Bryana knew the moment we pulled into the driveway—I saw it in her eyes. The house was a little over our price range, but not so much as it was out of the question. Victorian isn’t really my cup of tea, but even I couldn’t ignore the rustic charm of the place. Even the efflorescence on the brick siding felt endearing. A small balcony overlooked the considerable front lawn now lightly covered in fresh snow.
“It’s perfect,” Bryana breathed in excitement, pulling her jacket tighter around her slender frame.
“Don’t you want to look inside first?” John, the realtor, chuckled. Or was it Josh? He waddled after us in a suit that was far too tight on his portly frame, buttons looking as though they’d burst at any moment. His oily forehead reflected an afternoon sun that offered no warmth.
“Nope.” Bryana threw her head back and laughed. I can’t remember the last time I’d heard her laugh. It hadn’t just been the baby I lost when Bryana miscarried. Some part of her died along with it. We needed a change. A fresh start.
John was excitedly prattling on about the origins of the home, built in the 1800’s, and all of the professional remodeling the last few owners had done on the place. His voice faded into a drone as we walked the property. Bryana seemed to have thoroughly encouraged him with her excitement, and now he simply would not stop talking. They were both excitedly discussing some hypothetical garden that she’d plant as we walked to the back yard, shoes crunching on the frozen earth.
I couldn’t help but grin when we cleared the decorative shrubbery lining the perimeter of the home. I’ve never owned an in-ground pool before, and this one was big.
A black tarp covered the entirety of it. I laid on the ground and tried to peek under a flap of the thick plastic but the shadows were too dark, I couldn’t see anything. I could hear the gentle lap of water and smell the poignant chlorine. And there was something else… something deep below the surface.
“I really do love this house.” I gasped, snapping my head around to see Bryana standing right over me, John looking a bit awkward as he glanced at me awkwardly.
“Ah, sorry. I was just…” What was I doing, exactly? “Let’s check out the rest of the place.”
...…
We moved in the following month.
Bryana had gone up to bed early that night. The shrimp lo mein takeout wasn’t agreeing with her stomach. I wanted to get a little more unpacking done, so I bid her goodnight and set to work.
Have you ever experienced a silence that is so profound it’s actually loud? Well, that was my new living room as I unpacked my DVD collection. I was used to living in the city—police sirens warbling, the comforting drone of steady traffic mingled with honking horns… I wasn’t used to quiet. Not this quiet. It was unnerving.
I tip-toed out to the kitchen, sure that pouring myself a glass of water would wake Bryana all the way up in the second floor bedroom.
I stopped at the fridge, a slight tingle running up my spine.
We have these colorful alphabet letter magnets ever since we were dating. We’d oftentimes have conflicting shifts at our jobs, so we’d leave immature messages for one another when one of us was at work.
I stared at the bright, colorful letters curiously.
YOU CANT SWIM
I guessed it was some joke from Bryana about my apparent obsession with the pool last month, when we first looked at the place and I was lying face-down in the dirt to see under the tarp. I didn’t really get it, and I felt a little creeped out by the whole thing. I didn’t see her unpacking the magnets, or even in the kitchen for that matter.
I wiped my hand across the letters, scattering them across the face of the refrigerator, as I used to when greeted with the customary messages of “F U,” or “DOUCHEBAG.”
Glass of water forgotten, I went back out to the living room to resume the monotonous unpacking of box after box.
It was a few hours later when I hit the sack, and I really passed out. Moving is tiring work.
I don’t remember dreaming. My eyes snapped open in the middle of the night, the urge to vomit overwhelming me, and I couldn’t breathe. I stumbled to our bathroom and barely got the lid of the toilet up before I hurled all over the place. My eyes burned and watered as I retched.
I guess my pork fried rice wasn’t much better than Bry’s lo mein.
My stomach convulsed as I dry heaved and retched, acutely aware that my lungs felt full. I continued to cough and sputter. I rested my head on my forearm as I caught my breath—and that’s when I smelled it. The burning stench of chlorine. It was coming from the toilet. I looked down and saw only water in the toilet bowl—I’d vomited pool water.
I slipped on a puddle on the floor, and stumbled over to the bed.
“We have to leave,” I coughed, “something’s wrong. Bry!”
I couldn’t see anything in the dark room. My hand wildly slid up and down the wall, searching for a light switch.
I finally found it, squinting against the sudden harsh light. My eyes slowly blurred into focus to see an empty bed.
“Bryana!” I yelled, the words echoing across the still and silent home. No response. “Bry!” Pool chemicals burned my throat, the words hoarse and choked.
I ran downstairs, taking two at a time. I didn’t remember leaving the lights on, but they all burned brightly, nearly blinding me. “Bryana!” I was screaming now, trying to remember where I’d left my cell phone so I could call 911.
I stopped at the kitchen.
BRY CANT SWIM
The colorful words were playfully arranged as though a child had placed them. The oranges, pinks, and greens terrified me in a way that I cannot begin to describe. As I stood there staring at the refrigerator, hair standing on end, scarcely breathing—the rear motion light flicked on.
I turned my head slowly, willing my eyes to stay open. The pool was illuminated, black cover still tightly affixed. A light snow had begun to fall, blanketing the cover and patio. Under other circumstances it would have looked almost peaceful.
The tarp was slightly elevated at the center of the pool. There was something under it.
Something that looked suspiciously like a slender, floating body.
I ran outside, a frigid blast of winter air taking the breath from my lungs.
“Bry!” I screamed. No answer.
I yanked and pulled at the cover in agony. My fingers ripped in agony as I struggled, one nail breaking off completely as blood blossomed in the fresh snow. The tarp was secured so tightly I couldn’t budge it.
Tears ran down my cheeks as I screamed at the cloudless night sky.
I sat heavily in the snow, bringing my knees to my chest. I was paralyzed with fear. A soft scratching emanated from the open door leading into the kitchen. A sinister sort of shifting, as if you’d slide an alphabet letter magnet across the refrigerator. I heard a muffled slam as some door inside the house slammed shut.
Something in my mind broke along with that door slamming, and I ran barefoot through the snow. I didn’t stop running.
Submitted June 24, 2016 at 08:53AM by epaulfiction http://ift.tt/28QLFP6 nosleep
No comments:
Post a Comment