Harbinger of death

The air is thick, with humidity, It suffocates me with it’s potent grasp. I stop for a moment, wiping off the caked sweat which has accumulated against my forehead. It’s a sloppy movement and the forest mocks my huffing frame.

‘Maybe this isn’t a good idea’ the thought springs, causing my forehead to crease. I push the thought away, taking a deep breath, but a hoarse cough escapes my mouth and I’m nervous again. Mum would lose it if she knew what I was up to.

The ground beneath my feet is cracked, it struggles against the muggy temperature, and dry residue sweeps onto my boots as I walk. By the time I get to the lake, dusk blankets the sky above. I look ahead, towards the lake, my eyes searching for him rapidly. Mathew isn’t beside the lake like I expected him to be. I bite my lip slowly and stand beside the murky waters. The air is still here, and the humidity seems that much worse.

Memories settle in my mind of summers spent running round the lake, playing tag. I see his small ghostly figure in my mind, auburn choppy curls, and a lazy grin. I wonder for a moment whether he might be older now, but then the anxiety swirls within my stomach.

Why did he disappear?

Mum told me to leave the past behind, she tried printing into my subconscious that it was the grief speaking again. But it's been 7 years, and the memory won’t disappear. I can see the letter I found in the morning, written in messy handwriting, telling me he had gone to the lake. I can still feel the rawness of the morning when I went to check on him, only to find no one there. He had gone.

I realise I’m crying, so I step back from the lake and brush off the memories with all the strength I can muster. But at the end of the lake, in the distance is a woman. She’s mourning along with me, her piercing onyx eyes glare into me.

“Hello?” My voice pierces the air.

I can’t feel my feet against the ground and the air has become deathly. All I can focus on is the woman. At closer glance, I shiver fearfully, what I had thought were eyes, was instead two black eye sockets. I try to run, but my body won’t move.

The woman screams abruptly, her face morphing into ugliness, but the pain on her wrinkled face is still present. I manage to move my feet. They feel heavy. My body drowns with fear as I begin to run. I slip against the bank of the lake, with a misstep and fall into the lake unexpectedly. I turn back. She’s gone. Bile rises in my throat, burning my insides whilst I battle to rapidly leave the cloudy dark water.

All of a sudden I’m under the surface, spluttering on the harshness of the natural lake. Something has my leg. It’s nails draw blood from my flesh. I scream under the surface. I peer fearfully at whatever Is latched onto me, and try to scramble out of the lakes bank.

As I scream, water fills my lungs. My chest is in excruciating pain. Agonising pressure enters my head, the water suffocates what shallow breath I have left. I thrash around. Praying for life, when I know I’m going to die.

It feels as if I’m suffering for hours, the air slowly diminishing from my body, a candle burning out. He’s there holding my leg, his eyes gone and two sockets looking back at me. My brother holds me down into the water. His fingers are no longer soft and dainty but sharp and scratchy.

Maybe I’m hallucinating. Maybe this is real. But I’m too far gone either way. So I let go and turn limp.

‘When the Banshee wails, death is forthcoming’