Ellen Harper was so cold, perched on the sandy bank of the river, watching the water swirl beneath her.
So cold.
No, that wasn't right- cold is when your teeth chatter, when you clutch your goosebump-covered arms to your chest, rubbing them, trying to force the nonexistent heat of your fingertips into your flesh. Cold is how you feel before a performance, up on the stage. Cold is dipping your toes into a lake, then jumping out again, shrieking with laughter as your friends egg you on. Cold is sticking your face into the snow on a dare.
Cold is not being unable to move. Cold is not feeling something- someone- behind your shoulder, their breath brushing your ear.
Ellen prayed it was Vivian. Or another one of her sister's friends, come to scare the older girl. The oldest at the stupid party.
But in her heart, she knew it wasn't.
After all, a nine-year-old could not pull off the subtlety of creeping up on Ellen without a sound. Could not force her to freeze over like the iciest of lakes. Could not make her stiffen as she had.
Not even her hair tickled her shoulders, even though Ellen was sure there had been wind just a second ago.
Hadn't there?
Her fingernails molding themselves into the wet moss beneath her was the only indication Ellen had that this was not a dream. That, and the plastic party favor necklace Vivian had insisted she wear. Ellen had been so embarrassed, even though none of her friends would see it.
The necklace was still looped around her neck, brushing her collarbone and proudly displaying itself atop Ellen's grey sweatshirt. Ellen could not even force her eyes to look down at the cheap blue-and-green piece.
Let me go. A voice pleaded. Her voice, she realized suddenly. Please.
And the answer - I can't.
Why did the response sound afraid?
Why was there a response at all?
It's all in your head, Ellen assured herself. Don't creep yourself out for no reason.
Still, she found herself saying aloud, as if to break whatever was holding her in place, "I'm Ellen. Do you have a name?"
The words shattered the silence. Broke it into a million tiny pieces.
A pause. Then, a terrified, heartbroken whisper: Annette.
And then there were cold hands on her back. Panting breaths- not in her head. An exhale.
And then those same hands shoved her into the water.
"Goodbye, Ellen."
YOU ARE READING
Water's Edge ✔️
Paranormal"Don't go near the water." Thirty years ago, teenager Ellen Harper fell prey to the roiling rapids of her town's only river. And yet still she roams the sight of her passing, neither dead nor alive. "Don't listen to the whispers." Played off as a t...
