The Phantom Pulse #1 | May 2026
Brandon Case
I hide, panting, air whistling through my gills. A full moon paints the docks silver, forcing me to cower behind a brick building lest my stupid, glittery scales draw attention. Peering around an unnaturally-straight wall, I see them. Eight men riding bicycles. Such erotic beauty, these machines; a red racing Schwinn, three blue BMX bikes, four white cruisers—a rolling American flag of two-wheeled perfection. Together they ride, unashamed of the seats rubbing their genitals. Every man holds a knife, a bat, or a machete. None carry guns. This might be my chance to approach, to convince them we’re not so different. Assuming I can get my body to cooperate.
Chains tinkle behind the cyclists, dragging fish hooks baited with mer body parts—an arm, a leg—all covered in green scales like mine, all reeking of decay and clashing cultures. An inevitability in this changing world. But our violent past need not equate to a violent future.
My kind hates humans for turning our fossilized ancestors into pollution and making our deep-ocean homes uninhabitable. But depleted oil reserves brought this resurgence of bicycles, which I love! A passion shared can be built into peace. I’ve never ridden in a group, but I brought a mountain bike with me from the sea. Once sexy yellow, brown algae now coats its handlebars and seat. Once sleek and smooth, rust tarnishes its frame and chain. But it still rolls, in a fashion, and I yearn to ride freely with the cyclists.
They cruise up the dockyard, whooping and hollering. A merry band of miscreants. More me than I’ve ever been.
Sacrifice is required. I’m ugly, like most who were nurtured by the deeps. The men won’t want me spoiling their sexy adventure. That’s probably why our attempts at interspecies communication have failed.
I wedge my claws under the scales on my stomach and rip upward, tearing out fistfuls. They shimmer on the old wood planks, reflecting moonlight like a thousand judgmental eyes. I scrape and scrape in agony, hyperventilating. Whistling gasps. Soon, all of my scales are gone, revealing white skin. I hope the cyclists won’t notice its odd texture. Already, hard lumps are forming beneath this new, seemly exterior. Fresh scales, developing against my will, threatening to erupt.
I tie back my long, green hair with a strand of kelp, and sheath my claws inside fingers and toes. With great effort, I retract my genitals: eight long, tentacle-like appendages, pulled up into my abdomen.
Darkness and moonlight provide my cheeks with natural foundation and concealer. Maybe I’ll pass for a man long enough they’ll love me and it won’t matter when my scales regrow. With a deep, whistling breath, I step out from behind the brick building, wheeling my rusty bike. Its barnacle-encrusted wheels complain—squeak, squeak, skrrrrr.
As one, the cyclists turn and converge on me. Flowing, not like a school of mullet avoiding danger. They’re predators. A pod of orcas, sensing prey. They circle me, this ring of eight men. A ring of chains. A ring of scaled arms and legs, bouncing on the dock.
Focus, focus. I keep my breath even, keep all my pokey bits retracted. Tonight, I am human. Human is all I am.
“Look, boys!” The man riding a red Schwinn points at me with his machete. “A sea monkey, but it ain’t shiny.”
For months, I’ve been practicing their language. This is my moment. It’ll be our first leap in inter-species communication and understanding. All I have to do is introduce myself. I take another whistling breath and say, “Hiiieee iiieeem Jeeeriii.”
Still thick and whistly, my accent. But I’m proud of my progress. Surely, my heartfelt voice reached them. Hi, I’m Jerry.
Schwinn-man flinches and almost falls off his bike. He smells sharp and musky, fear mixed with suppressed arousal. “The freak wolf-whistled at you, Joe! It wants you.”
The circle of eight cyclists tightens, a net of weapons.
No… this wasn’t how my introduction was supposed to go. Don’t they see I could be one of them? Hoping to underline our compatibility, I gesture to my mountain bike. But a claw slips out of my forefinger, sharp and hard.
“It’s threatening us!” says another man, perhaps Joe. He pops a wheelie on his BMX bike.
I stare longingly at the way it rolls across the ground. Effortless, graceful, erotic.
Flashing moonlight; an arcing blade; Schwinn-man’s machete cleaves my bike, tearing its rusted frame from my grasp.
Exposed and separated. My breath whistles faster, fluttering through my gills. Losing control, I’m losing control. Cracking, the white skin is dry. New scales beneath, glittering green. I try to hold back, but claws shoot from each of my fingertips and toes. An explosion is coming. No no no. I can’t keep it in! All eight tentacle-genitals erupt from my groin.
“It wants to fuck us!” Schwinn-man screams.
I don’t want to copulate with anyone, least of all these stupid men. Maybe that red bike… but certainly not here on the dock. How did everything go so wrong? Why does my body always betray me?
Weapons raised, the cyclists converge. A closing iris. A ring of bait knives, seeking to dismember, to hook my body on their chains.
The knives, bats, and Machetes glance off my hard scales. Papery ribbons of skin flutter to the dock.
My counter-attack is not so feeble.
Strings of blood, fragments of Schwinn-man’s skull. I separate Joe’s legs like the halves of a crab, spilling intestines. Cyclists flee at top speed, screaming they’ll bring people with guns.
I sigh, whistly and weary. It’s all my fault. More practice needed, more study of speaking. Maybe then they’ll listen.
My eyes seek the black ocean, my polluted home. For now, its shallows still offer harbor.
Blood drips through the dock, splashing into salt water. More culture clashes swell in our future.
Tenderly, I take the red racing Schwinn and retreat below dark, moon-capped waves that taste of oil and a violent now.
Originally published in Small Wonders Issue 9 (March 2024)
About the Author
Brandon Case is a golden retriever who writes of unsettling worlds. In addition to The Phantom Pulse, he has work in Escape Pod, Flash Fiction Online, and Small Wonders, among others. You can follow his alpine adventures and find additional stories @BrandonCase101