The Tale of the Water Nymph – A Haunting Secret Passed Through Generations

When I was just nine years old, my beloved grandmother came to visit us unexpectedly. She arrived with her usual warmth, the air around her fragrant with lavender and old stories. That evening, after we enjoyed a hearty meal of stovies and mash, my favorite, I was sent off to bed—though sleep was the furthest thing from my mind.

I remember curling beneath my blankets, barely able to contain my excitement, as Grammy came into my room to tuck me in. I pointed eagerly to my oversized book of fairy tales, hoping she’d read me one. But instead of reaching for the book, she placed a gentle finger to her lips and whispered,

“Tonight, lassie, I’ve got a secret tale just for you. One I’ve never told another soul.”

That promise of secrecy sent shivers of anticipation down my spine. Grammy fluffed my pillows, settled me comfortably, and after ensuring the door was closed, she began in a hushed, melodic voice:

“Have you ever heard of the Water Nymph of Loch Hernish, my darling?”

My eyes grew wide. I’d heard tales of fairies and sprites, but never of a water nymph. Grammy seemed to read my curiosity without me speaking a word.

“They called her Naomi,” she said, eyes glazing over as if peering into a past long gone.
“She was the spirit of the loch that sat at the heart of Hernish Glen, the village where I was born.”

Her voice was a lullaby and a warning all at once. She described Hernish Glen, a lush valley wrapped in pine forests and guarded by grand hills. The air there had been sweet and alive, filled with laughter, wildlife, and magic. But then her tone darkened, and her soft green eyes seemed to dim.

“Naomi, the Water Nymph, was said to be both breathtaking and perilous. Slender and graceful, with hair as black as a raven’s wing, streaked with threads of gold and studded with rubies and diamonds. Her eyes—deep sapphires full of sorrow and mystery.”

I clung to Grammy’s every word, enraptured by the image of this ethereal creature. She told me that Naomi’s dress shimmered like a silver moonbeam woven from thistle-down, and when she moved, her hair rippled like starlight over dark waters.

Yet, beneath her beauty, there was danger.

“They said Naomi knew everything—past, present, and future—and the villagers feared her,” Grammy said gravely.
“One day, a young girl spied her sitting on the misty island at the center of the loch. Not long after, a blight fell over the glen. The animals vanished, the crops withered, and a deadly illness spread among the people.”

Terror prickled my skin as I listened. I barely dared to breathe when Grammy revealed the truth—the girl who first saw the water nymph was her, when she too was just nine years old. Just like me.

She had been picking brambles for her mother when she lost her way. Drawn to the loch’s edge by the sound of water rippling, she saw Naomi rise from the water, her golden comb glinting in the setting sun. Grammy was paralyzed, unable to look away as the nymph’s haunting eyes locked onto hers.

“She sang, my sweet girl,” Grammy whispered, her voice trembling.
“A song so haunting, so beautiful, that it felt like my soul was being pulled from my body.”

She tried to resist, but her feet moved against her will, step by step toward the water. Just when she thought she’d be lost, a sudden noise from the woods distracted Naomi, breaking the spell. Grammy fled, but curiosity dragged her back, just far enough to hide and watch.

There, on the opposite shore, stood a young man, just as transfixed as she had been. Naomi sang again, and he too was drawn into the water. He undressed, waded in, and together they vanished beneath the surface, never to reemerge.

“I wanted to scream for him to run,” Grammy admitted, “but fear swallowed my voice. I ran all the way home and never spoke of it. That night, my father went walking near the loch and he never returned.”

My breath caught. Grammy’s eyes welled with tears as she told me how her family fled the cursed glen that very night. She had never returned. But through the years, she confessed, she sometimes heard Naomi’s song riding the wind, calling her back.

“I think she’s still waiting for me, lassie,” Grammy said, clasping my hands tightly.
“That’s why I came tonight. I needed to tell someone, just in case I’m ever… taken.”

Tears flooded my eyes, but I nodded, vowing to keep her secret. She kissed my forehead and hugged me so tightly I thought she’d never let go.

And then—I must have fallen asleep. Because when I woke, Grammy was gone.

But sometimes, on still nights, when the wind is just right, I swear I hear a song—low, sorrowful, and sweet—carried on the breeze. I pull the covers over my head and squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to listen.

But I remember.
And I wonder—will the Water Nymph ever come looking for me too?

Moral of the Story

Curiosity can be a dangerous thing, especially when it draws us towards the unknown. Some secrets of nature are meant to remain undisturbed, for beauty can sometimes hide a deadly lure.