Lights Out

Children of the Swamp

Something howled in the distance. It sounded too high-pitched to be a wolf or coyote, but it was a singular note that made his flesh crawl all the same. His boots sank and squelched in the swamp water, some of it spilling into them and soaking his socks, but still he trudged forward. Josh knew he should have waited a few days to let the flooding come down but he didn't think he would have another chance to get out here uninterrupted. Besides, it wouldn't be his first trip in the swamp. He's gone out here multiple times a year since he was ten years old. He just wished he had been more practical about his clothing.

Josh heaved himself onto an outcrop loaded with fresh moss and some other plants he didn't know. The moss he plucked and sealed up in some of the Tupperware he brought along; it would be useful for when the animals had wounds he couldn't bandage. The foreign plants he left alone since without knowing if they were poisonous or not, could put him in serious danger. As he put the containers in his satchel, Josh lifted his legs out of the way of a thick, black snake. It looked graceful in the water, parting the lily pads and greenery on top, but he didn't want the snake thinking he was a threat. Or prey, for that matter.

He gradually made his way from tuft to tuft, upending flooded boots every so often. It didn't feel good to have wet socks on but he would deal with it later. He was after something special, and while the moss and other greens he found were welcome, it was the fiddle heads he was after. His wife always made a delicious stew with them and he wasn't intent on missing out. But when Josh had gone as far as he could, there wasn't a single fiddle head in his bag.

Bummed and muddy, Josh decided to head in for the night. He was out later than expected and if the sun fell while he was here, his wife would have a conniption. Especially when she realized he didn't have his phone. She was always reminding him to grab his phone but she was in the garden this morning and he hadn't wanted to disturb her. But going back was going to prove more difficult than trekking in.

Josh felt heavy as a statue, lifting each stone leg higher to accommodate for the sunken in footprints from before. More water sloshed around him, soaking his thighs now. A few more steps and the water was touching his hips. Josh felt disturbed now; the water shouldn't have come that high that quick. As the water continued to rise, Josh flailed his arms looking for a tuft or a rock. Something he could grab to get out of the rising swamp.

His fingers touched grass and he immediately hauled himself up. But one foot wouldn't come up. It felt like fingers tightly squeezing his ankle, keeping him in the brackish liquid. His heart shot into his throat as those fingers began to pull down, slowly immersing his leg. The water felt like tar now, sticky and foul as it clung with little needles to his skin. It wanted him, but Josh had no desire to give up.

He tried to push himself up, give himself any kind of leverage, and he thought he was winning. Cold prickles exploded on his shoulders and he looked up to see a child with her hands on him. She had a deathly white face and dead eyes. Josh had seen sharks before and it gave him the same feeling. She pushed, helping the tar.

The story of the children in the swamp came to Josh then, an old story that his mother told him as a child, and her mother told her at the same age. These kids didn't listen to their mommies when they said not to play in the swamp. They would play and splash in the swamp until just before dark and then return to their homes. But one day, the children didn't return home. His mother said they all drowned, their lifeless bodies now the property of the swamp. And if he were to wander in the swamp without an adult, he too would join those little kids. It had scared Josh enough that he never set foot in the swamp without his grandfather or dad with him until he was older, the story faded from memory.

The ghost girl leaned down, her wispy hair tickling his cheek. "You should have listened, Josh."

Her strength amazed him as she pushed harder, the tar coming alive on her arms and piercing his body. Slowly, he felt his grip falter as the ghost continued to push down. Josh wanted to fight back, and he tried, God did he try, but it was like he had turned into a rag doll. He was completely defenseless.

The fingers around his ankle snaked up his leg, wrapping themselves around his waist as more little tendrils of sharp tar poked and prodded. He could see blood on top of the dark ink, separated like oil and water. Josh didn't think he had ever felt fear like this before.

The tar wrapped around his neck, more and more fingers grasping him, and still he stared into the vacant eyes of the ghost girl. Her teeth were bared in a snarl as she exerted all her energy into killing him. It was like she was in a hurry to see his demise. But she didn't have to wait long as the swamp swallowed him whole, the whole ordeal taking a mere few minutes versus the hours it felt to Josh.

The little girl watched her home eat Josh alive, the air sparking with a new energy. She knew if it didn't eat, she ceased to exist. As well as all the other ghost children. She couldn't let it happen, so every year the swamp ate a new soul and they got to live for another season. Smiling, she skipped away into the heart of her home. The other ghosts joined her, inky tendrils floating around them.