Thora A Half-Mermaid Tale Chapter One It all started ten years ago on a fine summer evening when a very tall man strolled along the Grimli pier. His name was Mr. Walters and he was not just tall, but very tall. He was so tall he could have been the president of the Tall Club. But he wasn't the president of anything anymore. He was retired, and he was headed for the end of the pier, where he planned to sit on the red oil drum and smoke his last cigar of the evening. He never made it. With only a few steps to go, he heard a rather unusual cry. He stopped and scanned the harbor. Eventually, his eyes came to rest on the old houseboat with the for sale sign. The Loki. He'd noticed it before, but had never paused to take a good look. What made him take notice now was not the rather odd construction of the boat, nor the peeling paint of its cabin or even the crooked way it sat in the water, but rather the loud noise coming out of it. WAAAAAA! WAAAAAA! WAAAAAA! He tiptoed over. The large main glass window was steamed up, and the curtains were drawn. Cupping his hand to his ear, he leaned his head against the front door and listened. The crying was supernaturally loud. It reminded him of all the worst things in life. Dentist drills. Cold showers. Seasickness and creamed corn. So why didn't he turn and run? Mr. Walters had never much liked babies, but this was different. Though terrible, the sheer volume of the crying reminded him of the effort of Olympic champions in some of the great photo finishes of his day. There was something heroic -- noble even -- in its amplitude. It made him want to join. He rapped on the cabin door. When nobody answered, he turned the metal door handle and gently let himself in. Not once did it occur to him not to. The room was dark and damp and smelled distinctly fishy. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he gasped. "Good gracious!" Cut into the middle of the floor was a hole the size of an extra-large pepperoni pizza. The sea made a slurping sound as it splashed upward. There were puddles everywhere. On the walls there were pictures of movie stars and posters advertising films. On the far side of the room stood a pile of dark furniture and a chest of drawers. The crying sound was coming from the opened bottom drawer. He rushed over. WAAAAAA! WAAAAAA! WAAAAAA! Tucked into a wad of wet, green seaweed was a shrieking baby. His first thought was that the creature must be very cold, because its legs were quite purple. He scooped it up. Immediately the noise stopped and the baby opened one green eye. There was a click and a whooosh, and then a thin but powerful jet of water sprayed up and knocked his hat clear off his head. "Ratbag!" he cried, stuffing the creature back into the drawer, where it resumed its crying, harder and louder than before. It was at that moment that Mr. Walters noticed a hole on the top of the baby's bald head. It was no bigger than one of the foreign coins he tossed into wishing wells the world over. And that was not all. The legs were scaly and the hands were most definitely webbed. "Deary me," he whispered. The baby kicked and thrashed. WAAAAAAAA! WAAAAAA! WAAAAAA! How could he get it to stop? Should he sing it a song? He couldn't hold a tune. Change the diaper? He didn't know how. Hang the baby from the ceiling by its toes? What if it started to leak from the hole in its head? Suddenly the baby reached up and grabbed his hand. Mr. Walters jumped back. Then he laughed. "I know what you need," he said. "Won't be a minute . . . you stay right where you are." WAAAAAAAAA! Thora A Half-Mermaid Tale . Copyright © by Gillian Johnson. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from Thora: A Half-Mermaid Tale by Gillian Johnson All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
