The Red Waterfall

“What’s the Red Waterfall?” I asked. Daddy and I’s silver Jeep skimmed the yellow lines carved in the road. Daddy was temporarily distracted by my question. Our two sets of deep brown eyes examined the green sign that read: The Red Waterfall 11.

I was eleven years old. My curly brown hair ran down my shoulders, and I adjusted the blue collar around my nape. Why did I suddenly feel hot? It was probably because of the bright sunshine, which shimmered down from the sky and shone on my hoodie. I had never seen a day so pristine before.

Daddy cleared his throat. “The Red Waterfall is a large waterfall on the border, much like Niagara Falls,” he explained. “Legend has it that canoeists and kayakers have plummeted over it and died, giving it the name the Red Waterfall.”

“So, why on Earth are you taking me there?” My voice trembled.

“Well”—Daddy shrugged—“as a paranormal investigator, it is my duty to find the redness of the Red Waterfall. Trust me, dear, I didn’t want to bring you, but then your mother left…” His voice trailed.

“Why did she leave?” I curiously asked.

“Because she did not like that I constantly put myself in danger investigating these haunted places.”

“I’m not surprised,” I giggled.

***

Daddy and I pulled up to the base of the Red Waterfall. It looked like an enormous curtain. The water was clear, and the falls themselves matched perfectly with the gray and brown rocks of the jagged cliff. Yet, the pool at the bottom of it was smaller than I thought.

Opening the car door, I almost fell out. Rocks crunched under my feet like bones as I left it and stumbled to the pool.

Daddy approached me from behind, his spirit box in hand. I wondered how Mom would feel if she learned that he dragged me there.

She would probably say, “Curtis! What on Earth are you doing to our daughter? You’re going to scar her for life!”

Would he, though? I mean, the place didn’t look that bad. It reminded me of a simple set for a movie or play. Yet, there was a bit of a spooky vibe. It was darker there than on the road, most likely because Daddy and I were in the woods. It was also eerily quiet. The only sound I heard was a stick cracking under my foot.

“So, why do people die?” I asked Daddy. We pushed through the warm water. The waterfall sprayed mist on us.

Daddy tripped over a rock, but caught himself before he could fall. “Because, dear, there is a powerful current at the top of the falls. Canoeists and kayakers have unfortunately been caught in it. There’s almost nothing they can do. Rest in peace for sure.” He held his spirit box up to the dim rays of sunshine that shimmered through the treetops. “Spirits, if you are here, speak to us.”

The toe of my boot slipped off the sandbank. I saw the outline of a figure in the deep section. “Daddy, I found something!” I said.

Except, Daddy did not answer. He was too busy listening to the static electricity of his box. Therefore, it was my turn to shine. I took a deep breath and dove underwater.

What I saw was beyond compare. I kicked my legs and swam to the stone, coffin-like structure that rested underneath me. Bones, skeletons, and wrecked kayaks and canoes littered the mud pit at the bottom. It was dark down there, but my eyes adjusted to the blackness.

Curious, I pushed open the coffin. The bubbling of bubbles filled my ears, and I swam back to the surface when a blanket of red liquid escaped the coffin. The Red Waterfall. Of course! That coffin held the blood of its victims.

“Darling, you did it!” Daddy yelled at the sight of the haunted liquid. “There’s the waterfall’s redness! Oh, your mother would be so proud!”

“Are you sure about that?” I questioned.

I heard a scream. Traumatized, Daddy and I peered up the length of the waterfall. A green kayak, carrying only one person—a woman—fell down its face. As soon as we saw her, Daddy’s spirit box spoke. The voice of a little girl, who had to be no older than me, recited “Now Lay Me Down to Sleep”:

“Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the Lord my soul to keep;

If I should die before I wake,

I pray the Lord my soul to take.”

And then the realization sank in. That woman falling was no ordinary woman.

“Mommy!” I screamed, right when her kayak smashed into the jagged rocks. The impact instantly silenced her yells.

“We are here, my darling wife,” Dad said to the bloodied boat. He grasped my shoulders. “We are here, and we are ready.”

Not only did the coffin hold the blood of the Red Waterfall’s victims, but it was also the gate to Heaven or Hell.

It was time for me to die at the hands of the Devil himself: the Red Waterfall.