1
Marshall Kimberlay found out about the haunted river in the town of Malum’s Brook as he perused the Sunday edition of his favorite newspaper on a quiet September afternoon, just at the brink of fall. He’d been a writer for thirty years and, even though everyone now labeled him as a hack who had overstayed his welcome and who didn’t know how to write for modern audiences, he had definitely been loved by millions of readers during his early years. He’d been in search for the story that would become his next bestselling novel for a while now, but as his eyes scanned the piece, he thought he’d finally found the perfect inspiration:
On March 27th of this year, the body of 11-year-old Anne-Marie Gregor was found dead on the banks of the main river in the town of Malum’s Brook, in Pembroke County. She went missing two days before, on the 25th. Family and friends set a search party to look for her without any luck. Then, on the 27th, her mother got a call from the local police telling her that her daughter had been found. The most unsettling part of this is that she wasn’t the first one. And many locals think she won’t be the last one, either. According to its inhabitants, since the small town’s foundation in 1894, at least 200 people have gone missing and then resurfaced a couple of days after, either on the banks of the river or floating in the river itself (for context, the town’s current population is just of 600 people).
According to sources, it has always been difficult to assess the cause of death of the victim, since they never show any visible wounds or marks after their subsequent reappearance. Everything seems to point towards drowning, as their lungs are always filled with water and their skins clammy and cold to the touch, a significant sign of being immersed in water for a considerable amount of time. However, no one has yet been able to pinpoint the reason why the victims would enter the water.
None of these incidents seem random, however, as some people might point out, since the bodies seem to appear all the time exactly two days after their disappearance, never more and never less. Locals tend to believe that there’s something in the river that is deliberately attacking anyone who goes near the river and then returning their bodies after a while.
Out of respect for it, people from Malum’s Brook have never named the river, calling it simply River, as a proper name. They use all the deaths as a cautionary tale for the young inhabitants of the town, hoping that they will learn not to approached the infamous place. The most recent victim was a girl who was found floating in the river on March 27th, 2019. Her name was Anne-Marie Gregor.
The piece continued with further information about the victims, but Marshall had read enough. There it was, plain as day, his next huge success. All he needed was to visit the town and get acquainted with its people, its geography, and most importantly, its river.
Marshall arrived at Malum’s Brook early the next day after a two-hour flight and an Uber ride into the town. He’d booked a room in the Brook’s Townhouse, since it was the cheapest option and he didn’t have a lot of money to squander in nonsense. He arrived and rang the desk call bell. A friendly bespectacled woman appeared from a room on the right.
“Yes, how can I help you?” she asked him.
“I booked a room here. I’ll be staying through Monday of next week.”
“Naturally,” she replied. “Last name?”
“Kimberlay. Marshall Kimberlay.”
“Only yourself, right?”
“That is correct.”
“Sure. Here is your key, sir. Enjoy your stay, Malum’s Brook is happy to have you! Also, if you need anything, you can let me or my colleagues know and we’ll be happy to help.” She smiled warmly.
“Actually, there’s something you can help me with,” he replied with a tone that suggested he was making her a confidante of a well-kept secret.
“Of course, sir. What would that be?”
“I was wondering if you had a map of the town…” he paused for dramatic effect. Writers are all the same. “and if you could tell me about the River.”
“The River?”
“Yes, the River. You know… where people are said to die every once in a while.”
“Where did you say you come from… sir?”
“I didn’t say anything… ma’am.”
“I… what do you say I accompany you to your room, Mr. Kimberley?” She left her space behind the counter and started climbing a set of rickety wooden stairs. Marshall didn’t immediately follow, so she turned back in the middle of the stairs and called, “follow me!” so he did.
Once inside the room, she locked the door and sat in the chintz chair in the corner of the room. She regarded Marshall closely and decided she could go ahead.
“How do you know about the River?” she asked.
“I read it in a newspaper. You, know, The Times.”
“Figures. We normally don’t grant interviews or talk about the river with newspapers or news channels, but our new mayor love to run his mouth. We normally don’t get The Times in here, so we didn’t know.”
“Makes sense to keep it a secret. Fewer tourists and all that.”
“Yeah, also the part about people probably thinking we’re crazy for being scared of a River and thinking it’s the source of all our murders.”
“That, too. But I do believe you. I want to write a story about the River. I’m a writer,” he added, as if that hadn’t been clear. “I promise I’ll change the name of the town if you like, but I really want to know more about all this… business.”
The receptionist pondered the question, then said, “Sure, what the hell. My vacation time is long overdue, anyway. Let’s make this formal. My name is Lara Jacobs.”
Lara told Marshall everything she knew about the River. She brought a map and showed him the places where the last ten bodies had been found and the places where the River was closer to the town. She also told him about the people she’d known who had been found dead. They sounded like normal people, different ages, different genders, different races… it seemed pretty random.
“Is there a pattern in the time? Like, are the times between deaths always the same?” Marshall asked, intrigued.
“I have no idea. The last victim was Anne-Marie, on March 27th. Before her… I don’t know.”
“Then I should investigate a little. Will you help me?”
“Sure, let me just tell my boss.”
They went to the town’s library, where most records were stored and available to the public, then sat down and studied the records from the past twenty years closely. They started making a timeline.
“So, we know that the latest victim was Anne-Marie,” Marshall said, setting a picture of the girl on the table. “Then…”
“Thomas Ryan,” Lara ventured, and set a picture of a young boy next to Anne-Marie’s. “On August 20th of last year.”
“Then Martina Stevens. On December 24th, 2017.” He set down a picture of an elderly woman.
“Then Hugh Trenton. On March 23rd, 2017.” She set down a picture of a middle-aged man with a lost look in his eyes.
“Then Gabbie Ruiz. On May 20th, 2016.” A picture of a teenage girl with braces.
“Then Marcus Zair. On June 21st, 2015. They grow farther and farther apart, don’t you think?” Lara asked Marshall.
“Yes…” he counted the months between each death. “Oh, shit.”
“What?”
“Look. Every new death happens a month sooner than the last. This happened ten months after the last one. This one nine. This one eight, and so on… until Anne-Marie’s. Her death happened seven months after Thomas Ryan’s.” If this is a pattern, it means that—”
“The next death will happen six months after hers!”
“On September, to be exact. It’s already September 23rd. The earlies these deaths happen is the 20th. If it’s going to happen, it will happen soon. Has anyone gone missing?”
“Not that I know of.”
“I know my idea was to write about this, but we have a more pressing matter. We have to stop this month’s death.”
“But… what if by going you ensure that you’ll be next?”
“I think that’s a risk I have to take.”
“Then I’ll go, too. If there’s a possibility to stop this, then I want in.”
Marshall considered Lara and nodded. He’d only known her for about three hours, but he already knew she was the kind of person he’d trust with his life.
They geared up with knives and a gun each, just in case there was a threat that could be killed, and then went down to the River bank where most of the bodies had been found. It was seven in the evening. The fog hung low all over the water and through the forest and the field surrounding the River. They kept watch and patrolled around it, alternating each time, but nothing happened. They went back to the hotel to shower and then got back to the River with some food. The fog had dissipated with the sun and it was easier to see, but Marshall didn’t think it would happen in broad daylight. And it didn’t. Night fell again and a huge moon came out, casting a bright light that wasn’t able to get rid of the fog, and they were engulfed once again.
At two in the morning, just as Marshall was beginning to think that maybe there was no pattern and it had all been a fool’s errand, a boy appeared next to him. His eyes were open but dreamy, they were focused on the water, as if were the only thing in the world that mattered.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” Marshall asked urgently, grabbing the boy’s arm and shaking him. He was wearing pajamas and slippers with a dog’s head on them. The boy didn’t react at all. He shook himself free of Marshall’s grip with amazing force and continued walking to the water. Marshall, starting to panic, called out, “LARA!”
He watched the kid get closer to the water, still with that hazy look on his eyes. He tried grabbing him from his pajama top and pants, but the boy always managed to free himself from his grip. Then the boy’s eyes opened further and became as big as saucers and Marshall saw a smooth white rock rise to the surface in the middle of the water. He noticed that the mist seemed to avoid that exact spot. The rock kept rising and became a slimy oblong.
That was when Lara joined him. “What the—” she exclaimed.
The thing in the water kept surfacing. A mouth with teeth as sharp as needles was revealed, then a neck and then a matching body. Long arms ending in webbed fingers, and then the legs, also culminating in webbed toes. There were no eyes or ears to be seen. The creature had a long tail with fish scales and gills on its sides that seemed to be gasping for air. It was standing on the water, which was still as smooth as a mirror. Then it smiled.
That was when they lost their mind. Marshall suddenly understood the boy. The fog dissipated again and a spotlight seem to illuminate the creature, which seemed incredibly appealing now. The river was not a river. It was a fountain of fortune. If he went in, everything would be okay. He would never suffer again. He wouldn’t need to write a thing as banal as a book ever again, because he’d have all he ever wanted in the River. If he only let himself be embraced by the water and gave himself away to it, everything would be okay. He was following the boy. His shoes were touching the water. They didn’t get wet. He was walking on it, making his way to his savior, making his way toward salvation.
Three for the price of one. My rest can be longer this time. Marshall felt the joy of the voice inside his head and wanted to leap with happiness. But then, fear, anguish. No! What are you doing? NO! A resounding bang shook the world around him and he sunk into the cold water of the River.
Marshall found the boy and grabbed him, swimming to the river bank. There, he took his coat from where it had been lying on the ground and swaddled the kid with it.
“What happened?” he asked Lara.
“I shot the creature, that’s what happened.”
Marshall looked at the water, which had turned a silvery white. Perhaps the blood of the thing, perhaps just the moon. “Didn’t it affect you? You know…”
“Yes, it did. But a voice inside kept telling me to snap out of it, and I regained my sanity enough to unholster my gun and shoot it.”
Marshall stood up and embraced her. “Thank you, you saved my life.”
He left the next morning, and Lara met him at the curb. “Thanks for helping us with that thing… whatever it was.”
“It was you who killed it.” He thought for a moment. “At least I hope it was killed.”
“Yeah, I hope so, too. Anyway, have a safe flight. I’m looking forward to reading your novel.”
Marshall smiled as he got into his Uber. “I’ll send you an advanced copy as soon as it’s ready.”
The driver drove off, and the town got smaller in the rearview mirror. Marshall didn’t think he’d write the book. He’d had a good run. Let a new generation of writers take over. As for him, one trip to Malum’s Brook had been enough; he didn’t want to revisit in his imagination, where monsters were twice as evil and the threats as real as a mind-controlling creature living in a river.
