Content Warning: This is a paranormal horror story depicting violence against a child. I didn’t make it graphic, but it’s still enough to warrant a trigger warning. Reader discretion is advised.

 

I remember everything.

A small frog swam through the reeds and disappeared into the viridian green abyss. They say this place hasn’t changed since prehistoric times. I wasn’t alive in the 1800s when the KKK brought people out here for lynchings. Or in the 60s when hippies danced naked here, making love and communing with nature.

My only memories of this place as a girl were with Josh. His wild blond hair floated around his sunburned face like golden brillow. We held hands and wandered down one of the trails to smoke a joint. A bullfrog and crickets provided the soundtrack for our first kiss.

That summer seemed to go on forever. Mom and dad were gone a lot, working overtime for our trip to Hawaii to celebrate their anniversary. Josh and I were practically inseparable. They say a fourteen year old can’t really know what love is. The feeling I got when his hair brushed against me, and the weakness in my knees when I looked into his brown puppy dog eyes–that was love.

The fair marks the end of summer. I was going to be a freshman in high school. A lot of people were outraged about the swimming pool they put in at the school, pissed that their tax dollars were wasted so teens could swim laps and do water aerobics in gym class. It was something I dreaded, because I didn’t want other kids seeing me in a bathing suit. But I had no problem being in a bathing suit, and less, in front of Josh. We would park in the woods at the place the adults used to call bare ass beach, and lay in the sun, passing a bowl or a bottle back and forth.

He couldn’t come with me to the fair that night because he just started working at Checkers. We made plans to go later that week.

I spend my days wandering over this land now, missing the feeling of cool grass under my feet and mud collecting between my toes. The sun caught my red cat’s eye anklet on fire. My mom brought it back for me when she went to Boston for work. I hadn’t taken it off since. She gave my sister Misty a green one to match her eyes.

Sunsets are so beautiful here. I hover over the bottomless jewel toned pools and watch the ducks and geese swim. The occasional swan shows up, spreading her massive wings as she glides through the muck, parting it like a white blade and leaving chevron ripples behind her.

In the summer the hunters show up with camo facepaint, their guns loaded and ready to pop the first deer they see. The guys who paddle their canoes through the water are more concerned with relaxing and drinking a few cold ones than they are with catching fish. My dad and grandpa always used to say a bad day of fishing is better than a good day at work.

I rode the zipper with Misty at the fair, and didn’t let her see me laugh at how scared she was. We got giant funnel cakes and fried snickers bars. It was the first year Mom and dad let us walk around by ourselves. I thought I was hot shit, leading my little sister around like a service animal. When she insisted on riding the carousel and I said no, we argued for the first time in months. I called her a brat and she called me a bitch. I stood there speechless. It was the first time I heard her cuss.

Mom and Dad were in the grandstand watching some country singer I’d never heard of. I felt no guilt over walking away. I looked back and saw her in line for the carousel. At first I was glad to be rid of her for the night. Now I could ride what I want, talk to who I want, and go where I want. We’d catch up with Mom and dad later.

Amidst the sea of colorful vendor tents and rides with flashing lights and loud techno music, I started to feel sad. I wandered back to the carousel after an hour, in the unrealistic hope that she’d still be there waiting. The concert had ended, so I didn’t know where Mom and dad were, either.

I’ve heard people say they paged me three times that night in the following few weeks when I was all anyone could talk about. So many people said the same thing, “I was at the fair that night, too.”

I should have walked to Checkers, where Josh was. Going up Knox avenue would have put me in a different part of town.

I was so relieved when my next door neighbor, Joe, offered me a ride. I’d been hugging myself in the chilly september evening. He said he had to get cigarettes, so I wasn’t scared at all when he turned the wrong way. I didn’t start to get scared until he neared the end of Booker street. My heart sped up as we passed the huge yellow FastWay sign. “DIdn’t you want to get cigarettes? We just passed the FastWay.”

He grinned. There was nothing behind his eyes.

He lived with his elderly parents. They had two Chihuahuas named Spike and Killer. They paid me to feed them when they went on vacation last summer. He would sit on the porch with us and talk sports with my Dad during football season.

He parked somewhere by railroad tracks. It was dark by now, and I heard a train go by. I kept my eyes closed tight, tears pooling around them. His sweat dripped onto me, and his grunts sounded like someone gagging.

I tried to think about the fun we would have in Hawaii. Misty and I will get new clothes and swimsuits for the trip. We’ll wear leis and learn the hula. Mom and Dad might even let me have a few sips of their tropical drinks with chunks of fruit floating in them.

His hot breath reeked. I tried to turn away when he kissed me.

“If you take me home I won’t say anything, I promise,” I pleaded.

He didn’t answer.

I kept my hands on the door handle, hoping for an opportunity to jump out if he stopped at a red light. I could escape like the girl who inspired that Nirvana song, Polly.

I watched my green house with large yard mushrooms go by. It was hard to see through my tears. He did this on purpose. He wanted me to think I was going home unharmed. Why?

The car wasn’t in the driveway and the house was dark. They were out looking for me. Mom was probably crying. Maybe Dad, too. They were probably asking Misty over and over where she saw me last.

My body was scattered here, in pieces. My cat’s eye anklet still glinted when they pulled my leg out of a shallow pool. He said the voices told him to do it, and then refused to show them where he hid all the parts of me. The cops came and retrieved what they could. Mom collapsed to the ground, screaming “Not my baby! Not my baby!” Dad’s expression didn’t change while tears streamed down his face, catching in his beard. Misty sat next to mom and held onto her.

Twenty years have passed. My feet don’t touch the ground anymore. My family never went to Hawaii. I never started high school. I never spent another day in the sun with Josh. I didn’t get to be a bridesmaid in Misty’s wedding. I never got to drive a car or go to the Prom.

Everyone says the wetlands are haunted. I’m not the only lost one out here. This beautiful emerald water is full of bodies and secrets. Occasionally I come across another like me. We touch without touching. We speak with silence.

Joe bled to death in prison from an anorectal injury. I watch over the wetlands while that son of a bitch burns in hell.

They held a memorial for me in the grandstand at the fairgrounds, the same place my parents were the night I died. Bagpipers played Amazing Grace. Most of the town showed up, crying and holding candles in my honor. Now, most of them have forgotten all about me.

But I remember everything.

Author’s Note:

Thanks for reading! Follow me on twitter at: https://x.com/Valkrane

Like my author page on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61569818831489

Or, buy me a coffee: https://buymeacoffee.com/valkrane

The image above was created with DALL-E, in the future when life slows down a bit, I plan to use my own art for these stories. But for now, this works.

Thanks for reading.

V.