The girl by the lake.

This is a horror story but now a typical horror one. It has a range of emotions that will surely take you on a roller-coaster ride!

 

I walked into bright sunshine as I walked into my own backyard. I loved the soothingly fresh air and fresh dew as it made me forget the turbulent events of last evening. I closed my eyes in vain attempt to forget the bullying I received last evening. I had been to a birthday party but all people could think about was me. I was smeared with cake and received the birthday bumps on behalf of the birthday boy. I am 14 years old and a 94 pound weakling…usually the sitting target of bullies.

I opened my eyes to my lovely backyard and looked to see the familiar things around, a garden hose, a small lake, some nets loose nets lying around, some tennis racquets and a girl of about fourteen.

It seems strange but I have been meeting this girl for five months now since we moved in here. My house is located at the edge of a mangrove forest at the Red Coast .My backyard opens up to a mass of mangrove trees. I never went into that forest because it was covered by muddy water on the surface but nearly every morning I see this girl, Elizabeth Swann as she had introduced herself but I preferred calling her Liz.

Her appearance was quiet peculiar. Her clothes were slightly burnt, covered with ash and soot and lopsided. I tried to offer her some new ones but she would just shake her head and disappear into the forest. But the peculiarity was restricted to her clothes. She had a yellowish-pale skin and jet black hair and big, honest eyes. She walked with her usual gracef and glowed slightly in sunshine. Surprisingly, her feet never used to get dirty by the muddy waters of the forest, they used to be spotless. Overall, her appearance was full of innocence.

It seems I had grown a habit of her. I would come home from school, quickly finish the work pending and rush to the backyard and find her sitting at the edge of the lake, smiling at me. On days when I was busy, I could easily see the faint silhouette of her between the trees. My mother had never seen her and she made it clear that she is not interested in it too…she was a hard-working woman who loved to work all day long. I tried introducing Liz to some of my friends but even if one of them accompanied me, she won’t be there.

I tried to ask her about her family but always stopped short, as this question would pain her considerably. One day she decided to tell me that “Jim, do some research about the victims of the Red Massacre.”

The Red Massacre was a historic event that had taken place at the Red Coast. The local tribal inhabitants had looted a merchant ship mistaking it as an enemy ship. The people killed were about 4000.We had a short note on it in our history books.

It beat me why she was interested in the Red Massacre. My mom had a book on it; I read a few pages from it.

During the last few days we used to sit and chat about things for hours. My grades dropped down eventually.

Then, suddenly that fateful evening arrived. Liz didn’t appear a single whole day. I was slightly disturbed by this but then I told myself to let go of the habit of meeting her everyday.

The next evening I was strolling around my backyard. I did not see her that morning. I was missing her more than ever. I kicked the garden hose, cursing my rotten luck.

A few minutes later she appeared at the edge of the lake. But something was different this time. She looked in agony at me and said, “Jim, I it very difficult for me to say but this is the last time I am meeting you.” I opened my mouth to say something but I was in loss of words. The sudden happiness of seeing her was now painfully mixed with the sadness of losing her. I asked whether she was in need or did she require something, she said “No, Jim .I am going to a place where I will not need anything. Everything will be there for me. People don’t get friends like you in their lifetime. I will never forget you.” A tear rolled down her cheek, saying this, she turned and disappeared into the misty forest of the evening.

I went inside and picked up the Red Massacre book. I was flipping through the pages when I came across a note on a fourteen year old girl who was disowned, abused by her own family and was locked inside a room aboard the merchant ship. The room was the filled with oil and set on fire. The name of the victim was Elizabeth Swann.

The End

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