The Dark Water

by Helen Moorhouse

  When eventually she felt the ground grow soft underneath her feet, when the bushes ahead of her parted and when she stepped onto the black shore of the lake, a gust of wind hit her, so strong that it almost knocked her off her feet. Martha stopped, her breath coming in great gulps, her chest burning. She was here, here at the lake. Where she was sure Ruby would be. She could see little. The night was black, the sky free from light pollution but filled with layer after layer of cloud spilling torrents of water from the sky. Martha was aware of the water ahead of her, the sound of the downpour hitting it with thick, relentless drops. The ground felt muddy underneath her. She felt her footing go in the soft earth and staggered as she tried to balance herself, all the time her eyes searching frantically, forcing them to grow more accustomed to the darkness, to see if there was any sign of her precious child.

  And then she saw the shape move out of the corner of her eye. It frightened her. Despite the fact that she sought a living thing – oh God, please let her be alive, she thought – she was still surprised to see movement. She lost sight of it for a second while the wind blew more rain against her, but there – there it was again. A small pale shape moving out toward . . . no, into . . . the lake.

  “Ruby!” screamed Martha, racing as fast as she could to reach her baby before the waves could. She could hear the lake in turmoil, seething and rushing. As she grew closer, the small pale shape – Ruby in her pale pink sleepsuit – became more distinct, as did the lake. And somehow, somehow, it seemed that Ruby was floating above the water. Walking, as if on it, but yet above it. If she were in the lake, then surely it would only take seconds for her to disappear. And as she grew closer, Martha realised that Ruby wasn’t floating above the surface, but walking along a small, dark jetty which Martha hadn’t made out before, the blackness of the structure indistinguishable against the high water that lashed at its supports. The jetty. Where it had all happened before.

  Martha grew closer again and watched as Ruby stopped a few feet from the end of the jetty. A fierce gust of wind suddenly attacked from their right, from across the lake. It shoved Martha sideways, helpless against its strength. She screamed. If the gust could move her on the low shore, then surely that was it – Ruby would be lifted like a leaf out there on the water’s edge, and tossed into the water.

  Yet she wasn’t. The child stood there, stock still, facing out into the water, as if she wondered why she could go no further.

  Martha wanted to scream but instead hauled the dress up again and scrambled up the steps onto the wooden pier, felt the old and rotten wood creak dangerously under her feet. It was too dangerous to walk on, she surmised. With both eyes still firmly fixed on her child, Martha dropped to her knees and began to crawl along the feeble wooden structure. Her weight, made heavier by the bulk of the sodden velvet dress, might prove just too much for the wood beneath her. She couldn’t risk shouting at Ruby either, frightening her, knocking her off whatever balance she had achieved that had so far kept her from being cast into the seething water. Martha’s heart raced at a mile a minute. She longed to scream, to lunge for the child but her little girl was so calm as she stood there, even though the wind came in persistent gusts now, buffeting them both, threatening every second to blow one or both of them into the swirling waters. Martha couldn’t allow herself to think about that. Because that would be it. If Ruby slipped from the pier, if she fell in there, then she would never be seen again. She must reach her. She couldn’t lose her, it just wasn’t possible, yet here it was, so close . . .

  Martha crawled on, slowly testing the beams with her hands, leaning her weight on them, before following with her knees. She had to suppress the urge to call out to Ruby. What if the little girl turned and lost her balance? Or got a fright and stepped forward?

  She was almost there now . . . only feet away. Still Ruby never moved, never swayed. A terrible thought struck Martha. What if the spirit had done something to her already? What could he do? Her body seemed fine, but what if he was inside her head? Forcing thoughts into her little mind? Things that she would never forget? How on earth had he got her down here? How had he made a tiny child come all this way by herself?

  “Ruby,” she whispered gently, unable to hold back from uttering her daughter’s name any longer. She manoeuvred herself gently around the side of the child, crawling past her, so that she was able to position herself directly to her front, between her and the edge of the jetty. That achieved, Martha knelt there, barely able to keep her eyes open against the rain which now lashed fully across her face, water dripping in streaming rivulets down her cheeks, her chin, her bare neck and chest and her exposed arms. It was like being showered with freezing pins. But at least she was there now. Between Ruby and the water. All she had to do was take her in her arms and they’d be safe, the two of them.

  They were close enough that Martha could see her little features, could make out the small shape of her pale little face in the dark. It was mesmerised by something, her eyes glazed over as if she were sleepwalking. If she just raised a hand, Martha thought, then she could rub her hair – she was within touching distance now. Stay calm, she urged herself. Don’t make any sudden moves, don’t fall at the final hurdle . . .

  “Mummy,” said Ruby suddenly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world that her mother should be there, that she herself should be out in the blackness of the night, in the worst storm of her short life. “Look!”

  Martha’s body tingled as she watched Ruby’s fat little hand rise up in the darkness, glowing white in contrast to the blackness of the night. She became aware again of the sound of the lake behind her, roaring and gushing and gurgling, making unnatural noises as the wind tossed the water from side to side. Ruby was pointing at something behind Martha. Something that she could see, but that her mother couldn’t. Martha felt dizzy as she fixed her stare on the child’s eyes, unable to see what she was pointing at.

  “Look, Mummy,” repeated Ruby, pointing out toward the water. “Kitty cat.”

  It was then that Martha felt the tug from behind. At first she thought it was the water itself, splashing up over the end of the pier, but in an instant she knew it wasn’t. Knew she was being pulled, yanked over the edge of the wood like a ball of string. And there was nothing she could do to stop herself being pulled in. It was all happening in slow motion. Time slowed as her mouth opened, her eyes grew wide and her arms flailed helplessly, reaching out to steady herself. And failing. Martha’s eyes fixed on Ruby’s face as she fell backwards into the freezing cold belly of the lake. And as she fell, she watched the unnatural mist rise from nowhere and wrap itself around her child.

  The last thing that Martha thought as she fell was: “He’s got her.”

  Everything was somehow calm under the waves, still. It was pitch dark, of course. She didn’t know if her eyes were open or closed, if she were conscious or not. After she fell – was pulled – she could feel nothing. Not the icy waves around her, nor could she feel any movement. It was as if she were cocooned by the lake itself. As if that under the water, the storm couldn’t reach her.

  Afterward, she had a vague memory – she must have dreamed it – of surfacing once again. She was far out now, too far to reach for the jetty, to try to get back to Ruby. But she could see her, which was odd as it was still so dark. She could see her still on the jetty, every one of her features as clear to Martha as if she held her in her arms. Her curls were dark from the rain, of course, but she looked as beautiful as she did after bath-time. Her skin was the colour of snow and drips of rain ran down it, her lips tinged with blue, but she was smiling. And she was completely still, and somehow she was safe. Because there was someone with her. Someone who had a light – no, someone who was a light. It was a young man, Martha saw. A skinny young man who was with Ruby, yet somehow around Ruby. Like a shield in some way. A boy with a smile who somehow made Martha know that Ruby was safe, that her baby was safe.

  And in the distance she heard voices, shouting . . . someo
ne calling her name, calling Ruby’s name. So that was all right then. With that, she sank back under the waves, back to the calm of the lake.

  That unnatural light was down here, too. It was far away just now, but growing closer, and brighter. Lighting up the water around her, the long reeds and the green and brown weeds, the dust and silt from the forming a strange cloud around her as she sank toward the bottom, everything green in the mysterious illumination. And suddenly she wasn’t alone.

  Martha felt the calmness leave her as she became suddenly aware of her body again, of the water which was seething, of the weeds that had curled around her foot. She tried to pull her leg away, tugged at them, succeeded in only tightening them and then she realised that the tightness in her chest was because she couldn’t breathe and she was desperate, desperate for air. Her eyes . . . they were open . . . felt as though they would pop from her head, as if her neck was gripped by a vice. My God, but she needed to breathe!

  She looked upward, tried to propel herself to the surface . . . but she couldn’t, couldn’t get away from the grip around her ankle. She twisted again, hungry with desire to take a gulp of air. And what she saw then made everything seem to stop, made time stand still. The body – the huge, bloated, grey body that floated into her line of vision simply hung there, suspended before her eyes. Twenty stone if he were an ounce, Claire Hibbert had said. His face was scrunched into a grimace, the eyes closed, the dark hair floating gracefully above his head.

  In that instant, Martha felt the panic explode in her again. She tried to scream as the man’s eyes suddenly opened and looked right at her, and the head turned slightly to reveal the scar in all its glory, the scar which slowly began to open before her eyes, filling the water with clouds of red as it did so, the gash coming apart from lip to temple, opening itself to reveal darkness underneath, spewing blood out into the turbulent water. And then in another instant the lake was plunged back into teeming darkness, the vision instantly gone, like it had been sucked away, somehow. Martha was surrounded once again by all-consuming darkness and the ice cold that pervaded every inch of her body. Without thinking, she finally opened her mouth and gave a great gasp, filling her lungs with the dark water of the lake.

  CHAPTER 41

  December 4th

  Martha felt her limbs stir. At least she thought it was her own limbs. They didn’t feel quite attached to her body. Then, she heard the noises, an occasional beep from what felt like very far away, coming closer to her.

  Then the voice. “Hello, there,” it said. It was a woman. She, too, sounded distant.

  Martha stirred again, and opened her eyes very slowly. She was somewhere bright and warm. The room swam a little for a moment. She could make out the long strip light on the ceiling above her, then the curtains that hung either side of the bed.

  A kindly face entered the picture, wearing a broad smile. “Well, good morning, Martha,” it said. “Glad to see you’ve come back to join us.”

  The nurse bent over her, shining a small torch in each eye while holding her head steady with cold hands. The penlight stuffed back in her breast pocket, she reached over Martha’s head and then placed a hard, cold object in her ear for a few moments, removing it when it gave a quiet beep. The woman was a study in efficiency as she unwound a blood-pressure strap from a mobile monitor nearby and attached it to Martha’s arm. The sensation of the belt growing tight and then loosening again felt strange to Martha – her body still felt as though she were just a little outside it. The nurse’s face, however, seemed to indicate that everything was normal.

  The nurse stepped lightly to the end of the bed where she unhooked a chart and began to write on it. Martha watched her intently and tried to sit up a little, although her body betrayed her when she did. Her mouth too – when she attempted to speak it felt and sounded as though cotton wool was stuffed against her tongue. She tried to clear her throat, grimaced as it hurt fiercely, and then tried again. “Take it easy, love,” the nurse said, her Scottish accent lilting but her tone serious. She replaced the chart and was at Martha’s side in an instant, holding her elbow and guiding her into a sitting position, deftly arranging pillows at her head for support.

  Martha tried again. “Where’s Ruby? Where’s my child?” she managed to croak and looked at the nurse hopefully, praying that she sounded more intelligible aloud than she did in her own head.

  The nurse – Karen, her name-badge read – smiled softly. “Your wee girl is absolutely fine,” she said. “She’s gone home with her daddy. But we had to hold on to you for a little while longer.”

  Martha looked around her again, now that she had a better view of her surroundings. The curtains around the bed, bright green and decorated with rainbows, formed a small, private cubicle in what seemed to be a bigger ward. It was, of course, bright, clean and smelling of unmistakeable hospital odour.

  The nurse picked up a plastic glass and jug from the locker beside the bed, and poured a little water before handing it to Martha, carefully maintaining a hold on it as she guided it to her lips. “Do you think you could drink this for me very slowly?” she asked.

  Martha wasn’t sure. Her arms didn’t seem to be working very well. Nor did her lips come to think of it, but with Karen’s help she managed, forcing the water down her jagged throat.

  “Good girl,” Karen crooned. “You’ve given us a wee bit of a fright, but everything’s fine today and you’ve had a good sleep. Your cut is healing nicely too by the looks of things – we popped a couple of paper stitches into it . . .”.

  Martha watched her bend to get a closer look at her temple when suddenly it all flooded back in an instant. The cut on her head . . . the lake. Her body gave a start as the recollections flooded back in a rush. The lake . . . she had been in the lake . . . with that thing . . .

  “There, there,” said Karen, almost absent-mindedly, satisfied with the appearance of the stitches on Martha’s temple. “Do you think you might be ready to see someone?”

  Will must have brought Ruby back to see her, Martha thought, and nodded as enthusiastically as she was able. She longed suddenly to hold her, to smell her, to feel the comfort of having her child back with her.

  Karen pushed the curtains back a little as she stepped from the room through a door at the end of the bed. Martha was almost disappointed when it re-opened moments later and only Sue stepped inside, carrying a cup with a hot drink in it.

  “Christ, woman, I only went for a coffee – what did you have to wake up for?” she said, smiling, but with a tinge of concern in her voice. She sat down on the green padded chair beside the bed and placed the drink on the locker before reaching out and squeezing Martha’s hand.

  Martha squeezed back.

  “How are you feeling?” Sue asked.

  Martha saw that her skin was pale, her eyes bloodshot with tiredness. She wanted to make a quip, to pay Sue some joking insult, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she rested back against the pillows that Karen had plumped for her and managed a weak smile.

  “What happened?” she asked through her cotton mouth. “Drink,” she said, moving her hand slightly to indicate that she needed help with some more water. Sue obliged.

  “You’re not fully operational just yet,” Sue said. “We were a bit worried about you for a while. You’ve been under a honeycomb blanket for the last couple of days, trying to warm you up again. I warned you about swimming after the August Bank Holiday, didn’t I?”

  The joke was half-hearted, and Martha was struck by the sheen of tears in her friend’s eyes.

  “Ruby just needed a little bit of warming up – she’s absolutely fine and she’s dying to see you when you’re able for her. But you need to rest a bit, they tell me.”

  “She’s with Will?” mumbled Martha, seeking reassurance. She remembered suddenly the small, pale shape on the end of the wooden promontory, exposed to the wretched storm, yet unharmed.

  Sue shook her head. “She’s back at the castle – at Mrs Hibbert�
��s – and no one is leaving her side for a second.” She paused. “Em . . . Dan’s there . . .”

  “Dan?” said Martha. It was her clearest word yet.

  Sue squeezed her hand hard. “You’re not to get all worked up, okay? It’s all fine. Will had to spend a bit of time in here too. He fished you out – proper Milk Tray Man stuff – jacket off, shoes off, into the drink with a great big dive. He was really brave. Found you in a couple of minutes – before it was . . . too late . . .” Sue swallowed before she could carry on. “And he got you back to shore. There were ambulances and all sorts – we were lucky that this place isn’t too far from Dubhglas.” She indicated her surroundings with a nod of her head. “It’s just a little village hospital, but they’re equipped for this sort of thing. I suppose lots of people get lost in the cold in the Highlands. Standard procedure, I expect.”

  She squeezed Martha’s hand again and looked straight at her, before sitting back in the chair and taking a large swig of the drink she’d brought in. Martha could smell it was coffee after a moment and a craving hit her.

  “Don’t suppose I could have some of that?” she mumbled, managing a faint smile.

  Sue beamed before pulling the plastic lid off the cup and waving the drink in her direction to ensure that the aroma filled the space around the bed. Then she snatched it back. “Nope,” she grinned. “Hospital rations for you only, my dear. And lots and lots of lovely caffeine for me!”

  Martha managed a grin. “How long have I been here?” she croaked. There was so much she needed to piece together – so many questions but she couldn’t think of them all right now. She felt a wave of weakness wash over her limbs and her lids felt suddenly heavy. Ridiculous . . . she had only just woken up.