Cold Puddles

CW: Gun violence, mental health (incl. suicide references)

It was a chilling, foggy night by the old lake. Creaking on its rotted boards and chipped, rusty blue seal, a boat was jammed against the soggy bank. A woman climbed out, bony skin peeking out from underneath her sagging tank top, torn and missing a strap. She repeated to herself, with sharp, shaking breaths,

"Just fill out the missing person's report...Just fill out the missing person's report..."

Beyond the muddy, swamp-like shore stood a lake house on a crooked hill. Pale colors peeked out from under the scraps of plywood, windows mismatched and ready to pop out of their frames. A cheap car sat on its waving gravel driveway, its orange paint peeling. Its headlights shone on half the house like a spotlight, and its trunk was popped wide open.

The woman checked her plastic watch: 1:30 pm. "I did it at midnight," she said. "Took that long to get here...I'll tell them I lost him right about now. Should line up."

She pulled out her phone; its screen cracked like a web. She rapidly typed a number. A large 'C' pulled up, and it led to voicemail. "Good. Water ruined the phone."

She walked until a chill shot into her back like a syringe. Her phone got crushed within her skin-tight hand as the waves behind her jolted awake. They slapped together and splashed vigorously, even in the mild wind.

The woman spun around and stared at the darkness looming over the pitch-black lake. "Hello?" She called out, "Who's there?"

All the ridges of water she could see lay untouched by the gentle breeze; the silence she received mocked her. She shook her head and fished in her other pocket. "No, no. It's probably nothing. Just nerves."

She pulled out a brass key and trudged through the bank. Her feet sank into the sloshing grass, her hole-ridden sneakers clumping in the mud. At the back of the lake house, lopsided from years of flimsy foundation, she eyed its glass back door as it twisted in its hinges. Dim, yellow lights from her car lit the way.

She froze mid-step; the squelch echoed. She checked again, eyeing the clustered woods surrounding the lake, its shadow looming over the shore's edge underneath the starless sky.

"Who's out there? Show yourself!" she yelled.

Cricket chirps and rustling leaves drifted past her; the boat she rode croaked softly like a frog. The night seemed lonely, like the moon. Or herself. She shook her head again. "No, that's ridiculous. The nearest house is, like, 20 miles from here."

The woman hurried to the back porch; she had to yank her shoes out of the ground to hop onto the splitting planks acting as stairs. She kicked her feet onto the porous, light pine boards that could crumble into mulch at any moment.

"He thought he could keep this place from me. Well, I found your key, you dead bastard! I'm gonna sell this land!" She said heartily.

The woman stepped onto the low, elevated porch and marveled at the lake house. The entire structure must have been a family project, judging by the tipsy concrete base and abandoned renovations hiding underneath the dark plywood. Sun-bleached paint on the siding was shoddy; splashes of different colors, like blues and yellows, fought each other on multiple sections. The house was comically tall; it looked like it had 3 stories, but only two rows of cracked windows. The roof sat on a sad monument; all four sides leaned at different angles and almost reached different lengths. The gutters hung by a rusty thread; one fell off and hooked daringly onto a drooping power line, looking like you could skip rope with it.

Nothing's been touched in 8 years, she knows, or she would have heard about it after that good-for-nothing died.

She lifted a foot and immediately tripped. She caught herself before her face could meet the rotted planks, and she could almost spy the mold growing in between the cracks. She shrugged it off and, despite that, strolled to the back door, a skip in her step. She fiddled with the lock, humming a jaunty tune. She has a good life ahead of her now. No surviving family members on his end; it's all hers!

From that thought, the hairs at the back of her neck shot up. The porch creaked, but not from her. The keys sprang from her frail grip as she checked the boards at the top step.

Her heart dropped to her knees, and her soul froze over.

A puddle of water. Lying atop a rotted board that dipped dangerously low, threatening to snap at any moment.

She blinked and picked up the keys. Her hand shook violently. "No, that was me. I just stood there! I tripped!"

The amount of water, though...A cold, sharp puddle. Almost like she just swam out of the lake and stood in that one spot without drying off.

She was dry as a bone.

She fidgeted with the lock. The moment she heard a 'click', she ripped the door open and ran inside. Forcing the swollen frame to fit, she slammed the door shut, and she stared out onto the porch. Waiting for movement.

She breathed a sigh of relief and pressed her back up against the glass. The darkness of the lonely house swallowed her whole, comfortingly. She made it. Her mind can't play tricks on her if she's safe inside. Think of that...Actually being stalked by...Ridiculous!

The air in the house was heavy, like sucking in a wall of water above a boiling pot. Leaning off the glass, she felt around in the darkness. She thought for a moment; with the power lines outside, there should be electricity.

She stretched over the counter and felt for a light. "Feels so good. Years of starving and scraping for change are finally over! That jag-off thought he could ruin my life at 17 and shoot himself like that -- Then hold out this gold mine on me!"

When her finger touched a small plastic switch, the hairs on her neck shot up again; a cold surge ran up her spine like a stampede of tiny ice cubes. She shook. Was there actually someone-...

She carefully flipped the switch and checked the tile floor. Her heart made backflips in her chest.

A clear puddle of water sat perfectly under the tip of her toes. The floor beneath it warped, almost the size of a pair of shoes.

She gasped and slipped on the puddle, striking the floor with all her weight and erupting in a shrill scream that echoed off the walls. She scooted away, her wide eyes flickering wildly. "No! There's no way!"

She whipped her head all around the dusty, murky kitchen. She expected a blue hue or a shadow to be leering in the corner. She looked for a floating object or words written on the floral paper wall. She checked the geometric floor by the molding sink and by the hardwood table, humorously stacked with yellowing dishes. The floor itself was pristine, maybe wavy, except for that one spot of water.

All in all, it was just a simple kitchen forgotten by time.

The woman lifted herself up and carefully sneaked around the puddle. Her heels squeaked as they slipped a few times. "Don't let yourself get all worked up, Madellen."

She slowly worked her way out of the kitchen, spinning around, trying to spy movement or something 'magic'. She ripped out her phone and desperately dialed her first contact.

She held it up to her ear. "Mom?" She asked. "Have you ever been haunted by, like, a malevolent spirit? ... They're real, Mom! I'm being stalked right now! ... Yes, I am! ... It's not my problem if you don't believe in actual, real stuff! ... I have every reason to! It's justified! ... This is why I don't visit, you prude! ... No, I won't put him on! ... You already have a DOG, talk to him! ... I can refer to Chester however I want! ... Whatever."

Madellen slammed her finger on the phone and jammed it into her pocket, murmuring curses. "Guess I'm on my own, as usual."

She took a deep breath and entered the dark hallway by the kitchen, sliding her hand along the grainy wall. She felt the bumps of snapped trim and crooked frames. She eventually met another light switch. And was immediately stabbed by a pair of eyes. She rammed the switch upward and checked the floor.

Hurriedly scanning around, she locked eyes with another puddle, barely touching her sneakers. And a heavy indentation in the floor.

She must have jumped 5 feet in the air, screaming and flailing her arms wildly. "I didn't step on that! It wasn't there!"

Stumbling back, she scurried into the main living area, stomping her feet to feel for any water splashes or curved flooring as she searched for another switch. She took a breath, feeling her throat constrict, like a pair of frozen hands were snaking around her.

"What's going on?!"

She lit the room and checked the main entrance. Another puddle. Clean. Like a freshly drenched swimmer just dripping heavily. The floor bowed. She felt someone was standing there.

Watching her.

Madellen ran into every room, searching for a place where she wasn't being observed. Judged. The swollen bathrooms with leaking toilets, the moldy closets with broken rods, and a toppled dining room ready to flip sideways. She checked every withered floorboard in every room, snapping switches and screaming louder and louder; the puddles more alluring, the musk and mold building bricks in her lungs.

She checked the upstairs bedrooms; she found pools even bigger, trying to suck her in, like they wanted to drown her. Her breathing felt heavier with each passing moment, turning erratic. She held her neck.

"Chester!" Madellen screamed, holding her chest, "Chester! Leave me alone, Chester!!"

She flew down the stairs, yelling, "I can't breathe! I can't breathe! He's trying to choke me, too! He's trying to suffocate me!"

Stumbling into the walls and flying over the junk sprawled on the floor, she reached for the old black landline at the entryway. "No!" She screamed, throwing herself onto the ground.

A puddle lay in front of the end table, and the phone receiver was misty and covered in mildew. The handle hung precariously as it hummed a dial tone. An ominously static dial tone.

"No! No, he rat me out! The cops are on their way!" Madellen crawled on all fours, yelling at the top of her lungs, "Chester! You think it was easy for me to do that?! All you did was mooch off of me! You put me in poverty! Let me live my life, now!" She coughed; the air was suffocatingly damp, far too much to be natural.

Madellen darted into the living room and tripped over the faded green carpet, her face submerged in a deep spot, soaked to the brim like a sponge. She screamed, "I knew it! He's getting revenge!"

Jumping up, she screamed even louder, "Chester! Stop stalking me! Stop trying to kill me!"

By the peeling leather couches, she spotted a roll-top desk. She nearly shattered it against the wall, ramming into it and gripping the edges until her knuckles turned white. She peered at the stacks of old newspapers, and her heart nearly leaped out of her chest and into her throat.

Her eyes pulsed with every harsh heartbeat. She dug her nails into her chin, clenching her jaw until her teeth ached.

A metal alarm clock blinked '12:00' over and over again. The outer casing was rusted; a sharp squeal came from the inside. Every blink was a mechanical clunk; every moment, she heard one word over and over,

'Mom-my. Mom-my. Mom-my.'

"Oh. My. God. That's the time I killed him." She stuttered.

Madellen ripped the desk drawers out of their slots and dumped out all their contents. A confetti of documents floated around her: Family notes saying, 'keep it a surprise'; bills claiming, 'production halt'; even the deed to the land reading 'Our future home'. Until finally, she heard a loud, heavy slam on the ground.

"I knew it!"

Madellen dug through the cyclone of papers and grabbed a blue velvet satchel case, reading: 'Barry's Goodbye'. She opened it, revealing a silver pistol, and ripped apart the protective plastic. She let the weapon sit in her clammy hands, icy cold against her skin. She cocked the barrel, perfectly smooth and untouched. She waved it all around the room, pocketing the extra bullets in a frenzy.

"Listen, monster! Chester! If you don't leave, I'll shoot!" She coughed, feeling her throat getting tighter and tighter. "You can't stop me now!"

She got up and surveyed the room, checking every inch of the floor and aiming at the corners of decaying furniture. On the end table was another system clock, blinking '12:00.'

'Mom-my. Mom-my. Mom-my.'

A fire rang out of Madellen's hands; metal and electrical shards flew into the air like birds. Her hands rang at the frequency, her toes shuddering as they planted deep into the flooring. She checked her right foot; it was submerged in a pool of water, the rotted wood creaking underneath her weight.

Another deafening shot rang out as a gaping hole filled the floor planks; the water drained within a second.

"That's it. That's how I get rid of him!" Madellen heaved.

She executed every 'reminder' Chester sent; a symphony of deafening bullets rang out; no puddle or clock was safe. Not even the humming black phone. Holes littered the house; every cold surge she received ended in more shots and more holes; even the walls began to leak.

She reloaded her gun.

She wasn't safe until Chester's unholy entity was exorcised.

Until red and blue flashing lights caught the corner of her eye.

She stared out the fogged window.

"They're here." Madellen scowled.

Outside, an officer stood by his car, a bottle of water in one hand, and reaching dispatch with the other. He eyed his cruiser; a bundle of blankets was piled in the backseat like a small mountain. "Still waiting on backup, heard gunshots, over."

As he finished, the bottle slipped from his hand and poured all over his shoes. He cursed as his socks soaked it all up. He threw the empty bottle into the passenger side with a huff when he spotted someone.

A woman. Standing outside an abandoned lake house.

Gun in hand.

She checked his feet first and held up her gun instantly. "Chester, you rat! Now you're possessing a cop to kill me?!"

The officer drew his gun. "Drop the weapon!"

The bundle of blankets in the backseat jerked at the explosion of gunshots.

A 7-year-old boy rose from them. His damp, spiky hair tickled his face as he searched for the officer. The man covered the backseat window. He smiled and assured him, "It's okay, son, you're safe."

Medics eventually covered the body of a woman, shot in the chest. According to the report, for reasons of defending a victim. Physical signs of hysteria.

A boy was huddled in his blanket; he overheard the officer talking to other emergency responders:

Chester's mother. Madellen Allen, age 24. Madellen packed up one day and drove all the way out to Lake Remorse. Chester found his mom trying to suffocate him with his pillow at midnight, so he played opossum. She threw him in the trunk; he texted 911 and got a tracker on them. When she dumped his 'body' in the lake, he swam as quietly as he could and waited for the cops; they got his location before the phone was waterlogged.

"That house is a wreck." Said the officer. "I looked inside; pipes are leaking everywhere. Obviously, the homeowner built it from the ground up, because who puts water pipes in the ceilings?" The officer shook his wet shoe to prove his point.

"And who even builds walls that high? You don't even think to look up when you're inside!"

A man in a long coat approached the officer, gasping obnoxiously and tugging at his beige shirt. "I need to complain about that house- investigating it is a nightmare! I mean, winter must have burst the pipes at one point; there's water damage just all over the house. Floors are so contorted they look like imprints of feet! Even the porch is in rough shape. Stand long enough, and the planks bend under your weight like taffy; and after that, there's a well of rainwater underneath that soaks right through... Demolish this place!"

The officer scoffed and rubbed his head. "I'm surprised the electric even works under all those leaks. There's been a power outage; those stupid digital clocks are so loud! Seriously, those things need oil; the gears are clearly rusted!"

"Hey, I would have appreciated a heads-up to wear a mask before going in. The humidity nearly suffocated me, man!"

The cop laughed and turned over to the boy, Chester. A sad sigh erupted from him. He went over and placed his hand on his shoulder. "How're you holding up, son?"

Chester kept his head down, "...Okay. I guess." The officer crouched to Chester's level, letting him continue. "She found daddy's key last week. That was the first time I've ever seen her happy."

The officer grimaced. "Are your parents separated? Is your dad still around?"

Chester shook his head. "I never met him, but Mommy said he took her smile with him when he 'passed'. All I've ever done is make her sad."

The cop sighed again. "Do you have any family?"

Chester finally looked up and smiled. "My grandma and grandpa have a doggy!"

The cop copied Chester's smile and nodded. "You'll be in good hands now. No monsters will hurt you ever again."

Some people create their own monsters. From a fear that can be justified.

Or entirely imagined.