Forgotten Echos

At first, I couldn't understand why I had woken up—then I felt icy fingers close around my wrist.

I jumped, almost out of my skin. My two-year-old stood at the edge of my bed, covered in only God-knows-what. His hair and clothes were wet, his skin ice-cold.

"What have you been doing?" I said, yanking off his shirt.

His tiny fingers pointed to my far window. I rolled my eyes, frustrated. "Didn't I tell you not to go near that pool without supervision? You could drown. Do you want that?"

My son shook his head no. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up," I said, leading him to the bathroom.

James, my husband, sluggishly shuffled into the room, steam rose from his coffee mug. "What are you doing, love?" He sipped.

I pointed at our small boy. "He got into the pool. We need to get a cover for it, asap."

James shifted on his feet, eyes narrowed. "We don't have a pool," he cocked his head.

I chuckled, grabbed some towels and headed into the bathroom. "Where did he go?" I looked around, searching for the brown-haired toddler.

"Who?" James blew on his coffee before taking a sip.

"Our son, goofy."

James sat his mug on the bathroom sink, then placed the back of his hand on my forehead. "We don't have a kid, love."

I looked into his brown eyes, gazing at his intensity.

"What?" The smile on my face thinned.

James pulled me in and kissed my cheek. He smelled like French vanilla. His lips were warm from the heat of the coffee and soft to the touch. 

He whispered in my ear, "You don’t have a son. You don't even have a husband.” A low laugh escaped his lips. “Don't you remember?"

I pulled back from him, the vanilla smell turning into chlorine, the strong scent burned my nose. My bare feet slapped against the pool of water rising at my feet, but there was no faucet switched on, no water running. I turned to James, his hair was wet with thick blood, his throat slit, his smile wide, and eyes crazed.

"Don't you remember what you did to us!" James gnashed his teeth until each one began to fall from his blackened gums.

"No!" I shouted. "No, it wasn't me. It wasn't me! I didn't do it. No!" I grabbed the side of my head, pulling at my hair until the pain was the only thing I could feel. The water rose to my waist, then to my breast, and lastly over my head.

At first, I couldn't understand why I had woken up—then I felt icy fingers close around my wrist.

I jumped, almost out of my skin.

Forgotten Echos is a flash story inspired by a word prompt from my writers’ group. Hope you enjoyed it!