Deep

Evie doesn't know it yet, but she's a Banshee. A Siren. A lady of the theoretic water. A curse was cast on her ancestors hundred of years ago, passing down from generation to generation which can only be cured by sacrificing true love.

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1. Evie

  I twisted and turned, rolled and rode the deep, dark current of the lake, unknown to me.  My hands grappled for something, anything, trying to grab hold of something solid, or to drag myself closer to the air which seemed perpetually just out of reach. 

 

But we don’t need air to breath in our dreams do we?

 

I gave my weightless body to the water, let the waves drag my limp vessel through the shadowy grey-blue mist.  My sight was blurred, hazy.  Vaguely familiar shapes rushed past, I rushed past them.  Branches.  Leaves.  Rocks.  A surge of panic rose in my chest and bubbled up through my throat.  Just as the fear was ready to burst from my lips, I heard her.  The voice growled through the water in a whisper lined with sweet malice.  The voice embodied the lake.  I was the lake.

 

 “No one can hear your screams under water.  Scream for me Evie!”  She hissed.

 

   I leapt forward in my bed as I gasped for air, a scream evaporating on my tongue.  My hand clutched the long silver chain of my necklace as the air rushed my lungs.  I scrambled for my thick, black glasses and dug my fingers into the mattress as my eyes darted around the bedroom.  I blinked with heavy lids as my sight merged back into vision; I focussed on my wardrobe doors spilling carelessly open, my television standby light – a beacon guiding my back to my senses.  A blanket lay draped across my mirror to ward away the ghosts of the night).  The antique white of my bedroom walls – to remind me not to get too comfortable - absorbed the dim morning light which seeped through the slats of the walnut, venetian blinds.  As every bit of me began to fall back into place, as my heart slowed to a steady rhythmic drum, my senses began to kick in.

   First, I felt cold.  I looked over at the swaying blinds, the window was open but that wasn’t it, I was cold through to my bones.  As I shuffled under the covers, as I began to slip back beneath the duvet into an early morning doze I felt a sensation that I had not expected.  I felt wet.  My pyjama bottoms sucked against my legs, cold and soaked through.  I looked down to find my pale green vest dark now, sodden.  I sat, frozen in place, soaking wet, through and through.  The fear that I had left behind in my dream suddenly felt real again and my body tensed like before the big drop on a roller coaster when you know the worse is still to come. 

   My groggy mind tried to piece together what was happening, but at the same time the only thing I could be sure of at that moment in time was that I wanted to get out of my bed.  That seemed to be the source of this mess and so I concentrated on that.  I threw back my duvet and a puddle of water splashed over the sides of my bed.  I swallowed a sob and tried to cry but my confusion and fear dried any tears – I didn’t even know what I would be crying about but I had been rudely woken to find myself soaking wet.  I was tired, I was uncomfortable, confused and a little scared.  A lump rose in my throat as I trembled. 

   I leaned over the side of my bed and stretched my leg out past the wet carpet – like that would make much difference, my feet were soaking anyway.  When my toes reached the floor I lunged across the puddle on the floor, trying to keep the cold, wet clothes from clinging to my skin. I held my arms up away from the rest of my body and walked with my legs as far apart as possible.

   I scrutinised the ceiling, looking for a wet patch.  Nothing.  No discolouration. No holes.  No water.  No explanation.  I tiptoed with my knees pointing outwards, cowboy style, around the soggy bed looking for God knows what.  The breeze that filtered through the window caught my back as I crouched to look in the space beneath the bed frame.  An overnight bag and some books.  Nothing unusual there.

   Black spots spread before my eyes as I stood back upright and I leaned against the windowsill as the blood drained from my head.  As I stood against the wall I surveyed the rest of the bare and sterile room.  I was suddenly aware of a deep frown setting on my forehead as the reflection of my watery eyelashes bounced back into my eye line.  I felt a soreness in my hand as I pressed against the sill, nothing too painful but a heat that drew my attention.  I turned over my fists, a purple, dashed, line engraved on the anaemic skin of my palms and four little semicircles ran from the base of my thumb to my wrist on both hands.  I curled my fingers in, slowly, to ball my hands but this time I watched with disproportionate fascination as my finger nails fell into the semi-circle dents.  I felt my lips pout - as they do when I concentrate - as I pulled my necklace up to eye line, twisting the heavy chain and holding the links against the dotted line on my palm.  I exhaled, sharply when the chain fell in line with the deep purple line that marred the fleshy pad. 

     With no obvious explanation for my soggy state, or the strain that my body seemed to suggest I was under, I resigned to perplexity and rationality took over as I proceeded to haul my sheets off the bed.  As I did, a familiar, fresh, smell escaped from the cotton but I couldn’t quite place it.

   After I tossed my sheets into the washing machine, I came back upstairs and ran the shower.  The house was still, as the night crept silently away and the Bradleys snored blissfully into the peaceful ignorance of sleep. 

   As I waited for the water to heat up I examined my long, unfinished body in the mirror overhanging the sink as I usually did.  I sucked in my tummy and pushed out my barely there’s.  I brushed a hand over the fine, soft stubble on my head, its growing back, I notice. My green eyes were pinkish and sore.

   As I twirled one last time, I caught a glimpse of an unfamiliar red mark on my reflections back.  I slowed and squinted over my shoulder into the mirror as a long red scratch stretched from my right shoulder blade to the middle of my spine.  A burning pain that I hadn’t even realised was there, suddenly tore through my flesh.

   “Ahh.”  I hissed through clenched my teeth as my fingers ran over the sore patch.  “Seriously?”  I asked myself.  My mind couldn’t contend with the gaps in reality, the gaps which my mind’s eye couldn’t fill so I tucked the thought into a mental pocket for later.  I stepped into the therapeutic drum of the waterfall and washed the pain and the confusion down the drain.

   As I rinsed, a forgotten burden suddenly sprang into mind.  College.  My first day.  What a great way to start.

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