No one's poor who has a friend
I hear it plays with them down there. On the bottom of the lake.
Rumour has it there are skeletons down there of varying freshness. Kids mostly but when the pickings get slim, it’ll take an adult. Long hair is something the disappearances have in common. Colour of eyes is irrelevant since the crabs get those almost right away. Dresses are a common theme. So you can guess the majority of these victims are little girls.
They’re down there where the village used to be before the dam and the flooding. The government logged the valley for the timber, evacuated the village, tore down the town and then overnight, they fired up the dam and flooded the entire valley.
Some house foundations still stand down there in the silty depths of the man-made lake. And some of the tree stumps are almost as big around as tables.
The little girl’s skeletons sit around one of the largest stumps. They sit on chairs built from spongy sticks and fastened together with lakeweed. There are nine of them. The oldest is barely still there. She’s just bones and a few shreds of a dress. The newest is still fresh enough that you can see the surprise on her face. The eyes are gone, of course, but the dress is almost new. The flesh of her is not rotten yet. It’s starting to bloat but it’s not yet grotesque. Except for the eyes and her stillness, you could easily imagine her still struggling for air.
There are china cups in front of the dead girls. Flecked and cracked and mismatched. A scavenged tea set. They wait.
Something clinging, silent and huge comes toward them in a cloud of silt. It’s tentacles drag it’s bulk up to the empty space at the stump table. A long tentacle snakes out over the stump table and almost daintily picks up the teapot. It mimes pouring tea out for the dead girls.
It has friends now. It couldn’t be happier. It will get more when these wear out.
tags
Rumour has it there are skeletons down there of varying freshness. Kids mostly but when the pickings get slim, it’ll take an adult. Long hair is something the disappearances have in common. Colour of eyes is irrelevant since the crabs get those almost right away. Dresses are a common theme. So you can guess the majority of these victims are little girls.
They’re down there where the village used to be before the dam and the flooding. The government logged the valley for the timber, evacuated the village, tore down the town and then overnight, they fired up the dam and flooded the entire valley.
Some house foundations still stand down there in the silty depths of the man-made lake. And some of the tree stumps are almost as big around as tables.
The little girl’s skeletons sit around one of the largest stumps. They sit on chairs built from spongy sticks and fastened together with lakeweed. There are nine of them. The oldest is barely still there. She’s just bones and a few shreds of a dress. The newest is still fresh enough that you can see the surprise on her face. The eyes are gone, of course, but the dress is almost new. The flesh of her is not rotten yet. It’s starting to bloat but it’s not yet grotesque. Except for the eyes and her stillness, you could easily imagine her still struggling for air.
There are china cups in front of the dead girls. Flecked and cracked and mismatched. A scavenged tea set. They wait.
Something clinging, silent and huge comes toward them in a cloud of silt. It’s tentacles drag it’s bulk up to the empty space at the stump table. A long tentacle snakes out over the stump table and almost daintily picks up the teapot. It mimes pouring tea out for the dead girls.
It has friends now. It couldn’t be happier. It will get more when these wear out.
tags