Seth1983

Foreword: I saw an image titled "Subroto naiads river nymphs" posted here on deviantart by the incredibly talented orangus and was inspired to write a little something to accompany it. It's a quick short story written in about 10 minutes in recognition of Halloween, my favorite time of year. I hope you enjoy it.

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They came as they did every year with the arrival of the floods. When the waters rose I took up my family -my wife, our three sons, and our only daughter- and we closed our doors.

We knew what was needed; we’d survived every time they’d come. We set a guard each night. My eldest son took the first night, I the second, and the other boys took their turns together after that. We lit the fire, rationed the food and water we had stored in barrels awaiting these long dark days, and we turned toward happier stories of times we’d shared and of the famous heroes, great men and women of common legend.  

And yet when the first mournful cries sounded, all of that was suddenly quieted and we all stood still to listen. It began with the smaller sounds. A soft crying somewhere in the distance and every now and then a piteous pleading.

We’d only begun to allow ourselves to take in breath again; a cough, a cleared throat, a sniffle. And then there it was. A single knock on the door. The sound of fingernails being dragged slowly along the wooden walls. Their words became more frequent, their messages fully audible, even as they ceaselessly continued their miserable weeping.

"Please, have mercy. We have nowhere to go to escape these waters."

"The rain is so cold. I am freezing, please just a moment in front of your fire."

"My bones are breaking, I can feel them press against my skin. The hunger, I have never known a hunger such as this. A mouthful of only that you can spare. I ask nothing more than what you won’t miss."

"A drop of water to drive away the thirst. Would you have me weep and wail all night upon your step? Won’t you open the door and look upon me?"

But the door remained closed. True to their word, they remained all night. The next day and night brought only more of the same as I took my watch.

"I cannot swim. My father, my mother, they left me. I am lost. I have nowhere to rest and I am very weary."

"Do you not have mercy in your heart? Do you not hear me weeping?"

"My child has caught cold, she is dying in my arms. Please, just some medicine or even a bite to eat."

It continued onward and into the next day, the day behind that, and all the nights in-between. It would be my turn again soon, and so I forced myself to sleep.

When I awoke at daybreak it was to a sinister silence. No stories. No talk over rations. A thin line of the new dawn ran from the small gap in the open door all the way to cross my eyes as I lay upon my cot.

I filled the void of silence left by my loss with desperate calls. I turned over every barrel, threw open every door, I cried out their names and pleaded that they come forward, to not be scared and to just be safe.

A sound of water at the door. It had been ajar at my waking and was still so now. A soft, piteous voice caught my mind above the grief-stricken cries that heralded the wet, terrible forms that crawled through the opening, pushing the portal wide open as they slowly entered, dragging themselves ever nearer.

My eldest son. He’d been on watch that first night. He had always been a kindhearted boy. He could bear to let no thing suffer. They had come. One night and then every other. They had spoken into the ears of my loved ones who had woke, and in those first moments of having seen their cursed forms were compelled to offer over their own.

I remember the whispering beyond the door now. On that second night, during my first watch, I remember what he had said.  

"I cannot swim. My father, my mother, they left me. I am lost. I have nowhere to rest and I am very weary."

My boy. My dear, sweet, kindhearted boy. They had you even then…