Drowning on Dry Land

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window.

Myth and legend were powerful forces. Powerful enough to stir belief, and turn fear into reality. It had taken time, too much time, but finally, they had returned...

”Drowning victim, but found in his armchair miles away from any significant body of water? Pull the other one!”

There are some things that make you wish you called in sick that day. The above dialogue is pretty high on the list, especially for a Forensic Investigator. Especially when you already have a headach and slept badly from a half-remembered dream and woke with the unsettling feeling that it ay not have been just a dream.

When you happen to be a Medium responsible for using your job as a cover to point Detectives in the right direction...

Well, let's just say that I started regretting two or three decades of life choices, and wished I'd picked literally any other profession.

But, I'd picked this one, mostly because my superiors wouldn't fire me for the odd migraine and tendency to space out, and people tend to actually listen when I tell them to leave me alone, since that request comes with Official Scrutiny attached. Even a drunk frat boy can recognize that signal to back off (or have friends sober enough to recognize it for him. I don't really care).

Thinking fondly of working in my uncle's Funeral Home in a small country town, I braced myself and pasted on a smile. "What drowning victim? Did the prank callers decide that all of October is free game this year?"

Christopher; a tall, dark-skinned man with exactly none of the interest he feigned to get pretty girls to gossip with him, waved me over. "Hey, Barnes. Good to see you. Grace here was just telling me about the latest in a string of cases."

A string? Normally, cases like this stuck out enough for the Powers That Be to call us in sooner. I feigned skepticism. "Well, I'd rather not show up in the meeting room until I have to, so you can tell me, too, if you like."

Grace gave me a sympathetic look. "They keep mistaking you for the tea girl, too? At least I actually am just the PA."

Honestly, the sooner the old fossils appointed by the last administration retired and were replaced by people who actually knew their jobs, the better. "That's why I try to show up when the actual tea girl does. So, Drowning on dry land?"

She nodded eagerly. "Without so much as a puddle to trip face down in. Daughter swears that she wasn't gone more than an hour after driving him home from the local Men's Shed, but coroner's report shows signs consistent with being submerged for several hours."

Well, that sounded right up my alley. Damn. I checked my watch. "Intriguing. I have to go, but keep an ear out for any developments for me, ok?"

Contrary to popular myth, Supernatural killings aren't quite so common as to necessitate taxpayer dollars funding an entire department.

Instead, there's a small task-force dedicated to dealing with anything that can't be explained by mortal means. We answer directly to the head of MI-5 and occasionally drag civilian contractors into the messes we clean up. The elevator pitch for that introduction is exactly as weird as you're imagining.

How did I get mixed up in this? One ill-advised holiday with my best friend, two ghosts with a flair for drama who probably didn't intend the mess that followed, and a couple of near-death experienced that turned into a bizarre meet-cute. Said meet-cute lead to my own meet-cute at the eventual wedding, and another supernatural fiasco requiring my unique talents that doubled as a job interview.

Eventually, I emigrated over and went from Civilian Contract to Permanent Employee, moved in with my girlfriend Valerie, and had only semi-frequent regrets about my life-choices. Valerie doesn't take it personally; everyone with a mystical gift winds up regretting their life on a regular basis. Valerie only sees gifts in other people, which makes her a top choice for Recruitment, which leads to lemon meringue tarts for dessert so she can take her frustrations out on helpless egg whites instead of annoying individuals.

We all have our coping mechanisms.

Speaking of Valerie... "Hello, dearest."

Tall, athletic, and with a skin colour that made certain politicians do a double-take and grit their teeth when talking to her, Valerie waved from her cubicle, where she was talking with Rachel, another co-worker I frequently teamed up with. "Has office gossip filled you in, yet?"

I shook my head, "Only the very bare basics by those who think it's probably an elaborate prank."

Rachel gestured for me to pull up a chair. I raised an eyebrow at the carved jade hairstick in her black hair. "Do we have visitors from On High today?"

Our office was multicultural enough that no-one raised an eyebrow if someone dressed up for a festive or holy day, but Rachel's parents had moved from Hong Kong when she was a baby, and she passed easily, and thus rarely made an issue of her mixed heritage. About the only time she did, was when we had a visitor known to take issue with non-white people.

Rachel touched her complicated hairstyle modestly. "Mum was thrilled when I asked her to do my hair this morning, and my niece is trying some kind of Asian style fusion for design school, so I get to be the test dummy. I nearly wore the hairsticks with cherry blossom clappers, but I actually like the rest of you. I'll switch them out when the Brexit Cheerleader shows up."

The cherry blossom hairsticks had bells hidden in the porcelain flowers, and chimed with every movement. They were beautiful works of art, but the noise grated on the nerves after a while. I patted her hand, making the educated guess that the politician in question's escort would consist of as mixed a bunch as possible, in order to claim diversity and make them leave faster. "We appreciate that. Anyway, fill me in on what the grapevine doesn't know?"

On the average, I don't regret uprooting my life and moving halfway around the world for a job and to stay moderately close to a friend.

I just regret the things that said job entails. Frequently and often. On the bright side, so does the rest of the department, so I'm in good company.

I got to catch up on the research while the others were gritting their teeth for the cameras, so I was prepared by the time they returned and slammed the doors behind them.

The problem with the psychic ability to witness 'interesting' deaths with a lot of emotion attached to them? Over the centuries, they accumulate, until you can't go six feet without slamming face-first into a graphic flashback. Also, most of those ghosts have been waiting years to have someone to talk to about how they died, whether that person wants to hear it or not.

At least the case was simple; a cross referencing program looking for any similarities between the drowning victims, no matter how slight, revealed that they'd all grown up in the same town in the Lakes District.

A.K.A the source of inspiration for at least half of the gothic novels and morbid poetry the UK had ever produced. I banged my head on the desk, getting a head start on the blinding headache the next few days were going to inflict. My wonderful, sympathetic girlfriend patted me on the shoulder. "I'll go stock up on painkillers. We've got an early start tomorrow."

The trip to the Lakes was like any other long journey with co-workers: arguing over the music, periodic stops for bathroom and coffee breaks, and a distinct lack of elbow room.

It took about three steps out of the car and toward the first lake before a vision hit. Honestly, with the sheer number of over-dramatic twits drowning themselves or someone else over a failed relationship, how was the concept of Therapy not introduced far sooner? Bad break-ups might feel like the end of the world for a while, but they rarely were.

I loved Valerie dearly, and our jobs weren't without risk, but I wasn't about to go throwing myself off the nearest cliff if something happened, if only because I knew she wouldn't want that.

It took a while to find a death whose malicious emotions were directed more generally, rather than at themselves or a specific, long-dead, target. When we did... oh, boy...

Fury, blinding and all consuming, even as the light that marked the surface of the water grew further and further away.

They would pay, all of them.

They called me weak, pathetic, an easy target. Target I may be, but they're about to regret choosing me for sport. The evidence I planted isn't specific enough to point at any one person, but it could apply to many people, all of them known to target me. The stain of the accusation will follow them, and then I'll chase them to their own graves...

I was the last of my line, but the family business wouldn't die with me. In fact, my death would make sure we endured forever...

Choking, breathless deaths, like I suffered, and there will be nowhere they can run...

I tore myself out of the vision, coughing and gasping for air. "Well, that was more intense than I was expecting."

Everyone winced at the false cheer in my tone, and Rachel, reaching out to see if she could force the ghost to talk, staggered back several steps, her face pale. "Tell me we have an exorcist on speed-dial."

Christopher nodded, hoisting me onto his back to avoid physical contact with any more triggering locations. "Several. I'll phone back as soon as we reach somewhere with decent reception."

Valerie agreed, with rather more urgency than I was used to seeing from her as she led the way back to the car park. "Gifted gone bad always make for the worst cases." She elaborated when we all gave her confused looks. "They're not much more than hostile intent, now, closer to a poltergeist than a ghost, but they could... inflict possession, is probably the best way to describe it."

I immediately felt bad about my derisive opinions of an hour ago. "Like Bess and John re-enacting their deaths, but targeted instead of random?"

She nodded grimly. "Exactly. It's probably why so many people lost themselves in the mist, or drowned, or whatever else. All it takes is one restless spirit, and one person able to make sure they never resolve their conflict, and the bodies pile up."

I shuddered, wrapping my legs more firmly around Christopher's waist. The sooner we got away from here and made the whole thing someone else's problem, the better.

A glance over my shoulder, and I saw tendrils of mist reaching for us, like grasping fingers. "We might want to hurry."

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