Haunted: A Collection of Frightening Tales

He Loves to Swim

Chance Darling unlocked the doors to the YMCA with a trembling hand. He looked behind himself and took his duffle bag's strap off his shoulder. He opened the bag, dropped the keys inside, and fumbled with it as he tried to close it. He lost his grip and the contents of the bag spilled all over the concrete that was still wet from the recent rain. He tried to put everything back, but his long brown hair tangled in his glasses and he fell on his rear.

"I don't think I could be any clumsier if I tried," Chance said to himself. Cursing under his breath, he got on his bony knees and fiddled with his glasses. When the last strand was removed from the lenses, he grabbed the edge of the bag and brought it closer. Chance opened it up the rest of the way. Rag for my glasses, little bottle of blue spray-stuff for my glasses, deodorant, cologne, shampoo, conditioner, mouth wash, spare clothes. I think I've got everything. Oh, wait. My tooth brush and toothpaste. Where in the world... Ah! There you are! Chance reached behind himself and grabbed the missing items. He tossed them in with the rest of his things and zipped up the duffle.

Placing the strap of his bag over his shoulder, he pushed open the front doors and stepped through. He blinked a few times to adjust to the darkness. His hand slipped and the door slammed behind him. Chance yelped like a scared puppy. He inched forward with very non-stealthy flip flops and gripped the strap of his bag. He crawled his way down the halls with slow, even steps. Chance couldn't stand the dark, but all of this would be totally worth it.

The overwhelming smell of chlorine flooded his nostrils as he padded through the doors of the YMCA's pool room. He let out a delighted sigh and beamed toothily. I am finally home, he thought. He stood there for a second, just breathing with his eyes closed. He took in as much of the smell as his body could muster, and let it go.

He opened his eyes and let them roam across his favorite place in the known universe. The small windows close to the ceiling let just enough light in so he didn't accidentally trip over something and kill himself. The white pool chairs, the bleachers, the Olympic-sized crystal lake. Ahh, he thought. Simply heavenly. He strolled over to one of the many empty chairs and placed his black towel and matching duffle bag in the seat. He glanced at his powder blue IPhone. Three thirty in the morning, he thought. Perfect. Nobody should be here any time soon. Chance put his IPhone inside the folds of his towel for safe keeping. He took off his glasses, no longer having any use for them, and set them down on the towel.

Chance slid out of his flip flops. He tossed them under the chair, made sure everything was neat, and started off toward the grand indoor lake. He could just make out diving boards in the distance and headed toward them. He stuck his toe in the diving side of the pool. The water was frigid, just the way he liked it.

He removed his trunks so they wouldn't rip and tossed them in the general direction of a wall. He crawled up the ladder of the tallest diving board and tiptoed onto the very edge. Chance curled his toes on the edge of the board and looked down, making sure that he was high enough. Satisfied, he shut his eyes, inhaled, raised his arms up, and clasped his hands as if in prayer. With every sprong of the board he stored away all the anxiety from the day. The fear, the sadness, the anger; all rinsed clean and washed away as the surface of the water was broken.

He felt the adrenaline rush that came with the change and flicked his sandy-gold tail, propelling himself downward through the crisp pool.

He'd never felt more alive in his all his 16 years that built up to this moment. The icy liquid dug its way underneath his iridescent scales. Chance released his oxygen into bubbles that popped at the surface and flooded his lungs with water, processing it upward through his newly formed gills. His hair trailed behind him, a long and tangled seaweed green mess. He smiled and nearly shredded his lips. Those are new, he thought. I'll have to get used to those.

He paused in the water and examined his new form. He poked at his new fangs with talons that he had never seen before. Chance's fingers had become webbed and scaly. His hair a mess he thought he'd never be able to fix with a brush. The familiar green was a comfort, though. He had always loved it when his hair turned. It started doing that when he joined the swim team in the fifth grade. It earned him the nickname "Seaweed." It also earned him the chance of a life time: sitting benched all season "to prevent further scandal" his coach said. If this went exactly as planned, he would never be benched again.

He scratched his way through the deep end with his falcon-esque talons, reaching for the bottom of the pool, reaching for the portal.

Oh, indeed, he thought. I love to swim.

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Smooches,

M.E.L

Your humble author

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