Page 8 of Drenched

Amanda’s head snapped toward him, her glare sharp enough to cut. If looks could kill, Sebastian would be six feet under. He let out a weak chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “See what I mean?” he muttered, trying to play it off.

I shifted, the awkwardness pressing down on all of us. “Well, good night,” I said. It was more for Sebastian than Amanda, who still hadn’t taken her eyes off me.

“Night,” Sebastian replied.

Amanda said nothing.

I turned and started walking, that strange feeling sticking to me like a cold sweat. When I glanced back, she was still there. Still watching. Her head tilted again, like she knew something I didn’t.

By the time I made it to my room, my skin was covered in goosebumps. Maybe Sebastian was right, kids could be weird. But Amanda wasn’t just weird. She was off. Like a note played too sharp or a shadow where there shouldn’t be one. I couldn’t shake it. Her stare felt like something I couldn’t scrape off, no matter how hard I tried.

?

That night, the dream stuck to me like a wet sheet. I was sinking, the water closing in, as it was heavy and alive, squeezing the air from my chest. My lungs burned, ready to give out. The deeper I fell, the darker it got. Shapes moved in the blackness, voices swirling like smoke, whispering my name.

Then I saw them, eyes. Huge, unblinking, impossibly dark. They hovered, watching me. Staring straight through me. My body screamed to fight, to swim back, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

I tried to scream, but the water shoved its way into my throat. The pressure crushed my ribs, ready to split me open. All I could do was fall deeper, those eyes following me down.

I jerked awake, gasping. My heart pounded, tangled sheets clinging to my damp skin. The room was still dark, but faintlight crept around the edges of the curtains, morning wasn’t far off. I sat frozen, listening, my breath coming in short bursts.

That’s when I heard it.

A shift. Barely a sound, like the soft creak of wood or a foot brushing against the floor. My skin prickled, and the air felt different, too close, too still. I wasn’t alone.

“Who’s there?” I rasped, my voice cracking in the silence.

Nothing.

I swallowed hard, my pulse thudding in my ears. “Who’s there?” I said again, louder this time. My words felt small in the dark, swallowed up by the quiet.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my feet hitting the floor. My hands shook as I stood, fumbling to turn on the flashlight on my phone. The beam cut through the dark, sweeping across the room.

And I froze.

In the corner, a figure sat curled up, knees pulled to her chest. A little girl. Amanda.

“Amanda?” My voice cracked. “How, how did you get in here?”

She didn’t answer right away. She just tilted her head, staring at me like she was studying something I couldn’t see. Her stillness made my skin crawl.

Then, without warning, she started crawling toward me. Not walking. Crawling. The way her limbs jerked and moved made my stomach knot.

“I sneaked in,” she said flatly, as if it cost her nothing to say it. “You have to listen to me.”

I couldn’t move. My fingers gripped the phone like it might protect me. “Listen to you? Amanda, what are you doing in my room?”

“You have to find a cure,” she said, completely ignoring my question. “You need to test the algae. Understand it. The villagers, my mother... they don’t know the truth. They think it’s a miracle from the Abyss, but it’s not. It’s a curse.”

I stared at her, trying to make sense of what she was saying. “What do you mean... a curse? What’s wrong with the algae?”

“They don’t know everything,” Amanda said, her voice calm in a way that made my skin crawl. She glanced toward the curtain, her dark eyes darting like she expected something, or someone. “But you can figure it out. You’re different.”

I opened my mouth to ask more, but the room felt so dark, so suffocating. I needed light. I turned toward the curtain, my hands reaching to pull it open, to let in anything that could make this make sense.

Amanda moved suddenly, her body jerking forward in sharp, unnatural motions. Her hand darted forward, gripping my wrist.

“Don't open the curtains,” she said sharply, her dark eyes boring into mine. I noticed how shallow her breathing was, as if she was holding something back.

---