His head rested on the long, reptilian neck. It was an anthropoid head with flat contours that were monstrously inhuman. The eyes were white and protuberant; they bulged with the glassy stare of a drowning thing. There was no nose, and the center of the face was covered with a tangle of wormy blue feelers. The mouth was worst of all. Dean saw pale white lips in a dead face--human lips. Lips that had kissed his own. And now--_they were his own_! He was in the body of the evil sea-thing--the evil sea-thing that had once harbored the soul of Morella Godolfo! At that moment Dean would gladly have welcomed death, for the stark, blasphemous horror of his discovery was too much to bear. He knew about his dreams now, and the legends; he had learned the truth, and paid a hideous price. He recalled, vividly, how he had recovered consciousness in the water and swum out to meet those--others. He recalled the great black hulk from which drowning men had been taken in boats--the shattered wreck on the water. What was it Yamada had told him? "When there is a wreck they go there, like vultures to a feast." And now, at last, he remembered what had eluded him that night--what that familiar shape on the waters had been. It was a crashed zeppelin. He had gone swimming into the wreckage with those things, and they had taken men.... Three hours--God! Dean wanted very much to die. He was in the sea-body of Morella Godolfo, and it was too evil for further life. Morella Godolfo! Where was _she_? And his own body, the shape of Graham Dean? * * * * * A rustling in the shadowy cavern behind him proclaimed the answer. Graham Dean saw _himself_ in the moonlight--saw his body, line for line, hunching furtively past the pool in an attempt to creep away unobserved. Dean's flippered fins moved swiftly. His own body turned. It was ghastly for Dean to see himself reflected where no mirror existed; ghastlier still to see that in his face there no longer were _his_ eyes. The sly, mocking stare of the sea-creature peered out at him from behind their fleshy mask, and they were ancient, evil. The pseudo-human snarled at him and tried to dodge off into the darkness. Dean followed, on all fours. He knew what he must do. That sea-thing--Morella--she had taken his body during that last black kiss, just as he had been forced into hers. But she had not yet recovered enough to go out into the world. That was why he had found her still in the cave. Now, however, she would leave, and his uncle Michael would never know. The world would never know, either, what horror stalked its surface--until it was too late. Dean, his own tragic form hateful to him now, knew what he must do. Purposefully he maneuvered the mocking body of himself into a rocky corner. There was a look of fright in those gelid eyes....