The Gradaru
While writing the third book in the Bunyip Jones series, I ran into a problem.
I had a very specific sea monster scene in mind, but after digging through myths, legends, sailors' tales, and enough folklore to make Poseidon file a restraining order, I couldn't find a creature that quite fit.
Which, as every fantasy writer knows, left me with only one option.
I made one up.
I needed something small enough to move freely in an enclosed space without risking busting through walls in an enclosed space and killing anyone just by turning around, but fierce enough that it could cause serious damage to even supernatural opponents. I wanted it to look eerily familiar and entirely unfamiliar at the same time.
I looked to the denizens of the ocean for inspiration. At first, I thought a deep-ocean creature would be a good starting point because most of them are naturally terrifying. I mean - you’ve seen an anglerfish, right?
But then something occurred to me.
Sometimes, the scariest things are the things that look familiar - until they don’t.
So I looked for something… beautiful.
Something beloved.
Something no one would ever imagine being dangerous.
And then I gave it legs. And teeth. And made it large enough to be frightening.
Meet the Gradaru: an enchanting little nightmare that very much wants to eat you. 💀
It isn't especially large. By sea monster standards, it's downright petite—about the size of a donkey. Graceful, covered in shimmering iridescent scales that harden into overlapping armour, it looks almost elegant.
Until you notice the mouth.
A gradaru resembles an oversized seahorse, except its jaws split almost halfway through its head...
...and it has legs.
Which means it isn't content to hunt in the water.
That's unfortunate, because the creature has developed an almost insatiable taste for mammals.
Out in the open ocean, it mostly feeds on whales, dolphins, seals, and sea lions. But whenever a ship sails overhead, every instinct tells it that dinner has arrived.
Think of it as reverse surf-and-turf.
Patient by nature, a gradaru will lurk beneath a vessel, listening.
Then it begins to call.
Not with some monstrous roar, but with something much worse: convincing human voices. Cries for help. Panicked shouts. Pleas from someone who has supposedly fallen overboard.
Eventually, someone leans over the rail.
That's all the invitation it needs.
It erupts from the water, seizes its victim, and disappears beneath the waves before anyone fully understands what happened.
If the opportunity presents itself, though, it won't stop there.
Despite looking vaguely seahorse-shaped, a gradaru can haul itself aboard surprisingly well. Once on deck, it becomes less of an ambush predator and more of an all-you-can-eat buffet enthusiast.
It will shadow the ship for days if necessary, picking off crew members whenever it can until every last sailor is gone and its belly hangs grotesquely swollen.
Ships don't always leave behind an obvious explanation.
Perhaps that's why stories like the Mary Celeste still fascinate us. A ship found adrift. Cargo intact. Meals left half-eaten.
No crew.
No answers.
Imagine if something like a gradaru had been responsible.
Fortunately, they're unlikely to reach land.
After a successful hunt, a gradaru sinks beneath the sea to sleep off its enormous meal. Digestion takes a long time, and by the time it wakes, the ship is long gone. Tracking prey has never been its strong suit.
Which raises another question.
Modern shipping lanes crisscross every ocean on Earth. Why aren't gradaru thriving?
Because, as it turns out, sea monsters also have predators.
Orcas hunt them.
Large sharks happily take the opportunity.
Even a determined leopard seal will have a go.
Nature, it seems, has a way of reminding every predator that something bigger is always hungry.
If you'd like to see a gradaru doing what it does best, you'll find one waiting in Blood in the Water. You can find the link on the landing page, or pick it up through Amazon, Kobo, and most other online bookstores.