Swamp Sirens

Part of the story below (a bit of horror elements)
She came across that greenery haven on one of her field trips. Lush wetland shrouded with herbs and shrubs is a treasure island for an adventurous apothecary. Hibiscus, water lilies, cattails, sedges and more - medicinal, poisonous, edible plants – lots of potential for night experiments and day profits for her market stall. It all comes up as an enticing endeavor, and one can argue that for a young and bold type the dangers of the swamp, such as, wild animals, tricky terrain, would seem like an icing on the cake. She was definitely eager to explore the marshland further however as a weathered traveler she knew the expedition required a diligent preparation. She needed not only supplies and tools better suited for the environment but also information.
She started her field survey by contacting the locals. It was a small friendly village with a few families huddling together, settled near forest on a river. For the most part they were self-sufficient, farming, gathering, hunting; on occasion they would trade their goods for essential tools, services with the closest town. They were eager to talk to when they learned she was a herbalist. After some counseling, quick physical exams and hand-to-hand exchanges, she got them into discussing the vicinities for prospective herb yields. Without keeping anything back they described the nearby points of interest – the meadows, where they find most common field flowers, and the forest near the main road, where they gather some berries and bush leaves. Surprised they didn’t mention the swamp off-road, deeper into wilderness, she subtly asked them if they had ventured that far. The mood shifted, and the voices took on the whispering almost conspiratorial tone. On of the elder members of the commune recounted a brief yet harrowing history of the swamp.

When they were just a child there was a hunter in their village. A good man he was, firm and gentle, crafty with his hands, a provider. And, of course, he was a popular talk among the women. Unfortunately, on one of his trips, he went too far from his regular hunting grounds. For hours he was chasing the quarry he shot, a proud buck, the leader of its herd, strong and sturdy, too stubborn to die. He wanted it so badly he was willing to go to the end of the earth to catch it. And the buck sensing the unrelenting danger behind crossed the whole forest and escaped to the wetlands. That was the place he thought he lost its tracks. He cautiously traveled deeper into the swamp hoping to find any clues of the prey. Suddenly he heard the animal’s cry nearby. So he turned and stumbled on a chilling scene. On a dry sheet of land there was a buck, lying, bleeding, silently looking at the figure that was eating it. He gasped then quickly drew a bow and arrow. But the stranger noticed him. And at that moment the hunter could see them clearly. It was a woman. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The garment, the jewels, the body, the face. She now truly appeared to him, shining. There was only her light. She was speaking yet it sounded like a melody from his dreams. She wanted something, and he couldn’t say no to her. They embraced, she warmly kissed him in the neck. That sensation. If he could, he would trade dozens village girls for that one kiss. She let him go, and at that point he knew what he should do next.
The hunter returned to the village without any game. He was looking shabby and exhausted, he had been out for almost two days. The villagers were starting to worry about him, especially a few girls were growing in concern. They were gleefully relieved when they heard the news of his arrival. After some time they came by his shack to bate their curiosity. A couple of them were surprised to see him preparing for another excursion. On what he blissfully answered he needed to deliver the meat back and asked the girls for a help. One girl rebuked such offer while the other four agreed to lend a hand to the best of their abilities. They couldn’t hide the excitement – they would be able to venture far from home with a good company and safety. The freshly-formed party quickly organized themselves. The girls took some provisions, sacks, picnic set – accommodated more for a forest stroll. When they returned, the hunter was putting the finishing touches. There were ropes and hooks, knives, a hatchet, arrows and a bow, some sheets, attached to his backpack. The girls felt uneasy, they were giving a second thought to the adventure. But the hunter found the words of encouragement that the people of the village would see them finally in a new way, all grown up.
The group headed out at noon. Such peculiar procession caught the eyes of a few villagers however they managed not to rise a high suspicion. Before anyone alerted the elders they were gone, having disappeared in the thickets of the forest.
(More in https://www.deviantart.com/nerva1/art/Swamp-Sirens-956590894)