Darkness is her friend. Isolation is her enemy. Water drips with the methodic ticking of a metronome, the steady rhythm echoing in her ears. She tries to scream, but the sounds are gone. They hide in her throat, slipping long flesh-caked claws into the ridges of her voice box.
Shifting waves – from an imaginary wind – reflect escape. The window to home. She peers down into murky shadows, sees herself in bed.
The lake holds her back. Drowning is a family curse.
She skirts the edges of the lake, her toes digging into clammy, dead sand. A wriggling blob slips across her toes. Silent creatures move on. She paces, her flighty footsteps switching from nimble to dense. The patterns on the sand imply a multitude of life. There is no life here. Just a miasma of death.
I can’t. I can’t. Her mind is racing. Her legs are pacing. There’s no end to the madness.
A rustle in the trees, soft and haunting. Keys rattle in the distance. A woosh of wind. A thud. She crashes into liquid death.
—
Jangling keys buzz in her ears. “Didn’t you sleep well, dear?”
She looks to the left. Instead of her mother, she sees the creature from the lake.
Copyright © 2015 by Emily Clayton
Originally appeared on Flash!Friday:
https://flashfriday.wordpress.com/2015/05/01/flash-friday-vol-3-21/#comment-34215
Emily Clayton 