of her cold, dark chamber, she felt this urge again. Her eyes darkened at the smell of pulsing blood.

P.S.: This is 6th Chapter of BLOODY SANTA vs ZOMBIE SIREN. Here are links to previous Chapters: Chapter 1,Chapter 2Chapter 3, Chapter 4, and Chapter 5.

Love my posts? They love you too. They asked me to tell you: "SUBSCRIBE HERE."

Siren Story NUMBER 6

by Ksenia Anske

SIREN STORY SURGE continues! You can read about how it started here.

Please welcome our 6th SIREN AUTHOR, Franza Dirnberger, a poet at heart who sometimes dips her toe into writing stories. She is currently obsessed with Dylan Thomas, loves the smell of a new book, is interested in life's difficulties and sometimes starts singing and dancing in the streets for no particular reason.

Photo by Elena Kalis

Siren Story NUMBER 6 by Franza Dirnberger

Harper's cath in virture

Right around the corner of Murphy's Tavern is Harper's spot. His so called home. Night after night he waited for severely drunk sailors to stumble out Murphy's so he could steal small treasures out of their chest pockets. On this very special night Harper's throat soared from droughtness of liquor. Many hours have passed as he laid in the moistly street, waiting for his chance. There was a science to the acquisition of his livelihood. Time, place and the perfect amount of alcohol in blood were crucial for the success of his undertaking, night after night. The sailors who crawled out of the Tavern where either too drunk or not drunk enough. Harper desperately wished for one weak soul to cross his path.

The darkness surrounding him was getting colder, and his bones started to shiver. The holes in his shoes grew bigger with each humid drop.

There, on the verge of unconsciousness he heard a silent call. A strange sensation overcame him, for he had never noticed the yearning melody. Harper got up on puppet strings and dazed towards the pier. The sea seemed to part in front of him. Only illuminated by the pale moonlight a creature of painful beauty emerged from the parting waves. Reddish curls were falling around her opal face and down on the acute drawn shoulders. A skin as thin as pergament with pulsing blooded veins. He wasn't able to look away as her gaze drew him to the waters edge.

A childhood's tale sprung into his mind about the woman of the sea. It was passed on from generation to generation, a secret as old as words and mumble. The sailors songs narrate about their cold watery kiss and what it promises.

"If you spare a kiss for thirsting lips, what you most desire will come true. Grant me an eternity with you in my oceanic realm and i will give your heart satisfaction," the creature softly spoke.

In her most seductive manner the lady from the water promised gold and a warm fire. Harper leaned forward to steal a longing embrace as he felt the fire burning.

He did not see the necklace of turbid pearls around her neck. Fading souls on a string of fish bone.

Suddenly as her appearance she vanished with a smile. Froth collapsing over her.

Harper felt numbness consuming him. Hours fractured into pieces of universal dimension.

As he woke from monumental castles and flavorsome meals he found himself fighting the dreamy dizziness on muddy streets.

A bleary-eyed sailor walked by and out of his pockets were coins falling right in front of Harpers porous boots.

P.S.: This is the 6th Siren Story. If you want to indulge in more sirenness, here is Siren Story NUMBER 1Siren Story NUMBER 2Siren Story NUMBER 3, Siren Story NUMBER 4, and Siren Story NUMBER 5.

Love my posts? They love you too. They asked me to tell you: "SUBSCRIBE HERE."