Dark Waters (standard:horror, 3283 words)
Author: Connor White	Added: Feb 14 2002	Views/Reads: 3507/2367	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Eric discovers that some things are best left where they are.

DARK WATERS 

Waves churn below him,  crashing into the crusted seawalls of the Shawl
Canal Bridge.  A lonely car hums across the steel grating of the road 
level far above.  Traffic is light in the deepest hours of the night. 
The smell here is harsh.  Decaying life saturates the air with an acrid 
reek that coats the tongue and attacks the nose.  Winter breezes gust, 
pulling spray from the cresting whitecaps and drive it into Eric’s face 
as he stares into the darkness below. 

She is still down there. 

It has been five years.  How the time passes us by so quickly, he muses
to himself.  He nudges a small bit of mortar over the edge of the 
fishing platform and watches it disappear into the murky depths.  My 
dear Cynthia you must be so very, very cold.  He smiles, bearing 
glittering white teeth.  Darkness is my gift for you my love.  He spits 
into the water.  You’re no longer safe where you sleep Cynthia, they 
are coming, and they will find you. 

“Do you remember?”  He whispers. “The sea was so angry that night.” 

Eric unzips two large gym bags.  “Why were you frightened?  Was it the
storm, or did you know, even then?” 

He pulls out a large yellow tank and stands it upright on the concrete,
then empties the rest of the bag’s contents onto the platform. Eric 
straps a buoyancy compensator to the tank and screws a regulator into 
the cylinder valve.  After carefully checking all the connections he 
twists the valve knob and there is a brief hiss as compressed air fills 
the rubber hoses. 

“I only wanted to talk to you about the two of us.  Did you know I had
learned about the affair?  Is that why you were afraid? You hurt me 
Cynthia. Your betrayal darkened my soul and ate away my insides. I was 
your husband and I loved you more than anything.  I swear I never 
wanted to hurt you.” 

He steps into a dry-suit and zips it up over his middle-aged body and
then pulls a neoprene hood over his graying hair. 

“You shouldn’t have panicked.  I was your husband. I loved you and yet
you still panicked. You wouldn’t even listen!  Can you blame me for 
getting angry?” 

Eric dons his weight belt and hefts the air tank and vest to his back,
where he straps it into place.  Using the guardrail as a support he 
pulls on his fins.  When they are strapped snugly to his feet he pulls 
on a pair of neoprene gloves. 

“It was your own fault Cynthia.  You never should have hit me. That’s
not what good wives do. You never should have screamed.  I only grabbed 
your neck because that was the only way I could make you shut up. I had 
to quiet you down Cynthia.  Someone might have heard your crazy talk. I 
didn’t mean to squeeze you so hard.” 

He grits his teeth in anger and smacks a closed fist into the open palm
of his other hand. 

“Damn it, why’d you make me kill you?  God, and why’d you have to make
that awful face in the end?  You slut bitch, I couldn’t sleep for 
days.” 

Eric shuffles to the concrete ledge of the fishing deck and sits down
with his back to the churning water.  He places his diving mask over 
his face and puts the regulator into his mouth.  The dry air from the 
tank is a welcomed change from the stink of decay that surrounds him.  
He rolls backward and tips off of the ledge, plunging into the water a 
couple of feet below.  The world goes dark and cold. Eric begins to 
methodically kick down through the inky depths.  He flicks on his dive 
light.  The water is surprisingly clear for this time of year.  He can 
see the submerged portions of the floating sections of the huge bridge 
that spans the canal.  They are covered with a layer of churning life, 
but he pays no attention.  He is not concerned with the portions of the 
bridge that are still afloat. 


Click here to read the rest of this story (273 more lines)