Horror Mansion: Short Stories

Seven - Water Dreams

I feel the impressions of her boots in the damp earth.

She comes to the lake this early Fall morning, walking over the leaves and dirt.

I don't get many visitors in the midst of the woods.

When I do, they're people with cans and hoods.

Through the fog, I feel the shape of her face.

Divergent.

She stops, turns, then quickens her pace.

At the edge of the old dock, boards rotting and falling into the lake,

she halts atop a rock after skipping through the haze.

She looks down under, still, staring at me unknowingly.

I ascend close to the surface, her beauty speaking, "Come to me."

She kneels down, her face wearing a frown, and looks at her reflection shine.

I observe her, clearly without a blur, and take my time.

A sudden, forceful smile reveals a happy childhood. A toddler riding a pony, blonde hair flying in the breeze, the feeling of laughter, fear, and excitement all together.

Calloused fingertips give way to school talent shows. A girl playing the guitar, blonde hair bouncing along, head banging, the joy of singing, art, and proud parents.

A fit body fit for sports. A teenager running, blonde hair tied in a tight bun, dodging left and right, the victorious cry of the winning goal.

'Spencer' tattooed on her wrist leads to connection. A young adult dressed nicely, blonde hair professionally straightened, waiting for her date, pacing back and forth, the hope of true love.

An indent on her ring finger shows commitment. An older adult walking down the aisle, blonde hair braided exquisitely, love, love, love, trembling, the anxiety of the next big step.

But a missing ring  shows betrayal. A broken individual sitting on the couch, blonde hair hastily tied, crying, tightly holding a sixth grader and a toddler, the sorrow of treachery.

An angel necklace representing death. A mother sleeping next to a hospital bed, blonde hair messily spread out, grasping the hand of her youngest, a small coffin, but the heaviest, the realization that death waits for no one.

She shuts her eyes, a single tear drops into the lake.

As she cries, I taste the bitterness of her life's ache.

An alluring woman, but a lost soul, blonde hair neatly tied in a ponytail, an abandoned car up the road, a house for sale back at the city, a bottle of pills waiting in her pocket, a note for her daughter located inside her backpack.

I touch the edge of the water, and slowly begin to repaint her thoughts.

I give her possible futures, remind her of old dreams, anything to show everything wasn't in naught.

She covers her mouth, laughs, and wipes her cheeks.

A last gift; this final movement of my symphony will not be meek.

Her reflection on the water swirls, colors dancing and joining hands,

settling itself into the image of her passed child, causing her to stand.

She kneels again and reaches forward, cautiously dabbing her finger into her child's face.

Her thoughts and feelings of sadness surge through me like blood through veins.

Adamant, unwilling, her decision did not change.

I thought I had changed her, I thought my masterpiece would save,

but her sadness was strong, her will became a slave.

She stands up and walks away, already knowing how to end her day.

She enters her car and swallows the pills,

All I can do is watch as blood spills.