The Mermaid

"Phlebby!"
"Don't call me that."
"Phlebby, look what we caught in the net!"
Phlebitis looked over. His first and second mates, Christian and Haregebo, were sorting through the fishing net on the deck. Seaweed and clumps of sea-slime were scattered here and there, and Phlebitis allowed himself a small, tight smile knowing that neither man had realised that their next job was now going to be cleaning the deck down. A couple of silver fish wriggled, gasping their last in the bright, clean suffocating air. One was as long as his forearm, though he had no idea what species it was. A little further away were a handful of mackerel that he did recognise. The thought of kippers made him instantly hungry, and he wondered how hard it would be to smoke the fish at sea.
Then Haregebo shouted and jumped back, his foot landing on a patch of sea-slime and skidding out from underneath him, landing him heavily on his bum.
"Deck-cleaning," said Phlebitis instantly. "Clear those nets away, get the fish down to the cook, and get scrubbing. I want you to eat your dinner off this deck."
"But Boss!" Christian was pointing at something still caught in the net. "You have to see this."
Phlebitis sighed and locked the wheel in place, automatically glancing to the sky to check that no clouds were about to materialise overhead and ruin his day. He walked over to Christian and punched him hard on the shoulder.
"You call me Captain," he said. "Not Boss, and especially not Phlebby." He punched Christian in the same place again, slightly harder this time and was gratified to see a wince of pain. "Now, what's the fuss about that you're not doing as you're told?"
He looked down. Not so much wriggling as curling and uncurling slowly, still caught in the net, was something about as long as his arm. It had the tail and lower-half of a fish, shiny, iridescent scales that shimmered in the sunlight and looked somehow muscular and powerful. The upper-half though was almost human. The scales gave way to skin, fish turned into defined abdominal muscles and a thin, almost concave chest. The head was that of a screaming, red-faced baby, with straggly black wisps of hair clinging here and there. Clutched in one reddening and blistering fist was a short spear tipped with coral.
The thing opened its eyes and saw them, and its whole body seemed to contract. For a moment it was there, and then there was a beautiful woman, long blonde hair cascading down her shoulders and over her chest to protect her modesty. With a toss of her head and a twinkle in her eye she indicated that she wanted to go back into the sea. A breath of fresh salt air seemed alluring, and Christian moaned, reaching towards her, his eyes glazed over.
Phlebitis punched him again, and waved a hand in the mermaid's face, breaking the illusion and revealing the half-fish, half-fetus thing slowly dying on the deck of the ship.
"Boil it up with the frogs," he said. "And get this damn deck cleaned up!"