The Last Step
The moment he longed for. The moment that left only goodbye.
He had always hoped for a private moment with her but never imagined it would have turned out like this. The river was not the place he knew.
He stood alone at the top of the stone steps — the same steps he had walked a hundred times beneath the sun. In daylight this place belonged to him — familiar and comforting. Under the full moon’s pale light, it looked different. A land drained of color, blurred and sinister.
The river gleamed like polished stone, moonlight sliding faintly across its surface. The water appeared still, yet he felt something circling beneath its calm facade. On the far bank, the trees loomed as hulking silhouettes, their branches curled into claws. The air hung thick and damp, heavy with the acrid stench of burnt wood.
A sound cracked the silence. From far below, at the river’s edge, a splash — intermittent, strained — as though something fought to rise but was dragged under, again and again.
Every part of him screamed to turn back. To leave. To run. But something held him back, an intuition that someone needed his help. His chest felt heavy, his legs heavier, yet they moved.
One step. Then another. Toward the dark water.
The deeper he descended, the more restless he became. He was tethered to the sound below, pulled forward like prey, the river drawing him closer. By the last step, his heart pounded violently, hammering in his temples. He forced himself to lean forward, peering into the water.
Nothing.
No reflection. Not even his own face.
He bent closer, holding his breath.
In a flash, a hand shot up from the water and clamped around his ankle. Cold fingers dug deep, squeezing the flesh desperately. He kicked, twisted, and fought with everything he had. He wrenched his foot free — but dragged up a face on the water.
Her face.
Meera. His love—distanced by fate.
But not the way he remembered her. Her skin was pale, stiff, and lifeless in the moonlight. Water streamed from her hair, her mouth gasping as if she had surfaced after hours beneath. Her eyes found his, wide, filled with something worse than fear. A soul-crushing cry for help.
“Meera!” He reached for her, hands clawing the air, straining to pull her back onto the steps.
But her body jerked backward, yanked by an unseen force. The river swallowed her whole, restoring its calm facade. Just before she vanished, her lips whispered a word — rushed but clear.
“Goodbye.”
The weight of that word shattered him awake.
He bolted upright in bed, lungs burning, heart battering against his ribs. His body shook, skin clammy, clothes damp. Worse was his right leg — just above the ankle, sore and tender.
He told himself it was only a dream. It had to be.
But in the moonlit silence of his room, he wasn’t sure. Not entirely.
This is an excerpt from my upcoming horror novella Planchette Crow, adapted for a writing prompt on First Line Fiction (a Medium Publication).
Get a complimentary eBook copy here: Google Form.
