Sanilla Tennessee is right on the Mississipi River. Its waters are green and murky with things often getting caught in the dam from the next town over. There's copperheads swimming alongside children that poke at the minnows. Baby strollers and bodies alike often wash up on its shores.
Thats where Hunter Green stayed. He lived in one of those tall houses on stilts that always stood in the water. It wasn't built in the water of course. But recent years of flooding did little to prove little Hunter Green wrong.
Hunter Green was a strong, rambunctious, seven year old. Often the cause of his mothers headaches, he was what some called the ISS King. ISS being in school suspension. He often told the kids in his class he was a pirate and the adults were there to pillage and plunder.
It was that ideal that had gotten Hunter Green grounded that day. He had decided that silverware was that days buried treasure. Which lead to him burying all of it. His mother was less than pleased and sent him off to his room after one of her tantrums.
So there he sat reading his library book, something about a magic treehouse, when he had the the most brilliant idea. Hunter Green then proceeded to tie his long sleeves together like he learned in boy scouts. With his makeshift rope, he'd climb down into the water. Where he'd go swim till nightfall then slip in his window before his mom notices.
Here's the thing about seven year olds. They're not always the brightest. Little Hunter Green wouldn't think about the rocks below him. He wouldn't consider the tide and what it would do to his small, fragile body. Hunter wouldn't even think to tie the end of his rope to something before jumping out the window.
Weeks later, it would be Hunter Green washed up on Sanilla's shores.
Cathy was Sanilla's only prostitute. She had a strange love for her job. It also was a way to spend nights away from her son, Hunter. She was also really good at her job.
It was a busy night when Cathy got home. She took off her shoes and went to make herself a pot of coffee. She glanced at the newspaper, then the key next to it. Shit, she left him locked in. She looked at the clock, its was 3am. She went to unlock his door and was greeted by a disaster zone. All Hunters clothes were thrown around the room. His window was wide open and he was nowhere in sight.
Cathy ran to the window and looked out. There, caught on a rock, was a makeshift rope. Tears started to well up in her eyes. She then dabbed them and went to her finished pot of coffee.
She knew what she had to do. She had to go out and look for him. Call the police, have a search party for him. But as she poured her creamer Cathy could only watch the swirls in her cup. It felt so surreal. She knew exactly what happened to him. He had seen he was locked in and wanted out. Hunter tried to get out the only way he could and fell to his death.
Finally thinking it out loud, Cathy let out a guttural moan and jumped to grab her phone out of her pocket. She cried on the phone and she told them and what she found.
Cathy felt numb. Numb as she talked to the police. Numb as she signed her statement. Numb as she went to bed that night. It was so quiet. Cathy lay staring at the popcorn ceiling trying to feel.
It was her fault. Cathy stood up. She left him in there. Cathy walked towards the living room. She was gone for so long. Cathy opened the front door. When did he last eat? Cathy walked down the steps towards the driveway. Cathy turned around.
She watched the waves and thought of Hunter. Her little boy. He had been a bitch to potty train. But he's an artist. Was an artist.
Cathy bawled her eyes out and stared off at the river when it started to rain. That's when she saw something out there. Without wasting a second, Cathy started to take off her clothes and run towards the edge. The second she hit the water she heard singing.
We have him, we have your son
It was crude and sing-songish. It made Cathy fill with anger as if she was being taunted.
Come forth now, we have won
Cathy swam towards the singing furiously. She wanted her son.
Suddenly, webbed hands grabbed onto Cathy and dragged her down. She watched as fish-like people ripped her left arm off as she struggled for air. Red flushed the water as something ripped at her foot with sharp needles. Panic filled Cathy's chest and something grabbed at her stomach making sharp calls of delight.
About the Creator
From a town similar to Sanilla, Softy has always had a flair for the dramatic and horrible; often writing gore for their school papers. Now they live in Colorado where their flair is encouraged and well respected.
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