This week's Dead Oaks story comes from a very talented friend of mine, Eric Valek. If you like this story and would like to write your own entry in the Dead Oaks anthology, contact me via Twitter or Facebook.
At some point in one’s life, the desire to escape
may become overbearing, almost obsessive- and for some, this desire may be
fulfilled, and even prove beneficial. But for those who truly have a need to
run, to evade what they have done or what life has befallen upon them..
Sometimes the past never truly leaves. And in Dead Oaks, I learned, the past is
never truly behind.
I
am a graduate of Michigan State University, 2012- a major in Fine Arts, a
degree that I quickly learned had little fruit to bear, but my persistence and
my experience urged me to pursue it to the end, and finally, I achieved my
goal- but at a large cost.
In 2011, at my 21st
birthday party, my close friends decided that I was lonely and needed to meet
someone. Mind you, at the time I was focused on my studies and had little time
for the party scene, and allowed just this one occasion to let loose and
explore my options. That was when I met Clarissa, a sophomore of some degree or
another (I admit, in retrospect, I don’t remember what her degree was). Our
friends had urged us to meet, and for the few early hours of the night, it
seemed as if we were both benefiting nicely from the plot. She was achingly
beautiful, uproariously funny, and in a few instances of hushed, drunken
whispers on the porch of our friends’ complex, proving to be deeply profound
and insightful. I had fallen for her faster than my lowering inhibitions could
match. I had finally found a girl that I felt was on my level.
And then, the
initiation process was met by a rather barbaric game of Truth or Dare-
obviously gunned by my inebriated friends looking to hook me up quickly and
efficiently- that quickly caught on amongst the relatively large group of
academics and random visitors that happened to frequent the event. Soon, it
became clear that Clarissa, much to my hesitation, would have to partake in the
event, and I was smitten (and drunk) enough to allow it to happen.
The dare was innocuous
enough- Clarissa was to submerge in the neighborhood pool, unrestrained, for an
entire sixty seconds… Hardly a problematic premise for a sober adult to comply
to, but Clarissa had had at least as much to drink as I had- and, being at
least twenty pounds smaller than I was- just as drunken from the night’s
festivities. She complied, and enthusiastically submerged herself in the green,
murky abyss that had seemed shallow and safe at the time… But later, in my
recurring nightmares, would appear as black and murky as any abyss as the
deepest ocean.
Thirty seconds in- the
shriek cheers and whoops of the crowd were permeable and I found myself
partaking in them.
After a minute, the
crowd had gathered in a cacophony of praise that dictated her ritualistic
passing.
After ninety seconds,
the cheers had diminished to uneasy murmuring, and I found myself deeply
unnerved by the spastic rise of bubbles from the bottom of the pool.
Finally, I shook off
the youthful pride that had kept me static for so long and dove into the pool
to rescue her. Following the chaotic bubbles and mist of chlorine, I found her,
eyes wide, mouth opened in a soundless scream when I saw that her bathing suit
top had caught in the filtering system. For a few moments, I hesitated,
debating on sacrificing her modesty to remove the top in order to save her
life. And oh, god- possibly a few moments too late- I finally acted and brought
her to the surface, but by then I had seen her eyes dim and her screamless
mouth go slack and knew that she had died before I pulled her to the surface.
By the time the
paramedics had come, most of the attendants had scattered and I was left alone
to babble incoherently, holding the corpse of a girl that I barely knew,
harboring the guilt that I had done this to her. I did this to her, I did this
to her.
Two years later, and I
had left this college town that bared so much heartache and guilt upon my
shoulders. I needed a fresh start, and had packed my things and moved to a
nearby town, Dead Oaks, to start over and perhaps redeem myself. For a few
weeks, I thought that I had managed this impossible task. I thought that I had
rid myself of that fateful night, once and for all.
But on the night that I
turned on my bathroom light and saw her in the mirror behind me, hair still
soaking, eyes an emotionless, colorless white, the skin hanging in shrivels off
of shriveled bones and that now toothless, gaping scream coming at me, I knew
that she was not gone. Not at all.
It’s February now.
Three months after she resurfaced to find me. To complete her part of the dare
and to reciprocate. Even now, as I fill my tub, and submerge myself, I will
allow the skeletal, greyed hand to push my chest underwater… Allow that
lifeless, soaked form to hover over me as the alarm in my brain overcomes me
but does not allow me to escape my final, isolated tomb… Allow myself to take
the dare that I allowed Clarissa to take so long ago...
I know that I will accept that dare.
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| Story by Eric Valek |
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