The frogmaid lived beyond the edge of the swamp where humidity became fog and reeds whistled in the breeze. I’d heard tales aplenty about how her hideous form oozed slime that trapped her prey.

Old Bill claimed she’d been the most beautiful woman for miles around before getting cursed by the forest spirit. He also said the queen lived in the marsh and that if you traveled deep enough you’d meet a dragon-sized mallard that granted wishes.

Old Bill drank a lot.

Every so often, though, a fisherman wouldn’t return. Their airboat would silently float back unmanned, clothes strewn about the deck. Whispers would circulate that the frogmaid ate well that evening.

Time went by and more people went missing. Old Bill passed and I started a family of my own. I’d since hunted waterfowl more times than I could count, but I’d always hide along the edge, boots halfway into the muck.

Eventually sightings came of the giant bird – that it was real, and wishes or not anyone who owned a rifle began to dream of downing it. Given my experience and a pinch of confidence, I went out one morning beyond the reeds. I carefully stepped through the still waters, ears perked and eyes to the horizon; orange highlighted lazy clouds that drifted in the purple sky. I mentally filtered out the birds, toads, and insects, seeking any irregular sound.

I expected rustling feathers or a mating call, not a throat clearing. I spun around to spy her staring at me: the frogmaid. Her green skin secreted slick mucus and the surface of the water rippled from her meaty, folded thighs. A sac beneath her jaw ballooned out with a creaking groan as her eyes sunk into her face before reappearing clear as crystal.

“That won’t work on me,” she uttered as I raised my rifle. “You’re welcome to try.”

I aimed for a moment before dropping the barrel. I’d need to stay silent if I still wanted to bring back supper.

Her neck inflated once again. “You’re not as stupid as the others.”

“They say you eat fishermen,” I retorted.

We stared each other down as the reeds whistled before we both chuckled. I stopped when her cracked maw flashed finger-length crooked teeth. I tried to step backwards and realized that without consistently moving my feet had gotten stuck in the lakebed. I wasn’t used to being so deep in the mire.

The frogmaid slowly swam up to me, barely scattering the water striders nearby. I raised my gun and shot in a panic, then watched as the stuck pellets all slid down her slimy exterior.

“Relax,” she cooed. “I won’t eat you.”

I felt my clothes growing around me. Her webbed hands grabbed me before I suffocated beneath the fabric and she brought my newly shrunken amphibian form to meet her gaze.

“This is more fun,” the frogmaid croaked, spreading her fingers as I hopped away to join the rest of her froggy court.