The water was cool, pleasant. She closed her eyes as it soaked into her, drawing out the heat of the day’s emotions. The water was still and pure, like glass. Charlotte wondered for a moment why she hadn’t spent more time in the lake before. But it was more of a whimsy when she asked herself. She knew the answer. Just laziness, really. The hassle of undressing, then when finished the drying and the redressing and this and that.
She’d spent a lot of time thinking about all the times she’d wanted to slip underneath the surface, just like she was doing now. Her emotions became as calm and her thoughts crystallized. She’d stared out of the window of the estate so many times. Longing, so many times. But always there was an excuse not to indulge.
She felt something stir in the water, then. Opening her eyes, she peered through the muck and the startled minnows to see a flash of pale skin. Felt, more than heard, the murmur of the voices on the surface splashing and playing. The vibration agitated along fine tendrils and set her heart skipping. She felt the pain of old memories weighing down on her. Even so, she was drawn forward, pulling herself along the lake bed by her fingers and toes, the cloud of mud disguising her approach.
Felt the eyes of those mocking girls from long ago, felt the scorn, the pity, the hate, and the disgust. Felt the lake when it had filled her, choked her, and embraced her.
Her fingers dug into the soft silt below. There was a flash, as a white leg, unknowing, swept by her face. She surged forward, snapping down on the soft flesh. The vibrations became screams, the mud became red as she pulled her jaws downward and reached up to sink her claws into the hated vibrations.
Soon, the lake was still again.
Nightmare Fuel 2018, Day 8