Page 82 of Séance

Jameson is on his best behavior, watching me obsessively without any shenanigans for once, and I’m grateful. As the guys talk amongst themselves, allowing me to adjust to the rocking of the boat, I carefully lean over the side and watch the water slide past almost hypnotically.

The peace lasts only a few seconds before the surface ripples ominously.

The silvery light from the sun vanishes, turning the water into a murky soup, and I squint when a vague shape of a woman appears just below the surface. The longer I stare, the more the image crystallizes. I can’t tear my eyes away from the spirit as she slowly takes form and dread pools in my gut.

The woman is in her late thirties, her black hair floating around her like a halo. A white nightgown drifts around her, as if she’s enjoying a swim. Usually, spirits avoid lakes, but when a person dies by drowning, a body of water can become their prison.

The spirit is as still as a statue as she floats in the water, almost in suspended animation. As if she sensed my presence, her eyes snap open, and I gulp when pure black orbs stare back at me, the whites of her eyes completely gone.

Pure madness gleams in her gaze, her sanity long gone, and I lurch back like I can hide from her. The boat rocks so violently, I almost tip over the other side. Jameson lunges for me, barely managing to keep me in the boat, and he hugs me to his chest. “Did a fish scare you?”

Hicks snorts, rolling his eyes at me like I’m being a child. As much as I want to go over there and kick him in the balls for being an ass, I remain perfectly still and huddle against Jameson’s chest. “I’m not feeling too well. Can we go back?”

The last thing I want to do is tell them the truth, not that they would believe me, but we need to get off the pond before the spirit decides to reach into the boat and drag me into the depths of the water. Since I’m unable to swim, it wouldn’t take much for her to kill me.

Hicks searches my face, confusion swirling in his green eyes, but whatever he sees must convince him, because the guys immediately start rowing us back toward the shore.

I peer back into the water, needing to know if the sea hag is following, dreading what I might find. The woman remainsbelow the boat, lingering in the shadows as she keeps pace. When she sees me looking, a frightening smile stretches across her face, more of a baring of teeth than anything pleasant.

She bursts through the surface of the lake and walks across the water, heading directly toward a woman with four crying children. The woman herself seems to be on the verge of tears as she cradles a toddler to her chest.

A pit opens up in my stomach, and I’m unable to avoid the sinking sensation as I realize that the spirit wasn’t murdered—she killed herself. She’s aLa Lloronaspirit, a woman who was scorned by a man. She wanders the shores of lakes and rivers, seeking children to keep her company—a family she can keep for an eternity.

Unfortunately, kids make horrible spirits and usually move on to the afterlife almost immediately after death, making the spirit seek out more victims in an endless circle of pain and violence.

Most spirits can’t interact with humans, but vengeful spirits are the exception.

With my heart in my throat, I watch as the ghostly creature reaches the shore. Oblivious to her surroundings, she touches the children almost reverently, as if laying claim to them. They scream in terror, able to sense her presence, then the spirit walks right into the mother and vanishes.

“Hurry,” I urge the guys, leaning over the boat as if I could reach them faster, but I know it’s much too late. Jameson, sensing my urgency, picks his oar up and joins the rest to get us back faster.

The mother stiffens, her body jerky as the spirit takes possession of her. She texts someone on her phone, then rents a boat and immediately starts hauling the struggling children into the small craft.

Dread builds in my chest, my tattered soul ripping apart when I realize she’s going to drown the children…unless I stop her.

Just as the woman grabs the oars, I stand…then mentally curse when the boat rocks violently.

The guys yell, clutching the sides, but I don’t pay them any attention as I step out of the boat and into open water.

The guys swear wildly, but I don’t hear them as my head dunks underwater. Cold water steals the breath from my lungs, and I gasp, inhaling water. Panic tightens my chest as the liquid does its best to smother me, and I quickly scramble for purchase.

Thankfully, Ellis was right, and my feet find the muddy bottom. After two tries, I finally manage to stand, breaking the surface and sputtering for air as I hack out what feels like a gallon of water from my lungs. The water is about waist height, my skirt floating around me, and I desperately spin, swiping my hair out of my face as I search for the spirit.

There!

About a yard away.

The guys shout at me to walk to shore, trying to paddle closer to get to me. I ignore them and wade through the lake, desperate to reach the boat with the children.

Unfortunately, the water is slowing my progress.

I’m not sure if that’s normal or if the spirit is trying to slow me down.

Before I can even reach the boat, the woman swings her oar toward me, cracking me across the face so hard that I slip in the mud and sink below the surface again. My ears ring from the blow, and pain radiates from the side of my face and along my neck.

Unfortunately for her, I’m used to dealing with pain.

Water, not so much.

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