The headlights flashed. A dozen naked association members stood in the beam of light, restored to their fleshly pink states. I didn’t bother trying to back up. Not this time. I threw the car into drive and floored the gas pedal. Darla’s soft body thudded against the hood of the car first, followed by Don, then Bryan’s mother. They rolled off and another association member bumped under the front passenger side tire. I plowed through them without a second thought, focused on the country road leading away from Palmetto Lake.

  My eyes flicked to the rearview, the horizon now illuminated with a brilliant orange glow. Plumes of black smoke spilled from the windows of my grandparent house into the night and I smiled, despite myself. The dark silhouette of a man stood in the driveway, his stance menacing as he watched us speed away. Bryan. For a moment I considered throwing the car into reverse, enjoying the feeling of the tires rolling over his body again and again. I couldn’t risk it though. I couldn’t let anything keep us at Palmetto Lake for another moment longer.

  I saw my mother one last time as I sped away from my grandparents’ home. She stood at the end of the driveway where the edge of the forest meets the property line. She was beautiful and luminous, dressed in white, her specter no longer ominous. She smiled and waved at me as we passed, and in my heart I knew that I would never see her again. Maybe she would be able to have peace now. Or maybe she was damned to stay at Palmetto Lake for all of time; waiting and watching in the woods. Hiding, only appearing to warn others away from her fucked up family. I’ll never know, because I’m never coming back.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I need to stop for a cup of coffee.”

  My eyes darted toward the gas station just off US-41 as Joy’s car sped along the highway. It was near midnight, and I had been driving nonstop for more than two hours on country roads, trying to put as much distance as possible between the lake and my sister and I. Joy had been quiet for most of the ride, though I assumed she was in shock. I knew I was.

  “Can you get me a soda?” She stretched and yawned. “My mouth tastes like ass.”

  “Sure.” My eyes flicked to her gas gauge. “I’ll need to fill up the tank too. Do you have any cash anywhere?”

  “I think my purse is in the back.” Joy sighed.

  I pulled off of the highway, parked at one of the empty pumps and glanced over at my sister. Both of us looked like we had been through hell, but Joy looked especially pallid under the fluorescent gas station lights. I found her purse and a packet of baby wipes and tried to clean up my hands and face as best I could. I popped one of her sweaters over my head, grabbed three twenty dollar bills from her wallet and smoothed back my hair as best I could.

  “How do I look?”

  “Like hot garbage.” She laughed and gave me a weak smile.

  “I feel like hot garbage.” I blinked and pursed my lips. “I’ll be right back.”

  The gas station was empty, save for the lone worker behind the counter. The woman looked to be my age, though she seemed older. Wisened and hardened by life perhaps. She barely acknowledged me as I paid for my coffee, Joy’s soda and fifty bucks worth of gas.

  I passed Joy our drinks, filled up the tank and started back out on the road again. We were due to cross the Florida/Georgia border soon near Valdosta, but Atlanta was still hours off. If I could stay awake, we’d be back at my house before dawn.

  “Do you think we should have gone to the police first?” Joy unscrewed the top of her soda bottle and took a sip.

  I shook my head. “No. They had the Lake County Police Department in their pockets. Besides, what would we say?”

  “That our fucked up reptilian family tried to kill us.” Joy laughed.

  “We can go to the police tomorrow.” I nodded, keeping my eyes on the road. “I’ll probably go to jail for arson. I don’t know.”

  “Do you really think we’re like them, Summer?” Joy took another sip of soda, coughed and sputtered.

  “I don’t know.” My shoulders tightened. “I don’t feel like we are.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” Joy let out a low sigh. “I’m sorry for a lot of things.”

  “I’m sorry too.” I reached over and squeezed Joy’s arm. Her skin was cold and clammy to the touch. “Hey, are you feeling okay?”

  “No.” She scoffed. “I feel like hell.”

  “I still don’t even know exactly what happened.” My gaze fell on the sign for Valdosta. We were almost out of Florida. Good riddance.

  “It really is my fault you know.” Joy moaned and laid her head on the window. “I knew we shouldn’t have gone there. But I pushed anyway.”

  “What do you mean?” I gripped the wheel and glanced over at Joy. She looked so small and fragile again, withered inside the dirty, black tunic.

  “Mom came to see me right before… it happened,” she paused and pulled in a ragged breath. “She told me not to go back there, no matter what.”

  Ice flowed through my veins. “What.”

  “She warned me,” Joy whispered, her voice weak. “But I was too stubborn. I needed to know. I needed to see for myself.”

  “Joy! How could you?” I reached out and grabbed her arm again. It was positively slick and devoid of warmth. I gasped and glanced over at her again. She looked awful.

  “I’m sorry, Summer.” She gurgled. “Sorry for everything.”

  It was then that Joy’s arm burst beneath my grip, like a full, delicate water balloon. Her skin popped, and cold, dark lake water spilled into the center console. I screamed and swerved off the road, slamming my foot on the brake. Joy choked and gasped one last time as her skin liquified and melted into a puddle in the seat.

  I didn’t breathe for a long time as I stared at the wet pile of black fabric where my sister had just been. I blinked and threw the car into park, the smell of dank, earthy lake water filling my nostrils. I sat, and I cried until there were no more tears left to cry.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I thought about pulling over and checking into a hotel somewhere. I thought about finding a pay phone, ancient relics that they were, at some gas station and calling my husband. I thought about my mother and about Joy. I didn’t know what to tell people about what happened that weekend. It was all beyond belief. So instead, I just drove. I drove until the gas tank was nearly empty and the sky turned from black to deep navy with the promise of the sun on the horizon. I coasted into my neighborhood on fumes, just before the sun rose with heavy eyelids and an even heavier heart.

  I loved my suburban Georgia home, nestled on both sides by pecan and ash trees, set on a generous lot with no bodies of water anywhere nearby. There was nothing tropical about my red brick estate with its thick white columns set high on a hilly paved drive. Nothing at all to remind me of where I came from in the heart of the swampland, the hot, humid days and nights teeming with mosquitos and the scent of decay always on the wind. Our house was clean and classic and bright and I was happy to see it.

  I parked Joy’s car in our immaculate driveway, hoping that she didn’t have any leaks. Jeremy hated for anything to mar the perfect paved drive. The security lights came on of course, though I wasn’t worried. I knew Jeremy would already be awake, working and checking the stocks. He would have already come out to get the paper, old-fashioned as he was. I went to the front door and opened it.

  The house was quiet as I flipped off my still mucky sneakers and ascended the stairs. I wanted nothing more than to clean off the evidence of the last twenty-four hours before I faced my family to try and explain what happened. I grabbed the banister and padded on silent feet toward the master bedroom. I could hear the clickety-clacking of keys echoing from Jeremy’s office. He would likely hear the water running and come to investigate at some point, but at least I could shuck off my gore tattered clothes before he could get a look at me.

  I stopped by the door to my daughter’s bedroom and paused. The door was open a crack, just enough for me to peek in and see them sleeping in their double beds. We have a four thousand square foot home with six bedrooms, but my daughters insisted on sharing a room since they were little. Now that Savannah was getting older, it was only a matter of time before she demanded having her own room. It was always that way; children grow up, siblings grow apart and go their separate ways.

  I walked toward my bedroom and passed the walk-in closet toward our master bathroom. It was too early in the morning for a glass of red wine, but the bath still sounded amazing. I flicked on the light and imagined myself soaking in the scalding water, water so hot it would rip my skin off.

  I slipped out of my mud and blood-caked shorts and underwear, then peeled off my shirt and bra. My clothes were mostly dry now, stiff and caked with the remnants of the alligator and the lake. I didn’t want to look at my reflection in the mirror over the sink; I already knew how awful I must look. I almost wanted to cry, but there was nothing left in me. My hair was matted and bushy all at once, my face and hands mostly clean from when I wiped up at the gas station. Little flecks of grass and dirt and lake debris dotted every inch of my skin.

  Finally, I forced myself to look in the mirror; to see the evidence of what I had just been through. But I didn’t meet my own gaze. There, in the reflection in a darkened corner of my master bathroom was Joy, shrouded in a shadow. Just like our mother had been in the woods, here she was, waiting and watching me. I should have been shocked. I should have screamed. But after what I had been through over the course of the weekend, I wasn’t even phased. In fact, I almost expected to see her.

  “What do you want, Joy?”

  My sister hovered, silently shrouded in a dark, billowy mist. She didn’t open her thin, purple lips, but she spoke to me just the same.

  Break the cycle, Summer.

  My stomach lurched and I gurgled. Lake water erupted from my throat into my mouth and I tasted the briny, sulfurous fluid. Dark lake water spewed from my lips, my abdominal muscles heaving and pushing the neverending stream out of me until there was no more. Finally, I stopped. The top of my head began to itch.

  Finish the job.

  I glanced back at Joy again, her expression blank and white. My scalp itched again and I dug my fingernails into the top of my hairline. The skin came away so easily, almost like unwrapping a present. Like unpeeling the smooth skin of an orange to reveal the pulpy, juicy segments within. My fleshy pink suit fell to the bathroom floor and I marveled at the gorgeous, glistening green scales beneath. I stretched and felt… free.

  My jaw snapped open wide, much longer now than it ever had been before. I needed a big mouth of course to accommodate my rows of new, sharp teeth. I hunched down on all fours, my belly hovering just above the floor as my claws clacked on the marble tile. It was easier to move this way.

  I heard Jeremy downstairs whistling in the kitchen, the clink of silverware in the sink and the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the air. I had to act fast before he realized I was upstairs. It had occurred to me then as the smell of bacon and eggs hit my nostrils that I couldn’t remember the last time that I had eaten.

  I was hungry.

  I crawled out the bathroom door, into the bedroom and out the hallway toward my daughters room. They were sleeping. It would be easy. So easy. Maybe Bryan was right after all. You can’t run from who you are. And I can’t blame myself for what I did. What I needed to do.

  It was my nature after all.

  About the Author

  Wendy Dalrymple loves to explore the beauty in horrific things. When she’s not writing Florida Gothic horror or romantic thrillers, you can find her hiking with her family, painting (bad) wall art, and trying to grow as many pineapples as possible.

  You can connect with me on:

  https://wendydalrymple.com

  https://twitter.com/wendy_dalrymple

  Also by Wendy Dalrymple

  White Ibis

  https://www.amazon.com/White-Ibis-Novella-Wendy-Dalrymple-ebook/dp/B09GW89K3B?ref_=ast_author_dp

  “Truly terrifying” - Jenna Dietzer, author of “The Lovebugs”

  “Creepy as hell” - Sheri L. Williams, author of “Forest of Blood’

  Obsession. Lies. Greed.

  Chelsea is vain, self-absorbed, and driven in life only by want and her obsession with being the best. Even though she is desperate to portray an outwardly perfect image, things are far from perfect at home.

  One day at yoga class, Chelsea meets a woman named Damaris who is exactly like her; beautiful, confident, and reaching high to be her best self. Damaris and Chelsea become instant best friends and bond over healthy eating, fitness, and their love of luxury items. As Chelsea’s heart hardens toward her boyfriend, her obsession with the enigmatic Damaris only blossoms.

  As one bad decision turns into another, Chelsea begins to think she is being followed by a white bird. Her new best friend Damaris suggests a girls’ weekend in New Orleans to get away from it all and Chelsea readily agrees. Unfortunately for Chelsea, it soon becomes clear that she can’t run away from her problems and instead finds herself tumbling head-first into a downward spiral

  Content Warning: Mentions of suicide and eating disorders.

 

 

  Wendy Dalrymple, They Come From the Water

 

 

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