{"id":9160,"date":"2026-02-22T13:55:06","date_gmt":"2026-02-22T20:55:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/?page_id=9160"},"modified":"2026-02-22T13:55:06","modified_gmt":"2026-02-22T20:55:06","slug":"we-caught-a-mermaid","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/?page_id=9160","title":{"rendered":"We Caught a Mermaid"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Maria Pianelli Blair<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

We caught a mermaid down by the pier. Her eyes were bright, like midsummer skies; her hair the shade of sugarplums. Until then, only the occasional shark sighting or whale carcass made headlines, folklore banished to the faded murals of selkies and sea dragons that lined Ocean Avenue. Until then, Harmony Grove\u2019s biggest claim-to-fame was the Victorian style church in town square, complete with a gabled roof, ornamental spires, and a congregation 500 strong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Those days, we spent weekends at the boardwalk, riding our longboards through throngs of tourists. There was usually some hubbub or another at the shore and, that Saturday, all eyes were on the new cross-shaped pier, funded by St. Luke\u2019s. Stretching nearly 600 feet, and funded by $2 million in parishioner donations, the fiberglass monstrosity was deemed an \u201carchitecture marvel\u201d by the county paper. Others called it \u201ccontroversial,\u201d spurring a year-long debate over whether religious symbols, especially ones the size of a football field, belonged on public beaches. But the Methodists won, as they often do, and Jack figured what better way to christen the pier than with his granddad\u2019s old fishing rods?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMike Caldwell caught some fluke last summer,\u201d he assured us. \u201cWe just need a few lucky casts for a fish fry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Instead, we caught a mermaid. It took the three of us to reel her in, heaving and hawing like a game of grade-school tug-of-war. I imagined a colossal sea bass leaping from frothy waves, the kind that smashes state records and lands you an interview in Field & Stream.<\/em> But when the line burst from the swell, we were blinded by her iridescent tail, scales more resplendent than the sun. She landed at our feet with a thud, <\/em>hook tangled in her coarse tresses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We stood, breathless, Indie still white knuckling the fishing rod, until she threw her head back and screeched an ungodly screech. More grating than nails on a chalkboard. Visceral, like a mosquito humming in your ear. The sort of sound that sends a jolt down your spine, convulsing, writhing, ravaging your body until sweet relief rushes in. Relief that leaves you numb, stunned, and grateful, all the same. She screeched until the whole pier stared, stopping only to catch her ragged breath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey caught a mermaid,\u201d a fellow fisherman whispered, with a hint of envy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey caught a mermaid!\u201d a little girl squealed, tugging at her mother\u2019s skirt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey caught a mermaid,\u201d an old woman shuddered, crossing herself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And then they rushed in like a tidal wave, swallowing us into their fervid depths. A sea of hands, desperate for a selfie, a TikTok, a handshake. They clawed at her braids, bestrew with shells and starfish. Caressed her tail. Groped her conch shell necklace, the color of a hurricane. One woman, offended by the mermaid\u2019s breasts, forced her into a ratty t-shirt\u2014\u201cHarmony Grove Community Potluck,\u201d and a garish cartoon of a fish in a chef\u2019s hat now emblazoned across her bosom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was all too much for the mermaid, who barreled behind Indie. She sat there, curled up and quivering, but the crowd remained relentless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cStop!\u201d Indie cried, smacking away a smartphone. \u201cCan\u2019t you see you\u2019re scaring her?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The old woman crossed herself again. \u201cCan\u2019t you<\/em> see that this is a miracle?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cReverend Paul blessed the pier this morning,\u201d added another.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A low rumbling rushed over the crowd as they inched closer, debating their next move.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSomeone call St. Luke\u2019s!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019ll take too long. We should carry her over ourselves.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cForget church, this has TMZ written all over it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Indie picked at his cuticles, blood pooling around a gnawed-down nail. Even Jack had gone pale. \u201cDom,\u201d he hissed, \u201cwhat do we do?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But there was no time to think. The mermaid pressed her conch-shell necklace to her lips and exhaled. A low melodic moan, like the whale calls we studied freshman year, resounded, reverberating through our bones. But unlike Songs of the Humpback Whale, <\/em>her wails were haunting, conjuring images of Sirens and sailors destined for watery graves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A sharp pang pierced my arm and I realized it was Indie’s nails, digging into my flesh. Petrified, his gaze had locked on a seismic wave that had erupted some 600 meters out. My stomach dropped as it rolled in like a thunderstorm, skies darkening above its rising crest. As the conch shell screeched, the wave tripled, growing wider and wider. An insurmountable wall, the wrath of Poseidon, the scourge of Triton, the ultimate damnation for our sins.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But before the tsunami could break, swallowing the pier and everything in its wake, a shriek rang out from the far side of the cross: \u201cMy god! He\u2019s caught a Kraken!”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The crowd couldn\u2019t resist one final brush with the fantastical, a miracle, a mirage, or simply distraction from their own mortality. Those who hadn\u2019t run screaming for the shore stampeded towards the new spectacle, dismissing the mermaid like a sideshow attraction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The mermaid\u2019s eyes jutted back and forth. Her jaw unclenched, her shoulders softened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Indie crouched to meet her. \u201cLook!\u201d he pleaded. \u201cYou\u2019re safe! They\u2019re gone now. Call it off. Please call it off!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And so, the conch shell ceased. A brisk sea breeze rushed in, flooding our nostrils with briny whiffs of salt and seaweed. The wave receded into the abyss, drenching us in mist and nothing more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The mermaid blinked at us, languidly. I exchanged glances with Jack and Indie. They nodded in silent agreement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We used the Kraken to our advantage, snagging a rowboat from the unoccupied lifeguard stand. Wordlessly, we paddled offshore. The mermaid, huddled in her too-big t-shirt, peered at the gentle waves bobbing our boat. Her fingertips grazed passing ripples. At her touch, a stream of fish leapt into the air. We rowed and rowed until our arms ached, eyes strained, and the colossal pier was the size of the cross that Reverend Paul wore around his neck. Only then, did we look toward the mermaid, and she peered back before swan diving into the undertow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We sat there, silently, until she disappeared into the turquoise tide. Jack reached for the fishing rods, stowed by our feet, and snapped them in half. They sank like stones into the murky sea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By summer\u2019s end, the pier would be condemned, deemed structurally unsound by the city council, or\u00a0perhaps a malevolent god, ocean-bound or otherwise, who understood that some marvels aren\u2019t meant to be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

MARIA PIANELLI BLAIR<\/strong>\u00a0is an artist and writer based in New Jersey. Her fiction has appeared in\u00a0Gypsophila Magazine, swim press, two-headed press, Pile Press, Prosetrics Literary Magazine, Blood+Honey,\u00a0<\/em>and\u00a0Querencia Press<\/em>. Follow her on Instagram at\u00a0@strange_sunsets<\/a>\u00a0or visit her at\u00a0mpianelliblair.com<\/a>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Maria Pianelli Blair We caught a mermaid down by the pier. Her eyes were bright, like midsummer skies; her hair the shade of sugarplums. Until then, only the occasional shark sighting or whale carcass made headlines, folklore banished to the … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":9159,"menu_order":1,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-9160","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/P15duy-2nK","_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/9160","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=9160"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/9160\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":9179,"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/9160\/revisions\/9179"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/9159"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jerseydevilpress.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=9160"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}