Chapter 6; Now. Something Happens In The Water

I wake up, back in the hellhole of a house that’s haunted most of my life. I’m lying in my bottom bunk, the room swallowed in pitch darkness. The familiar, suffocating smells tell me I’m back here—back in this place that clings to me like a bad dream. My breath hitches as I hear a faint sound, something almost too subtle to notice. I slow my breathing, straining to hear it. It’s my own heartbeat, pounding like a drum made from stretched animal skin—raw, primal, pulsing with life.

The thumping in my chest grows louder, more insistent, like my heart is trying to break free. Sweat slicks my skin, and something feels… different. I open my mouth, and suddenly, there’s light. It’s coming from somewhere deep inside me, radiating out. The light is bright, almost blinding, and I try to contain it by clamping my hands over my mouth. But it’s no use—the light forces its way out, bursting through my eyes, flooding the room with a blinding brilliance.

There’s something inside me, something powerful and unstoppable, literally tearing its way out. My body reacts viscerally—I can feel my limbs contorting, muscles stretching in ways that shouldn’t be possible. I hear the crunching of bones, the sickening pop of ligaments snapping, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. My toes and fingers jerk apart, the joints cracking in a grotesque symphony. The light inside me grows more intense, and the harder I try to hold it back, the more violently my body reacts.

My body convulses, my spine arching backward in an unnatural curve, forcing my weight onto the crown of my head and my heels. Pain rips through me as the muscles of my face stretch, my jaw twisting sideways, the pressure unbearable. The light is no longer just shining through me—it’s consuming me. My skin glows, my veins illuminated, pulsing with a frantic energy that has nowhere to go. If I focus, I can see the blood rushing through them, frantically searching for an escape.

As my body continues to distort, parts of me disappear, replaced by pure, uncontainable light—so bright, so powerful that it becomes something physical, something that cannot be held or restrained.

I’m no longer in control. I can’t see my body anymore. The room that was once dark is now flooded with light, and where my body used to be is now a radiant energy. I begin to float, effortlessly, passing through the top bunk, through the ceiling, and into the night sky. I rise higher and higher, the glow that was once my body lighting up the quiet darkness below.

The town spreads out beneath me, a small, sleeping world now bathed in the light I’ve become. I see endless hills and mountains cradling homes, a truck stop, a diner, rivers winding through the landscape, a lonely motel. The house I came from is just a speck now, insignificant in the grand expanse below. As I soar above it all, I stretch further, growing larger, the rays of light spreading like arms reaching out to embrace the world in warmth.

My sight adjusts to the brightness, and I finally see it—the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen. The sky is an abstract masterpiece, hues of amber and deep violet blending with splashes of pink, blue, and gold. It’s a magnificent, entrancing splendor, something beyond words, beyond comprehension.

I hang there in the clouds for what feels like an eternity, suspended in this moment of pure, surreal beauty. But eventually, I start to descend, drawn to a lake nestled away from the world. It’s a little lake that people say is magical, where fish supposedly leap into your buckets. As I descend, the rays of light still paint the night sky with brilliant watercolors, and I find myself drifting toward a dock on the lake.

The water reflects my glow, creating an enchanted, almost otherworldly scene. I will my feet to reappear, dipping them into the cool, soothing water. In that moment, I find something rare—peace. It washes over me, calming the chaos that’s been tearing me apart. I wish I could stay here forever, suspended in this tranquility.

My body reappears, solid and whole once more. I sit at the edge of the dock, leaning back on my arms, my head tilted as I gaze up at the moon. The night is quiet, the air still, the water gently lapping against the dock. I feel something bump into my right foot, but it’s not the quick dart of a fish. It’s slow, deliberate.

I lean over the water, the faint moonlight casting a soft glow on the surface. That’s when I see it—what’s beneath the water, floating just below the surface.

I try to scream, the terror ripping through me, but no sound escapes. My throat constricts, my voice trapped as I stare in horror.

There’s a dead body in the water.

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