I’d brought only one bag with me, and it was hoisted over my shoulder, so I lugged it into the family room, which was just off to the right of the main foyer. I purposely avoided looking at the deep black stain that remained on the floor below the landing. It wasn’t time to think about that yet.
Every piece of furniture was covered in white sheets that had been collecting dust for a decade. Aunt Sara had never touched the place, and for obvious reasons, we didn’t keep a groundskeeper or maid. A chill went down my spine as I set my bag on the floor by the giant fireplace. Inside was a pile of rotten wood and old dusty ashes.
It felt like a tomb, collecting nothing but dust, spiders, and shadows. I’d have to start a fire, because there was no way in hell I was going down to the boiler tonight.
I decided to explore, instead of standing around like an idiot staring at peeling wallpaper, so I headed back the way I’d come. As I neared the front door, I glanced up to where Kyle stood atop the banister, staring down at me. His eyes glowed in the dark, unblinking. Kevin joined him, meowing once as I opened the door to a gust of cooling night air.
Leaving the house behind, I took the long path, which used to be a carefully laid mosaic of stone but was now just a long bed of soft moss, leading toward the gazebo and boathouse. Fog undulated around my ankles, rolling and tumbling, mixing with the chilly breaths I puffed out between chattering teeth. It was unseasonably cold tonight—colder than the South had any right to be.
The gazebo used to be beautiful. It was once a pristine white, with iron railings that twisted like leafy vines rimmed with lattice that used to bloom with jasmine. Now, it had chipped paint revealing the rotting wood underneath it, a hole in one of the three steps up, and Spanish moss dangling from the crumbling roof. I supposed it could still be considered beautiful, as all dead things were if you knew how to appreciate them.
The gazebo backed up to the edge of the swamp, where another set of stairs would take me to a small dock that my dad and I used to sit on while he painted in the evenings. We’d sit out there for hours, until the lightning bugs sparkled out over the glassy water and the stars twinkled overhead. Mom and Magnolia would sit under the gazebo drinking sweet tea, talking about boys, town gossip, and whatever upcoming social events they were excited about.
I leaned over the railing, bracing myself on my forearms as I stared out over that same glassy dark water, and suddenly, I had the strangest urge to fling myself over it and see what happened. I wouldn’t though. That would be too fucking easy.
Instead, I kicked off my shoes and braced a hand on the rotting wooden beam beside me and hoisted myself up until I was standing on the wrought iron railing. The cold wind whipped through my long white hair as I pulled a joint from my pocket and a lighter from the other, lighting it up as I balanced along the railing. Back and forth, I paced, sucking down the burning embers of smoke that made my head feel fuzzy—the way I liked it.
The water rippled, and I staggered at the noise. I caught myself on the beam as I teetered to the side, a laugh slipping past my lips as I dropped the rest of my weed into the swamp water.
“That one’s on the house…” I muttered at the ripple of water. I had more where that came from, so I hoped the fish enjoyed getting high as much as I did these days. I giggled to myself again as I continued to pace.
The water rippled again, louder this time. I paused, squinting into the darkness, just in case a gator decided to wander over, curious about the stranger who’d invaded its peaceful night. I didn’t see a gator though. I didn’t see anything really, and that was what sent a shiver down my spine.
It took a few seconds for me to realize what was wrong—there were no more lightning bugs, and the crickets had stopped chirping. Aside from the ripple in the black water, the swamp was utterly still and silent. Even the tree branches had stopped swaying.
Taste you…
I froze, blinking into the darkness, as a whispery voice wrapped around me. It was deeper than the usual voice in my head, the one that enjoyed telling me how worthless I was. No, this once was different.
More, more, more…
It was begging, its voice deep, rumbling, and desperate. I scanned the swamp, feeling a sense of dread race through my blood, but found nothing there except branches that were too still for the windy night. Still, the bugs were silent.
“Who’s there?!” I called out, my words raspy. I cleared my throat as I clutched the beam tighter, my nails chipping off the flaking paint. When no one answered, I called out again, because I just knew that the voice hadn’t been in my head. No, this one was something else. “I said who the fuck is there? Come out, cocksucker! If you think you can squat on my property then—Oof!” My foot slipped, and down I went. I hit the tepid water before I knew what was happening, getting a mouthful of it.
When my head crested the dark water, I sucked in a breath of air as low laughter carried towards me through dead air. The laughter was more of a chuckle, rolling and growly, as if the source had never created such a noise before. I looked around frantically. If someone was watching me, some vagrant squatting on my property, I was going to call 911 and get their asses…
Smells good too… I think I’ll have a bite…
The water rippled around me, splashing me in the face, and I yelped. This time, there was no doubt about it. There was someone in the water with me…or something? It’d finally happened—I was losing my fuking mind.
I clawed at the bank of the water, gripping a soggy log to hoist myself out. Something slimy swiped the sole of my foot, and I yelped again, jerking away from it. I cursed as I threw myself onto the mossy ground, falling backward as I crawled away from the water. Through the darkness, I could see movement just beneath the surface.
Could it be a gator? There were plenty of those around, especially after the house had fallen vacant for the last decade. I crawled to my knees, peering over the water to get a better look, knowing this was probably a stupid ass idea. Whatever had touched my foot hadn't felt like the scaly skin of a gator…not that I had much experience.
There… I sucked in a hissed breath as a dark shape rose out of the water. I blinked at the long, twisting…tentacle? What the fuck was happening?
It was sleek, black, and shiny, nearly blending in with the water’s surface, but it was undeniably a tentacle, and it was fucking massive. I fell backwards again when it moved and another tentacle joined it, undulating in the water like some kind of giant octopus. But that was nuts, right? There were no octopuses…octopi…in the swamps, right? What the hell was I thinking, of course there weren’t.
It took exactly two more seconds for another tentacle to rise out of the water, rapidly heading my way, before I scrambled to my feet and ran. There was no way I was about to become octopus food. That strange deep laughter rumbled behind me, so I ran faster. Maybe that weed had gone bad, or maybe some asshat had laced it with an extra something special, but whatever it was, I was getting the fuck away from it.
So I ran. I ran until I couldn't breathe, until that dark swamp was yards behind me, until the crickets resumed their song and the wind washed away the laughter that followed me all the way to the front door of my house.
* * *
That thing in the water
The pale hairwas what caught my eye in the darkness. It flowed down her equally pale shoulders of smooth supple skin, shining as if the moonlight had been ensnared in the strands. I licked my lips as I drew closer, letting the reeds and low hanging branches hide me.