When Mabel knocked on the rusty unmarked door, there was nothing but silence for a long time. Finally it cracked open, Chomsky’s ferret face peeking through the gape.

-Mabel, not you again. You are pushing your recovery time.

-You’re not my mother, Chomsky.

Mabel stepped inside Chomsky’s lair and let her eyes adjust to darkness.

-What will it be this time?

-17th century, Barbados, male, top shelf.

-Again with the pirate shit, Mabel? You gotta lay off the Sabatini novels.

-For all that’s holy, Chom, stop. Last thing I need is a lecture from a drug dealer.

-Doctor, Mabel. You know perfectly well I used to be fully certified and sanctioned.

Chomsky pulled the syringe full of X and leaned over Mabel already sprawled on a beat up leather couch.

-As always, I have to remind you that I can’t bring you back out until it wears off on its own, however long it takes. You will retain your present conscience throughout the X-cursion, and the new memories garnered will stay with you forever.

Mabel growled and Chomsky jammed the needle into her bared shoulder.

It started to smell like rotting wood. The world was gently rocking side to side.

Somewhere outside, seagulls were going crazy.

Mabel felt her face itching. She reached up and felt a coarse, shaggy beard covering most of it.

She looked down at her new giant hands, sunburnt and covered in scars, nails on the right hand stained with tobacco.

Good shit, Chomsky.

-Captain! What do we do with the mermaid?

The voice belonged to the sailor standing in the door of the ship’s Captain quarters. He looked thirty going on sixty, with a facial expression of a Labrador who just saw a squirrel.

Mabel shook her newly dealt head, hoping she just misheard his words due to Captain’s seemingly advanced age.

-With a… what?

-The mermaid, Captain! The crew is asking for your decision.

What the fucking fuck. The X-cursions were supposed to be always rooted in real-life documented events. What goddamn mermaid, Chomsky?! Mabel stood up, feeling her giant frame instantly crowd the room, and followed the Labrador up to the deck where the crew was huddled around something.

Labrador shoved the bodies out the way, clearing the path. Mabel stared at the net, holding her Captain face straight by sheer willpower. The mermaid’s long hair was the cartoon shade of blue and perfectly coiffed, cascading down her delicate body all the way to the waistline. Where it turned into an unmistakable mermaid tail, covered with iridescent fish scales. She was shivering and clutching herself, trying to cover her bare breasts. Mabel looked around. The pirates’ faces showed a complete gamut of unsavory desires. Mabel looked back at the Mermaid’s young delicate face, looking utterly confused.

Shit, shit, shit.

-Take her down to my quarters, – Mabel barked in Captain’s booming voice, as menacing as possible. – I will let you know when I’m done!

The crew murmured but stepped back. Labrador tossed the Mermaid over his shoulder like a sack of rice and followed the Captain down to the quarters. When the door closed behind him, Mabel stared at the Mermaid whose expression was sort of strange, but in a way that Mabel couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Fucking hell. Mabel rummaged through the memories of her prior pirate X-cursions. A Captain always has the first dibs on any loot as well as the first 24 hours with a female captive, so she could hold them off for about a day. But after that, she’d have to relinquish the Mermaid back to the crew or there’d be violent mutiny. And if you got killed while on the X, not even Chomsky could revive you.

Mabel looked around and saw a sealed bottle of rum on the Captain’s table. She sliced off the top along with the cork and took a long swig. It tasted like vinegar flavored with shit.

-My name is Jeff – a female voice said behind her.

Mabel swiveled on her boot heels and stared at the Mermaid.

The Mermaid stretched out a hand.

-Rum, please.

She took a long swig, wiped the mouth with the back of her hand and returned the bottle.

-I knew you were the X-cursioner too. Could see it in your eyes. Your name?

-Mabel. But how the fuck…

-Wall Street broker. Let’s just say I have a taste for high risk and the means to pay for something more… unique.

-X is already beyond illegal. How do you even get into this level shit? Is this some genetic mod?

-There is a lab in China. Super exclusive. The fee is astronomical but they guarantee something you haven’t been before. And I’ve already tried everything that ever was.

Mabel sat down on a creaky chair and stared at Jeff the Mermaid.

-You realize what those goons upstairs are going to do with you, right? They’ve probably been at sea for months.

-Yeah it was probably a dumb shit to do, but you don’t exactly choose from a catalog. You pay upfront for whatever it is, and they guarantee it will be mind blowing.

Mable took another swig from the bottle and looked at junkie Jeff. Mind blowing did not begin to describe this.

-What if I toss you overboard? Tell them you died from being out of the water too long and I dumped you?

-Im not gonna make an hour in that ocean. It seems I can’t really operate this thing.

Jeff strained his face but the tail didn’t move.

-I don’t see any gills either so no breathing underwater. I think the Chinese went all look and no function.

Mabel stuffed back all the words she had for this man’s decision making process.

-When do you reverse?

-They had no clue. And I agreed to that, too.

Mabel grabbed the Captain’s pipe and headed up to the main deck to think.

The sun was slowly setting behind the horizon. The crew were lounging around, fixing up the sails, playing cards or napping till chow time.

Mabel headed to the galley. An old sailor was stirring a steaming pot with a long stick. It smelled like death.

-What’s for dinner, mate? – Mabel asked, trying to stay on the clear side of the stench.

-Same damn bean and salted pork, Captain. The pork is starting to turn in this heat, but it’s still edible a couple days more… It’s about ten days to Barbados, though.

-So what’s the plan? – Mabel felt a sick feeling starting to creep up from her gut.

The cook stopped stirring and looked straight at Mabel. Under the swinging lantern, she saw that his left eye socket was totally empty, an old scar dragging right across it, from his forehead down to his jaw.

I gotta stop doing this shit, Mabel thought to herself.

-The ocean has been empty for a long while, Captain. But that mermaid is at least thirty kilo of fresh fish. That would last us a week. After you are done with it, of course.

Mabel clenched her teeth trying to keep the sick from coming up any further. The cook finally returned to the pot.

The sound of a mast squeaking above ignited every nerve in Mabel’s body.

She returned to Captain’s quarters and bolted the door shut.

-What’s the good word, Cap? – Jeff asked, his voice almost plausibly cheerful.

Mabel looked at his mermaid tail, awash in the soft golden glow of the candle light.

As the silence hang in the air, Mabel grabbed the bottle and drank until there was nothing left.