Chapter 6 - The Rising Tide
The sudden darkness swallowed the kitchen, leaving only the dim, gray light filtering through the rain-streaked windows. Ethan reached for his phone on the counter, but the screen remained dead, the battery drained to zero in seconds. The air in the room grew noticeably colder, turning their breath into white wisps of vapor. Clara pulled Lily close to her side, her burgundy cardigan offering no defense against the unnatural chill seeping through the walls.
Ethan, we need to leave. Now, Clara urged, her voice trembling as she grabbed her car keys from the hook by the pantry. We’ll pack a bag and drive into town. We can stay at a motel until the sheriff investigates that ruin.
Ethan didn't move. He was staring out the back window toward the creek. The water wasn't just high; it was overflowing its banks, spilling rapidly across the lawn in thick, black sheets. The current had accelerated, churning with a violent, unnatural foam that hissed as it touched the foundation of their home.
We can't leave, Clara. Look at the driveway, Ethan said flatly, pointing toward the front yard.
Clara rushed to the front window and pulled the curtain back. The road was completely submerged under a rushing torrent of dark water, carrying debris, broken branches, and chunks of red clay. Their car, parked in the gravel driveway, was already half-submerged, the muddy water lapping aggressively against the door handles. They were trapped on a sudden, shrinking island of earth.
That’s not normal runoff, Clara breathed, pressing her hands against the glass. The storm stopped twenty minutes ago. The creek shouldn't be rising like this.
It's not the rain, Ethan said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. It’s coming from the other side. From their side.
Lily slipped out from Clara’s grip and walked slowly toward the living room. Her teal knit sweater seemed to glow faintly in the gray gloom. She stopped in front of the window, pressing her small palms against the glass, right where she had stood the night before. She wasn't trembling anymore. She looked calm, almost as if she were waiting for a visitor she knew intimately.
Mommy, look, Lily pointed out into the rain. She’s crossing the bridge.
May you like
Clara rushed to her daughter's side, pressing her face to the glass. Through the driving sheets of gray water, the impossible was happening. The old, rotting wooden bridge that had collapsed eighteen years ago was reforming plank by dark plank, bridging the churning gap between the two properties. And walking across the center of the span was a small figure in a white dress, holding a white bunny by its ear.
---
