The Mermaid of Lake Maracaibo

A Fisherman’s Fate

Javier Morales had spent his entire life by the lake. He had known it as a child, dipping his feet into the shallows while his father cast the nets. He had known it as a young man, standing shoulder to shoulder with the other fishermen at dawn, their boats rocking gently on the waves.

And now, as a man of twenty-eight, the lake was still his life. It gave him fish, it gave him food, it gave him a home with Isabel—the woman he loved more than anything.

But the lake could be cruel, too.

It was on a humid evening, when the air smelled of salt and mangroves, that Javier first heard her.

He had been pulling in his last net of the day, the sun melting into the horizon like an ember sinking into water. The world was quiet—no birds, no insects, just the rhythmic slosh of the waves against his boat.

And then, the silence was broken.

A melody—soft, lilting, almost like a lullaby—came drifting across the water.

It wasn’t in Spanish. It wasn’t in any language Javier knew. It was something older, something deeper, something that sank into his bones like the weight of the lake itself.

His hands froze on the net.

There, not twenty feet away, was a woman.

But she was not standing on a boat, nor wading in the shallows. She was floating—no, standing—on the surface of the water as if it were solid ground.

Her hair was golden, long as a waterfall, spilling over her shoulders like the light of the moon. Her eyes—deep, endless, hungry—locked onto his.

Javier felt himself leaning forward before he even realized it. His breath hitched. His fingers slackened. The net slipped from his hands, sinking beneath the waves.

“Come to me,” the mermaid whispered, and though her lips barely moved, the words filled the air like an enchantment.

His feet shifted.

His body tilted forward.

And then—a scream.

“Javier, no!”

Isabel’s voice cut through the trance like a blade.

Javier gasped, stumbling back. His vision cleared just in time to see the mermaid’s face twist into something inhuman—her perfect lips curling back to reveal teeth like a barracuda’s, her golden hair whipping like seaweed in an unseen current.

And then she was gone.

The water rippled where she had stood, but there was no sign of her beneath the surface.

Javier collapsed into his boat, his breath coming in ragged gulps.

That night, Isabel held him close, whispering prayers to protect him.

But some things cannot be prayed away.

The Curse of the Lake

For weeks, Javier avoided the lake at night. He told the other fishermen his boat needed repairs, that he wasn’t feeling well, that Isabel wanted him home early.

They laughed at first. “Javier, afraid of the dark? What’s gotten into you?”

But as the days passed, the laughter faded.

Something about him had changed. He spoke less. He slept even less. Some nights, Isabel would wake to find him standing at the window, staring at the lake as if waiting for something.

And the dreams—the dreams were the worst.

He saw her every night. The mermaid. Calling to him, reaching for him, her voice filling his mind with promises he didn’t understand.

One evening, a storm rolled in without warning. The sky darkened, and the wind howled through the village like a chorus of lost souls.

Javier barely heard Isabel’s pleas as he ran toward the shore.

His boat—the only thing keeping them fed—was still out on the water, tied to the dock. The storm was already swelling the lake, the waves crashing against the wooden beams. If he didn’t get it now, it would be lost.

“Javier, please! It’s just a boat!”

But it wasn’t just a boat. It was his life.

He sprinted onto the dock, rain blinding him, his heart hammering as he reached for the rope.

And then, through the downpour, he saw her.

Standing on the waves. Smiling. Waiting.

“This time, you are mine.”

A massive wave rose behind her, a wall of water that came crashing down on top of him before he could even scream.

Beneath the Waves

Javier should have drowned.

But when he opened his eyes, he was not dead.

He was somewhere else.

The water around him glowed with an eerie blue light, as if the stars themselves had been trapped beneath the lake. Strange, dark shapes moved in the distance, their forms shifting like shadows.

And then he saw them.

Men.

Dozens—no, hundreds—of them. Floating, lifeless, their eyes empty, their mouths frozen in silent screams.

Javier’s blood turned to ice.

“You resisted me once,” came a voice behind him. “But now you are here.”

He turned.

The mermaid.

She was no longer beautiful. Her golden hair twisted like eels in the current, her skin shimmering like the belly of a fish. Her mouth—too wide, too sharp—curved into a grin.

“You are mine now.”

Javier tried to move, but his limbs felt sluggish, as if the water itself had wrapped around them.

“Let me go,” he choked out.

She tilted her head, considering. Then she smiled.

“Make a bargain with me, Javier. Give me something of worth, and I shall return you to the world above.”

His mind reeled. “What do you want?”

She leaned closer, her voice a whisper in his ear.

“A life for a life.”

Javier’s stomach twisted. She wanted him to lure someone else into the lake.

Someone innocent.

Someone who didn’t deserve this.

His heart pounded. He could lie. He could agree, escape, and never return.

But something in her eyes told him the lake knew the truth.

And so he did the only thing he could.

“I would rather die.”

For a moment, silence.

Then, to his shock—she laughed.

And then, suddenly, he was falling.

Falling up, breaking through the surface of the lake, gasping for air—

He was home.

Epilogue: The Legend Lives On

Javier never spoke of that night.

But the fishermen say that sometimes, on nights when the Catatumbo lightning flashes across the sky, a voice can be heard on the wind.

Calling.

Waiting.

Daring someone to listen.

And if you listen too closely—

She will take you, too.

THE END.