Whispers on the Waves

I hear her whispers by the water. No matter what I do, I cannot drown them from my mind. They creep into the edges of my brain, gnawing at my soul. She is truly maddening and relentless, and it never stops.

Every night for the last five years, I've gone to sleep cozy in my bed and woken up outside, naked under the stars, the cold chill of breeze caressing my bare skin, the rough wood of the dock pressed into my back as her words whisper through the gaps in the planks.

No matter how much I scream and cuss and tell her to shut up, the bitch won't quit. She just goes on and on, endlessly, as I pick myself up and hurry back to the safety of the house before the neighbors see me.

I've tried to move away. You'd think in this housing market, a private country bungalow with dock access to the lagoon would sell like hotcakes, but I've been on the market almost 200 days and that's just with this latest attempt. The few offers that trickle in always fall through somehow, with financing not working out or sudden changes in plans. So I'm stuck here, stuck with her, stuck with her endless whispers.

If she would have just quit nagging me all those years ago, it wouldn't have to be like this. I never cleaned enough, never worked enough, never doted on her enough, never spent time with her family enough...never enough, never enough, never enough! She really shouldn't have nagged me when I was out working on the new fence back by the tree line. I didn't mean to hit her that hard with the shovel but...accidents happen. It managed to shut her up at least, for a day or so anyway.

Of course they investigated me and the area where I was digging, but when they didn't find anything they finally believed that she had simply left town and disappeared. No one checked the water for her belongings, or her car, or her body, and so far no one's stumbled upon them. The lagoon is dark, deep, and cold, and doesn't give up its secrets easily. It made the perfect hiding spot, or so I thought. She's still there though, very much so. She never left. For five years, every night I hear her whispers, her nagging. Never enough.

I've tried everything. I barricaded the door, tied bells to my wrists to wake myself up when I move, even tied myself to the damn bed. Nothing works. If I go to sleep, I wake up outside to the sound of her whispers, telling me that no matter what I do it will never be enough.

I finally had enough. I packed a few changes of clothes, my laptop, and other important documents. I left a candle burning in the living room and the gas on in the kitchen, and I drove away. I saw the aftermath of the explosion on the six o'clock news from a worn down motel room four hours away.

But the bitch still won't let go, because this morning I again woke up naked on the dock, the sound of her cruel whispers floating next to my ear. It wasn't enough, she says. The bungalow is nothing but a smoldering ruin. I can't retreat to the safety of my bedroom anymore.

It won't happen again. The garage was still intact. I found the gas cans and emptied them on the dock. I lit the match and ignited it just as the police arrived. The neighbors must have seen me running naked with gas cans around the ruins of my house and called me in. They arrested me and put me on a psych hold.

It's fine. The dock is gone now. Tomorrow, if I wake up, it will be in her watery embrace. Finally, this should be enough. This should shut her up.