Still Water

Flash Fiction #28

We stood around the bonfire chanting, “Zee! Zee! Zee!”

It was the summer of 86, and Suzanne was about to jump. The fire couldn’t be any higher. She took a swig from her beer, let out a piercing cry and leapt over the flames. She arced through the air, greedy tongues licking at her feet, her jeans, body baptised by fire, diving through that inferno seared itself into my brain, and I knew she was the one. She landed with an ecstatic cry, smiled at me, and I grinned like an idiot. The night belonged to us, and the world was our oyster.

Carl stood and howled at the giant full moon shining down on us, painting the hillside in muted hues of blue, and we all howled and laughed. With a wolfish grin, he grabbed his guitar and struck three chords, his eyes wide with wonder. We gathered around, sprawling in the soft grass, flames dancing in our eyes. After a customary poking fun at the new couple, Zee flipped her finger, sat down next to me, and sang into my ear, “Babe, tomorrow’s so far away.” She leaned forward, pulled me close, and our lips met. The heat of the fire could not compete with our embrace.

Everyone went “Wooooooo.”

“Alright! Keep your tongues to yourselves for a minute,” said Carl. “Hark and listen, for what I’m about to tell you will chill you to the bone, it will make your insides churn, you’ll crawl back to mommy, you’ll know true evil, you’ll never be the same, once you heard the tale of the girl in the white dress.”

“Boooooooring!” Steven belched.

“Shut up, Steven,” scolded everyone, and Rebecca hit him on the shoulder. He grabbed her, and they were rolling in the grass, giving each other “horse bites.” It was their thing, and everyone thought they were the perfect couple.

“Guys, get a room,” Carl’s voice had this inherent commanding quality that compelled you to listen. He strummed a few chords, head inclined, paused, and stared at us with that far-away look people get when they remember something of great importance, something that must never be forgotten. We all fell silent, the crackling of the wood, the hissing of the flames, our very hearts beating with the rhythm of the night.

“As the legend goes…” he began in a mere whisper, and we all inched closer.

One summer night, a girl went to the lake near her home. Her long dark braided ponytail bounced as she danced along the shore in her pretty white dress, humming a merry tune, plucking lilies for her mother, who had sent her to fetch her father for supper.

The girl found her father’s boat tied to the pier but no sign of the fisherman. A full moon hung low over the lake, the song of the night all around her. Grasshoppers, frogs, and fish were jumping, and the reeds swayed gently in the wind, carrying the scents and sounds of the solstice fire from the hill across the water as she gazed into that black mirror.

“My grandma used to say—” Christine whispered, earning her a collective “Shhh!”

She gazed for a long while and did not notice the cold silence spreading around her, water as smooth as glass, trapped under it, her face, staring back at her, a stranger’s face, pale as the moon. She bent closer, almost touching her reflection, eyes as still as the deepest well, pulling her deeper and deeper into the darkest place until—she was gone.

“Hilda!” her father cried, running along the lake, looking for his daughter, and when he came to the pier, all he found was a wreath of lilies.

Carl put the guitar down, stared into the fire and continued.

“They never found her body. Many thought Hilda had run away. Not her father and mother. They were convinced that someone, something evil, had parted the thin veil between the realm of the living and the dead that night; something unholy had taken their sweet child. On a night like this.”

He looked at us, our eyes glued to his lips.

“And every nineteen years during Solstice, a full moon rises, and the girl returns and lures innocent souls to drown their sorrows in Still Water Lake.”

His words lingered, a dark promise no flame could dispel.

“What a load of poppycock,” laughed Steven. “Everyone knows that’s just a story to scare kids.”

“It’s true, my grandma told me,” breathed Christine, making a fig sign.

“It’s creeping me out,” said Rebecca, clinging to Steven’s arm.

“If I were you, I’d keep the fire burning, sleep with one eye open,” said Carl with a devilish grin.

“I’m not gonna sleep,” boasted Steven. “Let’s go skinny-dipping!”

And we broke into youthful banter and illuminating insights about the impossibility of simultaneously producing sounds out of both ends, only to have Steven prove otherwise, and not without furtive glances at the lake at the bottom of the hill. Sleep was the last thing on our minds. We went swimming that night, the way we were born.

When everyone went back up, Zee and I stayed behind, sitting on the pier. It was the best of nights. We talked and talked, solving all the world’s problems. The future was bright. All the talk made me thirsty, and I asked if she wanted something. Zee shook her head, staring at the moon. I didn’t want to leave her alone, but she only laughed.

“Oh no, help! A little girl is pulling me under!”

“I’ll be back,” I said, wanting to sound cool.

Everyone cheered the boy who went down a hill but came back up a man. I told them to shut it and that nothing happened, grabbed two bottles and hurried back.

Zee was sitting at the edge, staring into the water. I sat down and put my arms around her. She was as cold as ice, and her eyes were as black as the lake.

Read Next

If you want it darker, check out The Water Was Cold.

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