Scary Stories - Twist in the Tale Series

The Flood

Will it ever stopraining? Day after day after day, it's poured down, as ifsomebody up there opened all the taps and forgot to shut them off.Surely, it can't carry on much longer?
God! The thunder goes on and on, rolling and crashing like agigantic bowling alley in the sky.
There it goes again, shaking the walls. No chance of them comingdown, though, they're much too strong.

What idiots in their wisdom decided this place should be builtright smack next to a major river? Any fool could have told themthis would happen; a river so strong and powerful was bound toburst its banks one day.

I wonder if I'm the only one left? I suppose I must be; I haven'theard anything other than the thunder and the lapping of thewater for a couple of days now. There was a lot of shouting andscreaming and banging for a while; then it all went quiet. Theymust have got everybody out. Everybody but me, that is. I yelledmyself hoarse, but nobody heard - or wanted to hear. Why shouldthey bother about me, after all? I'd have been the last thing ontheir minds.

Then the water started seeping in. Slowly at first, just atrickle, nothing much to worry about. But then gradually,steadily, the level rose. Filthy, dirty stuff, stinking of theriver, swilling round my feet.

Water terrifies me; has done since I was a kid, when I was what -three or four? I can remember it as if it were yesterday, the dayI fell into the pond in the farmer's field. I was told to keepaway from it, but did I listen? It was horrible! Green and slimyand smelly; things crawling round me, nibbling at me, biting me.The weeds tangled and twisted round my legs, trapping me, pullingme down, like fleshy tentacles. I nearly drowned - I would havedone if the farmer hadn't pulled me out. I was sick for daysafter swallowing all that muck.

Since then I've steered well clear of water. Until now. Now Ican't get away from it.

My legs are aching from standing up here. Once the level startedto rise above my waist, I had to climb onto the table to getabove it, but already it's reached my thighs again. I'm so tired,I wish I could just lie down and rest, but that's impossible. AllI can do is pray the rain stops and somebody remembers me andgets me out of here.

Small chance of that happening. It's lashing down as hard asever, just listen to it! It's beating on the roof like a thousanddrums. And nobody's going to come rescue you - why should they?Who's going to bother about you?

There goes the thunder again, like God with a bellyache. And thelightning, ripping the sky open. Course, the electricity wentdays ago, and it's always been pretty dark and dingy in hereanyway. Now the lightning's the only source of brightness. Thereit goes, making everything into a black-and-white photo - whitewalls, my shadow - the black water.

The water.

It's up to my midriff, and rising. I think it's coming in faster.You wouldn't believe it could so easily get into a place as wellsealed as this - but then, that's what water does, isn't it?Nasty, evil, insinuating stuff; it sneaks and creeps everywhere,goes where it wants to, and nothing can stop it.

It's so cold too, like icy fingers swirling round me, prying atme, getting into my clothes, into my skin. It's as if it wants toget inside me, make me part of itself, turn me to water too. Isuppose it will, eventually. My flesh and organs will break downinto mush, liquefy, slough off my bones and float off and becomepart of it. Then it will have me completely; I'll just float awaywherever it wants to take me.

It's at my chest now; it won't be long until it's over. For awhile I thought I might cheat the water by suffocating from lackof air. My head is touching the ceiling and there's not muchspace left above the water, but there's still plenty of air left- even though it does stink. The stench is overpowering; theflooding must have brought the river-bottom up, brought it upfrom where it's lain for years. Who knows what's died there,what's been slowly rotting and mouldering deep down there,undisturbed until now?

Won't be long now; it's almost to my chin and still rising. Whatam I supposed to do now, now that I'm just a disembodied headbobbing above the water, now that my legs are so tired fromstanding all this time they're barely supporting me any more?Should I pray? Isn't that what you're meant to do when you're atdeath's door? Pray, confess all your many sins, make your peacewith God? What's the use? I'm still going to die - I was alwaysgoing to die.

Oh my Lord, it's lapping over my mouth! If I stand on my tiptoesand tilt my head back, I might gain a few more moments, a fewmore breaths of life.

Shouldn't have done that, shouldn't have opened my mouth and letthe water in. It tastes so foul, filthy, dirty, disgusting.

This is it. It's seeping into my nose now. Trying to work its wayinto my lungs, my stomach, trying to flood me like it's floodedeverything else.

This is the end.

Take one final deep breath; suck in the last breath you will everbreathe

It shouldn't have been this way. This is not the way I was meantto go. If it hadn't rained, they would have come for me in themorning. Led me from this tiny, claustrophobic cell with itstiny, barred window, taken me down the long corridor to the white-paintedroom. There they would have strapped me in the chair, said a fewwords and pulled the switch. A surge of electricity, a momentarypain, then - nothing.

A good, clean death.

Not this. I know I shouldn't have killed all those people - butnot this.

It shouldn't have been this way.