At first they ignored it, the blaring sirens, it was just a drill, it was always just a drill, but when the emergency services began coming down the streets like ants to a picnic, they knew it was the real deal.

There was little time to pack their belongings, little time to say their goodbyes if things were going to go south.

They shoved what little possessions they could into the back of their cars and drove off.

Those who had no car, hopped into neighbours or hid themselves in their bunkers and basements.

Some were stubborn, refusing to move at all, these would be the first to succumb to the music.

That haunting melody that had haunted sailers and seamen for centuries, the beautiful screeching of the sirens as they beconed their prey to join them in their waters.

It had been two hundred years since they’d last feasted and they had become, but a myth.

But the town always had preventions in place just in case the threat proved to be real and when it did, no one was truly prepared for even those in their cars could hear their song through their radios and they too were compelled to drive into the waters and join them.