The Ghosts of Their Daughters by Veera Laitinen

Näkki is a mythical creature from Finnish folklore, often described as a water sprite or demon. Näkki is said to dwell in murky waters and drown any human that crosses its path.

When you see Näkki for the first time, you think of your sisters. But not those of your own blood. No, you think of your swamp-sisters whose footprints blend into the sunrise like an umbilical cord, whose fingers are stained with pike-guts, who alone with you know where your bodies are buried.

That morning your father was still alive. When he snatched his spear, you laughed.

Oh, father, you said. You will never kill Näkki with that.

He did not hear you. Of course, he didn’t. But when your mother repeated your words, your father snapped awake.

“Yes, I will,” he snarled, his mind noosed by the swamp-sisters’ spell. “I’ll kill it and bring you that demon’s head, its broken neck, every last strand of hair, and offer that damned creature for God to punish.”

Father left. You watched him go, your swamp-sisters beside you. You smiled.

We’re going to go and watch, one of your sisters said. Aren’t we?

We will wrap ourselves in his skin, the other sister giggled. We will knit dressed from his veins. We will feed his eyes to the crows. We will bathe in his spit. Won’t we?

Yes, you said. You would have your revenge.

The mud smacks under your step. The swamp devours every visitor still alive. It breathes in the ever-recurring death of Lapland autumn and breathes out fathers’ decaying rage, urine-filled faults, moonshine-tongues, rotten teeth, predator-faeces, the blood of their daughters.

And there your father is. In the jaws of it all. Only his head and arm are above the surface, reaching toward the sky. When he cries out, you think of a fawn. You think of rabbits. You think of a bottle kneeling before its drinker.

Dear father, why don’t you pray? you say and grin. Or do you need both hands for that? Will your God not listen otherwise?

He does not hear you. Of course, he doesn’t. But when your laughter chisels from bark to bark, you are certain he’s looking directly into your eyes.

On the same day, as the sun rose, you picked earthworms from the hollow knuckles of your forest. You hung them on your fingers until your hands were more slime than morning dew.

Your sisters were tearing open a pike. Only after death did you learn that hunger does not spare your soul, not a shattered one. The hunger of the swamp-sisters is eternal.

Careful, dear, your skirt, your sister said. It’s in a puddle. All muddy.

She was right. You squeezed your skirt dry until all that remained was the blood.

Better, your sister said and stroked your cheek, bruise-marred, cold and hard as stone.

Näkki glides towards your father, all limber grime and rotten turnip and decaying pine-heart. She licks your father’s cheek and bites into him as if he were an apple, gnawing and chewing until your father is no more than a soft pile of bones.

Näkki is more beautiful than you dared to dream even though your sisters told you of her allure.

We told you. Näkki is here for those like us, they say. She hears you now, too. Try it.

You open your mouth and vomit out a melody. Blood spatters from your slashed throat.

Näkki raises her head and holds your gaze.

What does my father taste like? you ask.

Violent, Näkki says. Very delicious. Thank you for bringing him.

Thank you for taking him, you say.

The gifts of dead girls are the tastiest, Näkki says.

Näkki liked my father, too, one of your sisters says. Isn’t that so?

Mine was nicer, says another. He was much meaner than yours.

You look at your bloody palms. You lift the hem of your skirt. You look at your broken knees. You think of dwarf birches crawling along rocks. You think of tree roots and fungi-webs thrusting into your mouth, your broken body. You think of your childhood.

I searched you for a long time, you say to Näkki. Where have you been?

Here, waiting, she replies. I am always waiting. It is all I can do.

As you leave with your sisters, your feet meet the sky. You dance from star to star until your hunger returns or a new sister needs her swamp-family.

Veera Laitinen

Image by Karsten Paulick from Pixabay – Swampy lake water full of weeds and green slime