Disclaimer: Characters are Stephanie Meyers, plot is my own.
Song for the Chapter: Drowning Pool - Bodies
El Chaval De La Bachata - Me Voy De Ti
Jorja Smith - Make Sense
Chapter 23
LPOV(&Florence)
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My bare feet pounded against the uneven ground, each step sending sharp pain shooting up my legs. The rough terrain tore at my soles—jagged stones, knotted roots, and the damp, unforgiving earth. Every strike of my feet against the earth felt like a punishment, but I couldn't stop. I couldn't slow down. The rhythmic thud of my heartbeat echoed in my ears, the pain in my feet almost a dull roar compared to the terror clawing at my chest.
I leaped over fallen branches, the sharp sting of splinters embedding themselves in my skin as I rushed past them. I dodged thick underbrush that scraped across my legs, leaving behind trails of red marks and bruises, but none of that mattered. I had to get to him. I had to find Richard.
When I finally came to a stop, my legs gave way beneath me, and I collapsed onto the cold ground. My chest heaved, gasping for air as the dizziness overcame me. My head spun, the world tilting like a carousel I couldn't control. It took me a moment to realize I'd veered too far off course, the path to the treehouse lost in the chaos of my frantic flight. Panic flooded me, suffocating me as I scrambled to my feet, my legs trembling, unsteady beneath me. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. I had to find him. I had to find the treehouse before they did.
Every step felt like a battle against time, each footfall a desperate plea to escape the suffocating fear in my chest. My heart thudded loudly, painfully, in my chest as I struggled to keep my bearings, my mind spinning in circles. I prayed under my breath, the words slipping out like a broken chant, desperate and raw.
"Please save my baby. Please save my baby."
The lantern shook in my trembling hands, its light flickering erratically as I doubled back, fighting through the thick underbrush that seemed to have grown tenfold. My bare feet scraped and bruised against the unforgiving ground. The rocks cut into my soles, the sharp stones digging in deeper with each step, but I didn't care. Nothing mattered but getting to him.
When the treehouse finally came into view, a knot of dread formed in my gut, tightening painfully. The sight of the fire still flickering in the woodstove should have been comforting, but instead, it only intensified the fear gnawing at my insides. The stillness that surrounded it felt wrong, like maybe he wasn't there. My breath hitched in my throat as I looked around, scanning for any sign of movement, but the silence swallowed everything.
I tried comforting myself with the thought that maybe he'd been sleeping peacefully.
We'd built that treehouse together—the kids and I. It had been a labor of love, every nail hammered with care, every board meticulously measured. The summer had been long and scorching, the days filled with laughter and exhaustion as we worked from dawn till dusk. Jack had even come by on weekends when Michael would be gone to lend a hand, his own rough hands bloodied and calloused from the work. By the end of it, our hands had been raw, splintered, and sore, but we were so proud of what we had created.
That was years ago. Back when it wasn't so intense, before everything changed. That was around the time Jack had started showing up more often, offering to help with odd jobs.
I climbed the ladder, each step sending a fresh wave of pain through my battered feet, and yet I didn't stop. Each rung felt like it might be my last, each movement like a slow, torturous reminder of how much I was losing with every passing moment. At the top, I shoved open the small door, the lantern light spilling into the cramped space, casting long shadows that made the room feel even more suffocating. My eyes darted around, searching, praying for a sign that he was there.
"Richard?" My voice cracked, the words barely escaping my lips. They trembled with a raw mix of hope and fear.
There was no answer. Just the sound of my erratic breath, jagged and rushed, spilling from my nose in sharp, uneven gasps. My chest ached, tight and constricted. The pain in my feet, now a distant throb, seemed insignificant compared to the weight of what I was fearing.
The treehouse was empty.
The bed was disheveled, the quilt and wool sheet tangled in a careless heap at the foot of the mattress. The plate of food I had left earlier sat abandoned, the crumbs scattered across the wooden surface. The basket of bread was nearly emptied, a few nibbles remaining on one piece, as though he'd eaten in haste, or not at all. The sight hit me like a blow to the gut.
My breath caught, and a sudden, sharp pain sliced through my chest, as though my heart had been torn in two.
They'd gotten to him.
I sagged against the doorframe, unable to keep the realization from pressing its full weight on me. I should have known. Should have been faster. Should have done more.
I'd figured they'd known where he was all along, but I clung to the hope that they hadn't acted yet. That I had time. Foolish hope, I realized now, tasting the bitterness of my naivety.
I had hidden him here out of desperation, too unsure of what was to come, too overwhelmed to think clearly. Michael's erratic behavior had been a storm brewing for months, a violent cycle of rage and alcohol that Richard often bore the brunt of. How many times had I watched Michael drag him by the collar to the barn, clenched like a trap, his intentions terrifyingly unclear?
The treehouse was meant to be our sanctuary. We'd built it in secret—the kids and I—hammering together planks of wood scavenged from the shed. Jack had helped install the tiny wood stove. It had been carefully installed to keep the space warm on colder nights. Michael had no part in it, no knowledge of its existence. It had been my last refuge, my desperate attempt to keep Richard safe.
And yet, it hadn't been enough.
I dropped down the rope ladder, skipping the last few rungs and landing hard on the ground. Panic surged through me, but I forced myself into motion. My legs moved of their own accord, my steps starting in a sprint but slowing as fear seeped into my limbs, making them feel like lead. My breath came in short, ragged bursts, and I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, as if holding my trembling frame together.
The forest, once a playground of laughter and discovery, now loomed over me, dark and over bearing. The towering trees felt like prison bars, their twisted branches closing in above, blocking out what little light the lantern gave. Each step was heavy, my bare feet sinking into the cold damp earth. The familiar trails where we'd built forts and played hide-and-seek now felt foreign and hostile, the underbrush too dense, the air too thick.
I tried to focus on my footing, every cautious step sinking slightly into the terrain, uneven and slightly jagged from rocks and organic matter. My ears strained for any sound beyond the rustling leaves, listening for something—anything—that might guide me to him. My nerves unraveled with every passing moment, my thoughts spinning in a chaotic whirl.
Maybe he ran for it?
I hoped that he had.
I was soothed slightly by the thought that my girls were safe, but the feeling was fleeting as the moments ticked on. The longer I walked throughout with no sight of my boy, the more helpless I felt.
When I reached the edge of a random clearing, my steps faltered. The trees thinned out ahead, giving way to an open space bathed in an eerie, diffused light. I stopped short, crouching low to avoid being seen, my heart hammering against my ribs. I dimmed the lantern.
And then I saw it.
The scene before me made my breath catch in my throat. I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp, my pulse roaring in my ears as I stared, frozen in place. The lantern trembled in my grip, the glow of its flame barely enough to illuminate the shadows stretching before me.
This was not what I had expected.
Before me stood a grotesque tableau: a circle of people in dark cloaks surrounded a wooden table layered with hay, something large and lumpy resting atop it under a white cloth. Behind them loomed a crude statue, cobbled together with mud and twigs. Its jagged shape tugged at something in my memory.
They hummed in eerie unison, a deep, resonant sound that reverberated through the clearing. My stomach clenched as one of the figures began to speak, their voice low and commanding.
"For if you do not draw the sacred seal, it will deceive you, lie to you."
The others responded as one: "And the truth shall bind the flesh."
The figure continued, "For in our offering, the tether is forged, and the gate is opened."
"And the truth shall bind the flesh."
I watched, frozen, sweat streaming down my face as their chant rose and fell like a dark tide. My mind raced. Michael must have checked the door earlier, assumed I was still asleep when he found it locked. That might have been the only reason they hadn't discovered me yet.
For now, I could only watch, my breath shallow, as the ritual continued, their voices blending into a malevolent harmony.
One of the cloaked figures turned toward the woods where I crouched, and my heart seized. He held a cane topped with a serpent figurine, its twisted shape glinting dully in the firelight. With deliberate movements, he knelt and began pressing the tip of the cane into the ground.
The figure carved an elaborate spiral that unfurled outward, like the segments of a nautilus shell, before surrounding it with jagged triangles. Each triangle pointed inward, forming a jagged sunburst around the spiral. Intersecting lines slashed through the shapes, creating a maze of runes and sigils that pulsed with eerie intent under the dim glow of their lanterns.
"The body must be desecrated, then buried, unmarked," the resounding voice intoned.
The words struck like a blow, and my stomach churned violently. A horrifying realization settled over me like a suffocating weight: my boy—he was probably under that sheet.
Disbelief clawed at my mind, but it couldn't shield me from the truth. My husband… he had done this. He had chosen this. The very thought made me recoil, a sickening wave of revulsion washing over me. How could the man I once trusted, the father of my children, commit something so vile, so beyond forgiveness?
I was appalled. Repelled. My mama always taught us to hold our tongues and never stoop to foul language, but Lord help me—this man had truly fucked us all. My fury boiled, my hands shaking as I grappled with the enormity of his betrayal.
To think he could do this to his own son.
The thought ignited something deep within me, a blazing fire that burned through the shock and disbelief. I couldn't let this stand. I wouldn't.
I had to act.
I crawled along the perimeter of the clearing, careful not to snap any twigs or disturb the underbrush. Their humming and chants provided just enough cover for me to get close. My fingers clutched the lantern tighter, the weight of it grounding me in the suffocating panic.
When I was close enough, I turned up the flame and hurled the lantern with all the strength I could muster. It shattered against one of the cloaked figures standing at the edge of the circle, the glass breaking with a sharp crack. Flames erupted, clinging greedily to the figure's fabric, spreading in seconds.
Chaos broke loose. The robed deviants scrambled toward the burning figure, shouts and cries echoing through the clearing. Some darted frantically around the table, others fumbled with dirt and cloaks to smother the flames.
Their carefully orchestrated ritual dissolved into panic, giving me my chance.
Some of them began scanning the woods, their eyes darting toward the direction the lantern had come from.
Using the chaos as cover, I circled to the opposite side of the clearing, slipping through the dense underbrush. My breath hitched as I crouched, my heart hammering against my ribs. I pressed my back against the crude statue, its jagged edges biting into me, but I didn't dare move.
Peeking around the edge, I saw my chance. The cultists were still preoccupied with the fire and the burning figure.
I'd take the chance any day.
Without hesitating, I spun around the wooden effigy and lunged for the table, gripping the edge of the white sheet. With one desperate pull, I yanked it free.
There he was—my boy.
My throat tightened at the sight of him, his tall, fragile body so still. But there was no time to linger.
In one swift motion, I scooped him into my arms, cradling him close. His weight was a comfort, a reminder that I had him.
Then I hightailed it out of there.
Branches tore at my arms, the cold bite of the earth stinging my bare feet with every pounding step. Rocks and brambles sliced into my skin, but the adrenaline coursing through me dulled the pain. All that mattered was putting distance between us and the nightmare behind.
Behind me, I could hear Michael's voice, sharp and commanding, cutting through the chaos. He was calling my name.
I blocked him out. Every gasp of air burned my lungs, but I didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Not until we were safe.
"I'm gonna get you outta here," I gasped, each word a ragged promise as my breath tore from my chest. I ran until my lungs burned and my legs felt like they would give out.
When I finally broke through the tree line onto the property, I hesitated, scanning the familiar terrain. My first instinct was to keep running—to head for town, to put as much distance between us and Michael as possible. But town was an hour away on foot, maybe more. We still wouldn't be able to get out fast enough.
We wouldn't make it.
And Michael... he would find us. Lord only knows, his posse might have a motor car or two waiting just at the start of the road.
Desperate, I made a decision. I sprinted for the barn, my mind racing. Inside, I found a loose section of the wall, its planks warped and brittle. I worked quickly, frantically prying one of the boards loose with trembling hands.
I held my boy close, pressing my cheek to his one last time. My broken sobs came in short, frantic bursts as I whispered prayers I wasn't sure anyone would hear.
He was so still.
I reached for the old wool bag we used to haul rice, tears blurring my vision as I tucked him inside. He fit perfectly, like he was meant to be protected there.
I kissed his soft cheek once more, the warmth of his skin still lingering beneath my lips, and tied the bag shut.
He was already gone. Twelve years and I have failed him miserably.
Grief threatened to rip me apart, but I forced myself to keep going. I slid the bag into the hollow space behind the wall and pressed the board back into place. My hands trembled violently as I worked, sealing him away.
When it was done, I collapsed to my knees, my chest heaving as silent sobs wracked my body. I wanted to scream, to tear the whole barn down with my bare hands.
But there was no time.
Michael was coming.
As I pushed myself to stand, an immense pressure slammed into the back of my head. Pain burst through my skull, and a blinding white light exploded across my vision, consuming everything.
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I awoke sprawled uncomfortably on the parlor floor. My head pounded like a drum, and my vision blurred, refusing to focus. Panic clawed at me as I struggled to sit up, only to collapse back down twice before finally managing to push myself upright. My breath came in short gasps as I rubbed the back of my hand across my mouth.
Blood.
The sight of it on my hand sent a wave of nausea rolling through me. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to focus as flashes of memory crashed into me like a storm.
Richard.
My boy. Oh, good God in heaven, where is my boy?
The thought barely formed when the front door slammed open with a force that rattled the walls. My head jerked toward the sound, my vision still hazy but clearing just enough to see Michael stumbling inside through the brightness outside. His laughter echoed through the room, jagged and cruel, like nails dragging across my skin.
Something snapped inside me.
My blood boiled, every ache in my body drowned by the surge of adrenaline coursing through me. I clenched my fists, the taste of iron still lingering in my mouth, and glared at him with a fury that burned hotter than any pain I'd felt.
"Where is he?" I demanded, my voice hoarse but filled with fire.
Michael barely acknowledged me, his laughter tapering into a mocking smirk as he swayed on his feet. The man I'd once trusted, once loved, stood before me now as a stranger—a monster.
I rose to my feet, every nerve in my body screaming in protest, but I didn't care. I wouldn't care until I got my son back.
"Where is he?!" I repeated as my voice cracked, raw and desperate as I stood there. My fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms. My eyes blazing with a fury that barely masked the grief tearing me apart. For I knew the truth.
Michael didn't flinch. His clam, detached expression only made my anger boil hotter. "Gone, Florence," he slurred flatly, his tone devoid of remorse for what he's done to our son. "You're too late."
My knees buckled at his words, but I forced myself to stay upright, my voice rising with the weight of my heartbreak. "You're a monster! A burden of a man!"
Michael's face darkened, his jaw tightening as he stepped toward me, his looming presence suffocating. "You'll wait a few days for the swelling to go down," he said coldly, his voice sharp and deliberate. "Then you're going to pick up the girls. And you will not speak of this."
I shook my head, trembling, tears streaming down my face. "How could you—"
His hand shot out before I could finish, the slap cracking through the room like a gunshot. Pain exploded across my cheek, whipping my head to the side. I stumbled, clutching the doorframe for balance as the taste of iron bloomed in my mouth.
Michael loomed over me, his voice low and venomous. "And if you do," he hissed, "the repercussions for all of you will be great."
I glared up at him through my tears, my breath hitching as rage boiled under my grief. I wanted to scream, to fight back, but the weight of the truth—the sheriff was his friend, the cult's power suffocating our lives—crushed me. I couldn't win.
Not yet.
Hatred churned in my chest, deeper and darker than I'd ever felt. I loathed this man with every fiber of my being, loathed him more than I thought it was possible to loathe anyone.
Michael spat on the floor beside me, his contempt cutting deep, before turning on his heel. He stormed out the front door, his boots heavy against the floorboards. "I'm goin' out," he barked, the words echoing in the hollow silence of the house.
The door slammed shut with a violent thud, making me jump. Alone now, I crumbled to the floor, my tears falling freely as the emptiness of the house swallowed me whole. The walls seemed to echo with memories, mocking me with their stillness. The life I had once clung to felt distant, slipping further away with each heartbeat.
Time passed in a blur. The weight in my chest made it hard to breathe, let alone think. Eventually, I found myself outside, my movements mechanical as I made my way to the barn. My heart sank as I checked the hollow wall where I'd last hidden my baby. It was empty, the cruel void staring back at me. Michael had even made a point to leave it that way—a deliberate reminder of his control.
With nothing left to hold onto, I forced myself into the motions of feeding the animals. Each task felt detached, like my body was moving on autopilot while my mind frayed at the edges. The pigs squealed indifferently, the chickens pecked without pause, and the horse, August, glanced at me with unreadable eyes. By the end, my hands were raw, and I was left hollow, my reflection in the trough water barely recognizable.
Later, my stomach was swallowing itself, I did manage to force down a stale piece of bread, though the taste was lost on me. But the stillness of the house, the pressure of the silence pressing down on my shoulders, became unbearable. I needed to move—to escape the suffocating grip of despair threatening to drown me.
Wandering into the woods, the towering trees offered little comfort. Their cold, indifferent canopy loomed overhead, their shadows long and shifting with the fading light. My legs carried me aimlessly, crunching leaves underfoot as tears slipped down my cheeks. At times, I cried quietly, the sound swallowed by the vastness around me. Other times, bitter laughter broke free, sharp and jarring, at the sheer absurdity of it all.
Hours seemed to pass before I stumbled into a clearing. The light was dim, twilight's grasp tugging the world into darkness. Collapsing onto the cold ground, I hugged my knees tightly to my chest. The earth was damp beneath me, the chill seeping through my thin dress.
My whispers turned to prayers—pleas for guidance, resolution, or even just an end to this ceaseless torment. But the wind carried them away, scattering my words like ash.
A sudden rustling snapped me from my haze. My head shot up, my breath catching as my eyes darted toward the trees. The shadows seemed to ripple unnaturally, shapes shifting just beyond the edges of my vision.
Another sound—the crunch of leaves underfoot.
The wind picked up, sharp and biting, carrying with it a faint whisper that prickled the back of my neck. My heart thundered, every instinct on edge. Slowly, I rose to my feet, my body trembling as I scanned the shadows.
Then, the rustling grew louder, closer. My hands clenched into fists as I took a hesitant step back, my gaze fixed on the darkened edge of the clearing.
And that's when I saw him.
He strode toward me with an unnatural patience, his impossibly tall figure casting a shadow that stretched unnervingly long under the fading light of the sunset. My breath hitched, my hands trembling as I wiped at my tear-streaked face. My heart thundered in my chest with each deliberate step he took. His head tilted slightly to one side as he took me in. His eyes didn't move, but it felt like he was studying me.
When he spoke, his voice was smooth and deep, laced with a Southern drawl that sent a chill coursing through my spine.
"In need of some assistance, are ya', ma'am?" he asked, his tone casual, almost polite, yet dripping with something far darker.
I looked up at him, my breath hitching. He appeared to be an older gentleman, dressed in a loose-fitting brown sack coat with a matching waistcoat and trousers. A derby hat sat atop his head, and his dark skin seemed to shimmer in the light.
"The only assistance I need is from an angel," I stammered, though my voice trembled with fear.
His lips curved into a faint smile, a shadow of amusement crossing his face. "What if I told you I am an angel?"
"Get away from me," I muttered, forcing the words out even as dread coiled in my gut like a snake ready to strike.
He didn't move. Which had me on edge.
So I did.
Like a bat outta hell, I ran back to the house, slamming the doors shut behind me and fumbling with the latch until it clicked securely into place. My breaths came in shallow bursts as I pressed my back against the door, willing my heart to steady.
I busied myself, washing my face at the basin, scrubbing harder than necessary as if to erase the weight of his presence. The cool water offered little relief. Dabbing my face dry with a small towel, I paused, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling. It felt as though eyes were on me, unblinking and relentless.
Moving cautiously through the house, I couldn't shake the sensation of being watched. Michael was still gone, likely not returning until maybe tonight, but the thought brought no comfort.
I saw him again—or rather, he found me—in the yard as I was gathering more wood for the fire. I was caught off guard. I could hear August, our horse, neighing and galloping across the field in the opposite direction. The two pigs we kept were squealing in the distance. My heart skipped a beat, and I almost stumbled, but I steadied myself and stood my ground.
"What do you want?" I demanded, almost annoyed. My voice sharp despite the unease gnawing at my chest. The tension in the air made every breath feel heavier. My clenched fists trembled slightly, betraying the fear I was trying to suppress.
His dark eyes glinted, ancient and knowing, that didn't belong to this world.
"I want to help you," he said, his tone slow, deliberate, as if each word carried a hidden meaning. "I see the bruises, no matter how you try to hide them. I see them all."
The air grew heavier, oppressive, pressing against my chest like a vise. My throat tightened. "Why help me?" The question rasped out of me, raw and ragged.
His lips curled into a thin smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Desperate times call for desperate measures," he drawled, taking a single, measured step closer. "Your husband and his friends—they woke me up. But don't make no mistake: I ain't nobody's po' boy."
His words lingered in the cold air, carrying a menace I couldn't ignore.
"Got a name?" I asked cautiously, taking a step back as the weight of his presence bore down on me.
He smiled faintly, almost amused. "I am nameless," he said simply, as though it were fact.
"Everything and everybody got a name," I countered, my tone hard despite the fraying of my nerves.
"I am a friend."
"Well, hell, all my friends got names." I narrowed my eyes, suspicion cutting through my fear.
His smile widened, haunting in its emptiness. "Lago."
The name felt foreign, wrong, like it wasn't meant to be spoken aloud.
"What do you need from me?" I asked, the wariness in my voice betraying my uncertainty.
"A plea for your bargain," he replied, his voice smooth as velvet. Though his words confused me, which I was sure he could sense. "For the death of your boy. He took him away, didn't he? Didn't even let you bury him."
The words hit like a hammer, shattering the fragile composure I had left. Hot tears blurred my vision, streaking down my cheeks as I clutched my apron, nails digging into the fabric.
"I know he touched Charlotte," Lago said, his voice softer now, but no less cutting.
My breath caught, my head snapping up to meet his dark gaze. "Did she tell you?"
He shook his head slowly, the movement deliberate, his bony hand gesturing toward the house. "She don't need to. It's written all over her. And it's only a matter of time before he infects the rest of them."
No, I thought. Not my babies.
I have to protect them.
His long, pale fingers unfurled, reaching toward me with a strange, hypnotic grace, each movement deliberate, calculated.
I hesitated, every fiber of my being trembling as his words sunk into me, repeating over and over like a haunting echo. The weight of his gaze, the undeniable truth in his voice, pulled at something deep within me—a fear I couldn't shake.
Slowly, as if guided by some unseen force, I reached out, my hand trembling as it closed around his.
His skin was ice—unnatural, like it had never known warmth. It was a cold that went beyond the surface, sinking deep into my bones, gnawing at my soul with an intensity I couldn't comprehend.
The rush of his touch sent a shock through me, my body freezing as my pulse pounded in my ears, drowning out everything except the frantic thrum of my heartbeat.
The shadows around us deepened, the woods becoming constricted, closing in on us like a living, breathing thing. The air grew viscous, and the ground beneath my feet seemed to vanish. A shiver crawled down my spine as the darkness swept over me—an overwhelming wave that pulled me under, swallowing everything in its path.
Then, just as quickly as it came, everything went black.
When I came to, I knew I was dreaming. I could feel it in the unnatural stillness of my surroundings, the way my senses felt heightened yet distorted.
I was submerged.
Water pressed against me on all sides, heavy and suffocating. My chest ached, my lungs screamed, and I couldn't see a thing in the impenetrable darkness. Panicked, I tried to open my mouth to cry out, but only bubbles escaped, floating in an eerie, directionless drift around me.
Disoriented, I struggled, my movements sluggish in the thick, cold water. Somehow, I pushed upward—or at least, what I hoped was upward.
Finally, I broke the surface, gasping, coughing, flailing as I fought to draw air into my burning lungs. The night air was heavy and damp, and I realized I was in the creek behind our home.
Trembling, I swam the short distance to the creek bed. The mud sucked at my feet as I stood, its cold stickiness clinging to my toes. My breaths came in ragged gulps as I tried to steady myself, still shaking from the dream—or was it?
I turned back toward the water, drawn by a ripple, a sound—or maybe just a feeling.
That's when I saw it.
Someone was out there, drowning. Their arms flailed weakly, barely breaking the surface of the murky water. I couldn't make out their face, their form blurred by shadows and the chaos of splashing.
Before I could react, a hand slipped into mine.
This time, I didn't flinch, didn't even startle. Somehow, I knew.
I looked down and found myself staring into Richard's hazel eyes, his expression soft and kind, just as I remembered. His smile was gentle, almost serene, as if he were reassuring me.
"Richard," I whispered, my voice cracking.
And then I woke.
My body shot upright, heart pounding in my chest. I was in bed, my nightgown damp with sweat, my breath still ragged.
The room was cloaked in darkness, illuminated only by the pale light of the moon hanging high in the inky sky. My hands trembled as I brought them to my face, trying to ground myself, to remind myself it was only a dream.
But the chill in my bones, the mud I swore I could still feel between my toes—it all felt too real. Too vivid.
Noises from downstairs got my attention. In my drowsy stupor I'd almost mistakenly taken the noises to be coming from the kids.
I got up, rushing down, only to find Michael rifling through the cupboards, muttering complaints about needing another drink. His movements were clumsy, his frustration palpable as glass bottles clinked together.
I paused at the foot of the stairs, shaking my head. He was too drunk to even notice me, his focus solely on his search. I decided against engaging with him—fair to say I didn't even want to at this point. He disgusts me.
I turned to head back upstairs but stopped mid-step. Something gnawed at the edges of my mind, a pull I couldn't ignore. Against my better judgment, I moved past the kitchen, the floorboards creaking loudly underfoot.
"Florence?" Michael's voice slurred and sharp. "Where's the damn shine I had in here, woman?"
Ignoring him, I pushed the screen door open, the hinges groaning in protest as I stepped outside. The air was heavy, thick with humidity and the distant chirping of crickets.
"Woman!" Michael's voice boomed behind me, closer now. "I'm talkin' to ya!"
I didn't respond. My steps carried me forward, past the barn and toward the creek. My body felt detached from my will, my feet moving as if guided by an unseen force. As I neared the old willow tree, my breath caught in my throat.
There he was.
Lago stood tall, his figure resting lazily against the twisted trunk of the willow, his silhouette impossibly dark against the faint moonlight. It felt as though he had been waiting for me, and my lateness was an insult he chose to bear in silence.
Without a word, Lago turned and began walking, his stride deliberate and fluid, like a predator leading its prey deeper into the unknown. My feet followed him, my body no longer my own.
The woods seemed alive, the towering trees contorting unnaturally, their skeletal branches clawing at the inky sky. Shadows slithered across the ground, their movements liquid and purposeful, pooling at my feet before slipping away. The air grew colder with every step, the constraining feel of something despotic pressing down on me.
I couldn't stop.
Then, I heard it—Michael's voice, frantic, slicing through the oppressive stillness of the night.
"Where do you think you're going?" he shouted, his voice raw with confusion and anger.
My thoughts froze tangling in panic. Then, to my horror, words spilled from my lips—words that weren't my own but sounded like they came straight from my throat.
"I found something in the creek bed!" the voice said, crackling with a strange, feverish excitement.
A chill slithered down my spine, dread gnawing at the edges of my mind.
"Well, what the hell is it?" Michael demanded, his voice sharp and cutting through the suffocating stillness.
"Gold," the voice replied, louder now, almost taunting. The word hung in the air, heavy and venomous, like a curse.
A frantic, wild laugh rang out, cutting through the silence.
Michael's boots splashed into the creek as he lunged forward, his wide eyes blazing with a manic light. His hands clawed at the creek bed, the water streaming through his fingers as though it were liquid gold. His laughter twisted, growing jagged and monstrous, a sound that curdled the air.
"Gold!" he shrieked, his voice climbing into a pitch that barely sounded human. "It's everywhere! Look at it!"
But there was nothing. I could see it clearly—just the same creek winding its usual path toward the lake. No gold, no shimmer, nothing but wet earth and stones.
Michael's fingers raked the mud with desperate fervor, the water frothing under his erratic movements. His joy turned grotesque, a madness infecting him like a sickness, spreading through his body with each crazed motion.
Lago stood unmoving, his presence a cold shadow over the scene. His eyes were fixed on Michael, unblinking, his expression indifferent, as though watching an insect flailing in its final moments.
"He'll dig his own grave," Lago murmured, his voice contemplative and deliberate, as if Michael's fate was no longer a question but a foregone conclusion.
I turned my attention back to Michael, but what I saw next made my blood run cold.
Fear gripped me like a vice, tightening with every breath I drew. My chest ached, my lungs refusing to expand fully, as if the air itself had turned against me. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst, the thudding echoing in my ears, drowning out every other sound.
Every muscle in my body locked up, my legs trembling under a weight I couldn't see but could feel, heavy and oppressive. My stomach churned violently, a sickening lurch that made me want to double over. My hands were clammy, slick with sweat, shaking uncontrollably despite my effort to still them.
My throat constricted painfully, swallowing becoming a struggle, as though even my body was betraying me. My mouth was dry, my tongue stuck to the roof as if words would never come again. I wanted to scream, to shout, to make any sound at all, but nothing came out.
Michael's laughter faltered, then broke apart into strangled gasps. His body began to change, as though it were being sucked into itself, the very essence of his being draining away. His hands, still clawing at the earth, looked like brittle bones wrapped in thin skin, cracking and snapping under the pressure. His muscles seemed to wither, his face sinking inwards as if the life was being drained from him, sucked into the very air. His skin stretched taut over his bones, the flesh shrinking away from his frame.
With each breath he took, his body grew weaker, the bones beneath his skin turning to dust with an eerie crunch. His limbs stiffened, the joints cracking, until he was no more than a shell of a man, hunched over and crumbling under the force that Lago exerted. His voice had stopped, replaced by a gurgling, desperate rasp. His eyes, wide and full of terror, began to cloud over, the spark of life slowly extinguishing from them.
By the time his body finally collapsed into the creek, nothing was left of the man who had once been so full of life. Only a pile of bones and dust remained, scattered in the stream, the last remnants of Michael's existence washing away with the water. The laughter that had filled the air moments before was now a haunting silence.
Lago stood motionless, watching, as if this was merely another passing moment in the grand scheme of things.
"Another one for the earth," he muttered, his voice almost indifferent.
New Year, New Chapter! 🎉
Happy New Year, everyone! I hope you all had a safe and wonderful start to 2025. Wishing you prosperity, peace, and love in the days ahead.
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-A