Blackwater

by Tara Brown

  I fight for air. My eyes take a second to focus on my surroundings.

  I see his face. I gasp for it, but can't seem to get the air in.

  He smiles his lazy grin but his dark eyes look sad, "I won't hurt you. Just let me explain."

  I sob and shake my head back and forth. I want to block him from my vision.

  He tilts his head to the side and takes a step back.

  I didn’t realize how close he was to me. "Your mother, she called my family. She wanted us to come and get you and take your blood."

  My hands leap to my ears as a scream rips from my throat.

  Tears stream down my cheeks and he takes another step away from me. I can see his lips moving but I don’t hear his poisonous words.

  He looks heartbroken and stops speaking. I lower my hands and watch him.

  "Enjoy the last sunrise, my love. Enjoy it," he says.

  His eyes shine. I can see the glisten in them as he takes another step back.

  I shake the fog from my brain. I look down at the shadow I'm casting on the grass. My knees are bleeding and grass stained. My dress is torn and my hands and arms are dirty and bloody. Black blood stains my fingers.

  A flash of memories fills my mind. I see it clearly now. The thing he wanted to show me back at the party.

  I had slipped from the crowd to the dark house. I wanted him to touch me again. In the shadows of the house I hid; I waited excited. He stepped from a shadow across the foyer. His hand slid up into my long hair and pulled my head back. He pressed his lips into mine, like he'd been thinking about doing it all night long. He pulled away abruptly and smiled.

  He bit into his wrist and whispered, "You need this now."

  It smelled like the sweet cigar smoke mixed with the scotch on his breath. The dark liquid that dripped from him had me mesmerized. He dragged his finger through it, like it was black finger paint and then put his finger into my mouth. It slipped on my lips like grease. In my mouth it tasted the way it smelled, seductive. It made a longing inside of me. He pressed his wrist to my lips. It was a sexual act.

  Unbeknownst to me, my family had seen me slip away from the party. They walked into the house to see me drinking from his wrist. He pulled away from me. He stopped the taste and the feelings from filling me. He made a noise, a noise like a cat. I saw his hands come down on them. I saw the blood spray. There were others like him. They were just as Grandmamma said they would be. They fought and ate and I ran.

  It was all just as she said it would be.

  I look up from the stains and the blood on my hands to his beautiful face. How can it be? How can he be a creature of the night?

  He takes a step back. The line of the rising sun is pushing us apart. I hate him but want him still and I can't fight it. The memory of their death ain't stronger than my want for him.

  "I'll see you tonight." His words are the knife that finishes me off. I have drunk his black blood. His blood is filled with the death that will come and claim me when the sun goes down. That’s how it was in the stories.

  I glance back at the sunrise; it gives me a chill. I look back at him. He waves his hand and takes a step back.

  I want to run to him. I stand on my wobbly legs, but I stay where I am.

  He takes a step back. He is on the hill. The sun is coming fast.

  His lazy smile creeps along his face, sending a shiver over my body. "Come with me, Lorelei. I came here to be with you. You aren’t alone in this world. You will never be alone. I will always come for you." He whispers and somehow it's so loud it's like he's right next to me.

  When I don't move my feet, he turns his back and runs up the hill and over it. He is gone.

  I watch the line of the sun creep up the hill, chasing him.

  I turn my back on the hill and start to walk. I need as much distance as I can get between him and me before sunset. I have only one day to make my escape. I wonder where I will go.

  "Paris." I hear Emily whisper to me across the wheat field. I smile and think about the things I will have to do, for the both of us.

  Her face fills my mind and stops me from thinking about how long it will be before he catches me, and what he will do to me when he does.

  Chapter Nine

  2012-Present day

  Revelstoke, Canada

  "Go home."

  I look around. I'm alone but the icy whispers are back. The first ones always make me feel bat-shit crazy, but then I realize it's them and not me. Then I'm grateful to have someone, even if it's death calling for me. I just wish the call wasn't coming all the way from Louisiana.

  "Go home, Lorelei." They chant the whisper over and over.

  Home. The prospect of home is a frightening one. There is nothing there for me. Not that there ever was. No, that’s not true, there was always Emily. Emily and Angie and Ramón. But I killed them with my love.

  I glance out the window at the small town and smile. Smoke rises from the chimneys of the houses. It's quaint and I feel a love for it I can't explain. It's the first place I've felt safe in a long time. Canadians are amongst some of my favorite people.

  A knock at the door makes me jump. The word home is stirring emotions and fears. Fears I will always have when I think about that place. Fears that make me jumpy.

  I step into a shadow and wait. I can hide in the shadows. I'm part of the darkness the rest of the world doesn’t see.

  A guy's voice joins in on the knocking, "Lee, you home?" It's Andy, my nineteen-year-old boyfriend. I'm old enough to be his grandmamma. He doesn’t know that.

  "Go home." the voices whisper.

  Home.

  "Lee, you in there?" Andy's voice makes me feel things I haven't felt in this quiet town before, a need.

  It's time for me to leave. I'm falling for him and I need to leave before I hurt him. I have liked being Lee. She is a small-town kind of girl. The kind I think I woulda liked being, if I had ever had a choice in the matter.

  Home.

  The icy whispers fill the small shadow, "Home, she needs you at home. She still needs you."

  Who needs me? Not like I can ask them, the icy whispers have their own agenda. They don't answer, they just talk shit. They could talk the hair off a hound with all that cold air.

  I stay in the shadow and wait for Andy to leave. He's a sweet guy, sweeter than most. My mouth waters thinking about him.

  Once my mouth wants something it's time to move on. I know I'm no longer able to stay, no matter if I want to leave or not. I'll leave everything. I always do. I have done it for almost fifty years. I've managed to stay here longer than most places. I don’t think he likes the cold, Whit that is. I never sense him in cold places.

  I cross the room and look out the window. The sun has just set. I can see the orange glow of it burning the skyline in the far off distance. The far off distance I will have to make my way to.

  When I look down, I see Andy walking away from the apartment building. My heart aches a little bit. I'm gonna miss him. I'm gonna miss nighttime ice hockey and taking a stroll in the cold mountains. His warm hand around mine. The smell of his cologne in the air, calling to me. The way he assumed I was a sweet small-town country girl and doted on me. The way he made me feel normal.

  I look around at my things. Nice things. I'm gonna miss it all.

  "She needs you." The icy air whispers. The voices are so much stronger than they were when I was alive. Before I barely made out a word.

  I snap my fingers making the flashes of light.

  My brain fires, Tessa. Could it be my aunt needing me? My aunt hasn’t needed me since she moved into our house. I don’t understand why she needs me now. My guts ache for the scent of the white lilacs and the way the air at home coats you in itself. Marking you.

  The Canadian air is clean and fresh and every bit of it feels like it's never touched anyone before. It's fresh from the trees.

  Not like the air at home. The air that presses itself against you and brings with it the smell of everything it'
s touched along its way to find you. I miss home. Seeing Tessa would be nice and shutting the whispers up would be amazing. They've been barking at me for some time. I swear I can even see a sliver of light in the air when I hear them now too. It's creepy.

  "Home."

  I look around the room. I wish I had bunny, the damned whispers still freak me out.

  I leave the room the way it is. I leave my stuff where it is. I leave Andy still wanting me. The way I leave every boy, well the ones I don’t eat by accident. I wish for just today, it could be different. I wish I was a normal girl and I could stay with him.

  My feet start the journey out of the room and down the hall before my heart is ready. I leave through the back door and run until I reach my truck. I sit inside and wait for the tears to hit.

  I don’t want to go back home. I don’t understand why she needs me and why, after all this time, the voices are back. It's been weeks of them.

  I start the truck and drive. It's gonna take me days. Days I can spend talking myself out of going.

  Days I can spend rehashing every detail. Every moment I spent making the wrong choices, murdering my entire family except my one aunt who apparently needs me. I owe her that don't I?

  It ain't her that drives me forward though. It's every moment I spent loving something too much. Wanting something too much. Something I still want if I'm honest with myself. I don’t like being honest with myself. I look at the rearview and shake my head.

  The drive takes me four nights. The icy whispers keep me company. They seem excited by the drive home. They seem excited by the prospect of going back. They are alone in that.

  My brain tries to talk me out of it but I don’t let it. I sense it, somewhere deep inside of me, I need to go home. It’s a funny feeling I can't explain. The return of the icy whispers is part of it.

  When we pass the sign for Baton Rouge, I feel sick. I experience everything I felt before. All of my emotions come barreling back, forcing a panic attack.

  I make the turn but nothing looks the same. I know the freeways are a new development in this part of the world, but everything looks different. I think I'm lost.

  My stomach is in knots. I drive gawking at it all, lost in thought and direction. I turn off when I see a road I recognize the name of. The memories of running through the fields and the open space don’t match what I see. The thriving metropolis feels as if something unholy has occurred. My town is gone. My place where I felt safe and played is overly developed. Every part of America has had development but for some reason I imagined Baton Rouge would remain untouched. Folks would still be arguing about women wearing pants, over sweet tea on the porch.

  I turn onto River Road and drive slowly. The old plantations are still there but they look either like they will be torn down any moment, or someone is charging admission prices for tourists to see inside. Sleep in the bed of the dead. Louisiana is full of ghosts. I should know. I'm one of them.

  I feel sick wondering if Hurricane Katrina ruined anything along the riverbanks. I watched the footage of New Orleans and felt sick. But I was in London, far removed from the suffering of my people.

  I wonder what my house looks like. Will it be ruined as well? Or worse, will there by people lining up to pay to sleep in my bed.

  I glance at the passenger seat and smile bitterly, "Shoot, y'all should've stayed at the house and haunted it. We'd be rich as preachers of the Pentecost." I don’t know if the icy voices can hear me, but I notice suddenly my accent is stronger. I have never been able to pick up the languages or accents of the many places I've been. The many places I've run to. Always fearing his breath is at the back of my neck. It ain't never been him I was scared of, well not once I changed. It was always me and my love for him. My undying love.

  I see the old farm that is next door to my house, it's refurbished and brand-new looking. It looks better than it did forty-eight years ago.

  My driveway, half a mile down the road, however is a different story. The trees that made an oak alley up the drive to my house have bent over completely. Their twisting and gnarled branches look like they're trying to keep people out. I stop the truck and jump out.

  The moment my feet touch the ground the icy whispers surround me like a twister.

  "Home Lorelei. Home."

  I shiver from the breath of the dead greeting me. It ain't like I'm alive, but it makes my skin crawl.

  I walk to the sign hanging sideways on the broken iron fence.

  'Huntington Plantation'

  Not much of a plantation anymore. The vines and bushes have burst through the iron gates and fences. They creep through onto the street. They're either trying to get out, or drag something or someone back in. Either way, they scare the dickens out of me. The driveway does too. The bent and leaning trees are a mess. Several of them are down across the driveway. I get back in the truck and park it on the side of the road. I pull my coat around me and walk back to the sign. I look at my truck and wonder if it'll be there in the morning. Things look rundown and frightening here.

  My boots crunch on the rocks. The driveway is gravel, just like it was before. Daddy wanted to have it paved. We had argued about it. I was bent on having a swimming pool, like Angie had. He laughed at me and told me that we lived on the river and if I needed to get wet, I could go swim out back. I remember scowling. I never woulda swam in that filthy old river. I still couldn’t, and ain't no filthy gator gonna eat me now.

  Emotions take my breath. If I had a heartbeat I know it would be wild and insane. Instead, it's broken and my feet don’t want to take any more steps. They freeze mid step. The grounds are destroyed. Everything is in ruin.

  I break into a run. My aunt needs me. What if she's inside and trapped and the icy whispers have been trying to get me to come and save her? My boots meet the ground with force. I'm still the fastest runner. It's how I've stayed alive. My strong thighs have saved me more than once, running when I knew I felt him nearby.

  I climb the front steps and burst through the front door.

  She is sitting at the large chair in the foyer. The chair my momma bought. It's moldy and dank inside.

  She smiles at me. She has to be over one hundred years old. I still see her as she was before though.

  "Auntie Tessa?" I ask softly.

  She smiles back, "You came for sweet tea."

  I'm lost. Not only lost in how the house has come to this, but also how half a century has passed and I have not come home to help. I have left her to rot with the old house.

  Guilt fills me, making my nerves worse. How did fifty years ruin something so beautiful and strong? Louisiana is known for taking back a house when it wants it to become part of the mystery and magic. From the look of it Aunt Tessa and the house have had a rough fifty years.

  She stands with difficulty and shuffles in her slippers over to me. She puts one of her hands out and takes mine in it.

  Her voice is cracked and old, "You look good, my dear. Good like her. She looks good too. You always was such a pretty young thing. Pretty as a peach."

  She pulls me to the kitchen. I gag when I smell it.

  The decay is everywhere.

  The walls are dripping and leaking. The ceiling has a hole in it and I can hear animals moving in the other rooms. Scratching and digging. Vines and trees have taken over the walls.

  I shiver.

  I did this.

  The left wing is gone. The end of that side has been boarded off.

  I did this.

  I feel a lump forming in my throat. I fan my face and take deep breaths.

  The kitchen is tilted like it's sinking in the back. There are no lights on anywhere.

  "Is there power?" I ask.

  She looks at me and giggles, like an insane schoolgirl.

  I squeeze her hand. Is she alive? Is she the icy whispers? Have they finally gotten me here to kill me? Can I die?

  We walk through the dark and crooked halls to the back deck. She walks through. The French doors are gone.
Everything is gone. Boards cover windows but only some of them. The rest are just open.

  Everything feels like a Charles Dickens tale.

  Aunt Tessa is wearing an old nightgown instead of a tattered wedding dress, but the effect is the same.

  The cold air inside the house is creepy. It still feels like the southern air, thick and heavy, but it also takes my breath away it's so cold.

  I know it's not normal cold. I lived in the Rockies in Canada and never ever felt the cold of the place. Here I'm gripping my jacket to me and nearly shivering.

  The cold here is death and haunting.

  Tessa giggles, "She ain't very happy with you. She needed you."

  I'm about to meet my maker. I know it.

  The back porch is overgrown and in ruin. My boot goes through a board before we finally get to the back steps.

  She pulls me and as I realize our destination, my skin crawls.

  I pull back, "Let's just go back to the house and I'll get you some sweet tea, Aunty. The porch swing didn't seem to bad."

  She doesn’t let go. She is fiercely strong for an old lady. She is strong and incessant.

  The pillars aren’t all standing and lilacs and magnolias have grown up and out of control. The oaks and willows are mangled.

  "Hurricanes have ruined it but I remember it the way it was when he built it." she whispers.

  My daddy.

  My daddy who built it for the parties and dances we always had. He was going to replace the floor the summer after my wedding.

  A sob escapes my chest. I can feel the tears building. As we climb the stairs, I look around and am thrown right back into it all. I can feel and see the memories coming to life.

  Whit's hands on me. The music swaying the people. The heat of the night air and the feeling of the scotch in my belly.

  I drop to my knees and cry.

  It's the second time I've cried in near fifty years I've been gone.

  The black tears rain down my face. Tessa is dancing alone, waltzing and humming a song in amongst the overhanging branches and old man's beard.

  I'm rocking back and forth with my hands over my face. I'm covering the Devil's tears.