The Wailing Water

The Wailing Water is Chapter 12 of How I Met My Echo On Big Wolf Cliff

Liz gasps for one last breath and pierces the lake’s surface like a pin, slicing through the cool water, black as ink. She releases her arms and kicks hard, rising quickly to the surface. But with no light above, she can’t know how deep she has dived. Just as her lungs give out, she bursts through the surface, blinking against a world that is still blindingly bright. Gulping air, she treads water, waiting for her eyes to adjust. A crying breeze brushes past, then quiets as she spins, searching for the source.

Liz can’t see a finger or noodly arm beneath the surface—she might as well be bobbing in a can of black paint. Could monsters be lurking below? Jenny never said anything about swimming. Real or not, she needs to get out of the lake. She scans the shore: the cliff looms above her, flanked by two flat stretches—left, a weedy patch and sandy beach; right, climbable chunks of rock.

The cry returns, brushing her cheek like a soft kiss. She stills her body, floating with the air held in her lungs. She searches the beach but sees no one. Bubbles tickle her toes, and Liz kicks hard away from the breath below her towards the beach. There could be someone there to help her find her way back to Jenny’s cabin. Maybe it’s Jenny who’s crying? She says she is always alone. It couldn’t be anyone else.

The cry returns, brushing her cheek like a soft kiss. Liz freezes, lungs full, drifting still. She scans the beach—no one. Bubbles tickle her toes. Could the cry be coming from the deep? She kicks hard, fleeing the breath below, aiming for shore. She could find someone to show her the path back to the cabin.

Maybe it’s not the water but Jenny crying. She always says she’s alone.

The cries dart past again, sparking Liz’s feet into motion. She kicks harder—almost there. Her head bobs above the surface as her limbs churn in a frantic breaststroke. Panic prickles up her chest, sharp and rising, as more bubbles stir below. She can’t think. Just reach the shore. Her cheeks tingle, and her lungs burn. She drives herself forward with everything she has. Where is that magical spark now? Maybe the dark water’s snuffed it out. All that’s left is dread and the ache in her body as it lurches ahead.

Whatever she has, it’s not enough. She has to push harder or be dragged under by whatever’s blowing on her toes. It’s toying with her now. She’s done. Even if she makes it to shore, it’s not the beach where she left her kayak—it’s the wrong side. She’ll be lost forever. Her body starts to cry out, echoing the weeping from the shore. She’s spent. Nothing left to give. She’ll drown or be eaten. Her tears vanish into the black water. She looks up—so close. Any second now, her feet will touch bottom. But it’s still so dark below. She has to keep going. Monsters can’t swim into the shallows. She flails forward in a weak dog paddle.

Why did she come here? She should’ve listened to her mom. It wasn’t curiosity—it was arrogance. Liz thought she knew better and was tougher than her bush-hating mom. Nothing bad could touch her. And now? She’ll be eaten by a monster or lost in some cursed forest forever. She’ll never find Jenny—and if she does, maybe her mom was right about her, too. Liz has been wrong about everything else. Jenny’s probably watching from the cliff right now, laughing.

Her eyes flick to the rocks—a shape moves in the weeds. A person? No—dozens of slim faces sway in the lapping waves, and all of them are crying.

“Help me!” Liz yells.

They keep swaying, weeping, but don’t move. Something slick and very long brushes her leg.

She screams and kicks hard, scooping water with frantic hands. She doesn’t dare look back. The monster’s behind her. She locks onto the faces. Why won’t they help?

“Please, help!” Liz screams. “There’s something in the water!”

The wailing grows louder with every stroke, drilling between her ears.

It is not a voice from the shore; it’s hers.

Her toes hit sand—she’s reached the shallows. She pushes harder, but still wails. Her mind splits: one part knows she’s close, the other screams she’ll die here. She looks back, and there’s nothing but dark water behind her. Turning to the shore, Liz finds she’s drifted into the weeds. They clutch at her, dread flooding in. She drags herself up the sandy slope through water thick as mud. She’s going to die here. Feathered fingers reach for her.

Her body gives up.

Her feet sink into the sand. Roots curl around her toes. Her wails rise, joining the others. Her eyes dart over the swaying weeds as her body drifts from her mind. She sways with the breeze. The feathered grass stares back, mouths twisted in grimaces. They bob in the rippling water, their mournful cries pulling Liz under.