The darkness was suffocating. Somehow, the dark clouds from the storm had become denser, reducing even the faintest hint of light to nothing. Sweat dripped down Mary’s brow, sliding down to the edge of her nose and welling in a thick droplet as she peered down the iron sights. Cold wind blew through the house in ferocious gales, chilling the perspiration. Her eyes were taking too long to adjust; she could feel danger in her bones, aching with a pulsating force.

The stranger had all but disappeared into the dark corners of the house, though Mary could still see a trickle of black blood on the wooden floor, dotting it, leading her forward. She could hear him too – his breathing, ragged and heavy. The sound was all around her, swirling in the air with the rainwater and the shrieking wind.

She pushed forward, even as fear began to comingle with her adrenaline. Her shoulder was aching, the muscles underneath her flesh practically crying from the shock of the repeater’s kicks. She ignored the ache, much in the same way she ignored the anxiety that was twisting and turning in her stomach.

She entered the living room. Black shapes and dancing shadows were all she could see as she moved the rifle around the room, her eyes searching for anything that vaguely resembled the shape of a body.

“I just wanted shelter,” the stranger said. His voice was still eerily omnipresent, hovering in the air with no discernable origination. “I didn’t want any of this.”

Mary did not respond. She continued her slow movement forward, more sweat accruing on her forehead, sliding down to her nose. As she moved away from the small hallway to the living room, the sound of rushing water, scraping branches, and violent gusts of wind grew louder. Her feet began to slosh through standing water that was rising. The Red River was enacting its wrath upon the land.

The house felt suddenly too hot. It suffocated her and filled her lungs with damp warmth. Even her palms felt sticky with sweat. Her grip on the rifle slipped; her confidence faltered, only for her to regain control moments later.

A shadow dashed across the living room from the dining room. Mary came millimeters away from pulling the trigger and unleashing a round, but she stopped herself at the last second. She thought that is was probably for the best, too: the shadow was gone the second her brain had registered its existence in the first place.

Her arms were trembling. The house was getting hotter still. Mary imagined the heat was what the entrance to Hell felt like.

She took a few more careful steps forward, trying to ignore the wailing wind and the crashing rain. The rushing water, which had before created loud sloshing sounds as it covered the floor, was now splashing and swirling – the sounds of water falling on itself, curling underneath its own surface, pooling together to create even more danger. Her feet were submerged in freezing liquid. A current was rippling around the top of her calves as the cold bite of the storm attacked her toes and the soles of her feet. The wood underneath her was groaning from the strain of the new weight. The water was still rising, still pooling.

Something screeched outside the window, and the sound of a tree branch snapping exploded through the entire house. Mary snapped toward the sound on her right, her vision still shrouded in blackness, the water around her ankles splashing as she changed her positioning. The butt of the gun was pressed deeply into her shoulder, and her breath was coming out in short, quick gusts as she searched with desperation for the source of the sound. In that moment, she even forgot about the stranger.

Another sound appeared to her left – the splashing of other feet making quick, deft movements. She turned to meet the new threat, but was too slow. A meaty fist connected with her cheek, jolting her body backward. Mary spun, lost her balance, and fell into the ankle-deep water. She lost her grip on the repeater as she fell, and it fell a few feet behind her; it slid into the river water without much noise or commotion.

A rush of water flooded into her mouth and down her throat. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. She pushed her head up above the water, choking and spluttering as she tried to find the floor with her hands and regain her balance, perhaps even push herself to her feet and swing back at the stranger and give him a taste of his own medicine. The stranger’s shadow appeared again, moving with blinding speed. He grabbed the front of her dress and pulled her out of the water. With two quick jabs, he punched her across the face. Mary’s bottom lip split, and blood began to spool down her front into the water underneath her. With a final, stinging punch the stranger sent her back down into the water.

It felt colder than it had the first time, and Mary was even less prepared for her submersion. Her eyes were still open as she fell in, and the river water stung them without mercy. Her lungs were quickly running out of air as she splashed around, again trying to find the floor, trying to regain her balance. Still, the water was pooling, growing deeper, growing darker.

All her thoughts and air were forcibly ejected from her body as the stranger’s foot came crashing down on her chest, pinning her underwater. Shock ran through her body in thick, electrified currents, and Mary managed to lift her head out of the water for a brief second. She gasped and choked as she tried to suck air back into her lungs. The foot was removed from her chest, only for it to be replaced with a knee moments later. Pain erupted in her gut as the stranger’s full weight came down on her body. Then her head was submerged again as he grabbed her hair and pushed her head down, holding it in place.

Mary struggled, but the stranger’s weight was crushing. The air she had managed to harvest above water was quickly depleted, and she was left flopping around, her lungs crying from sharp, stabbing pain, her mind becoming foggy, her thoughts disjointed and incoherent. Black and purple spots appeared in her vision. The darkness of the clouds seemed to permeate even the depths of the river; she couldn’t see what was in front of her.

Another high-pitched yell tore through the blackness, through the haze of her impending drowning, through the murky surface of the river water. She couldn’t see where the sound was emanating from, but she could hear it clear as day. The weight on her chest lifted, as did the grip on her hair.

Mary took her chance.

She rolled out from under the stranger, managing to rip free from his hold on her hair. Then everything lifted – the weight, the pain, the blackness. She pulled her head above water and gasped as large, purple spots encompassed her visage.

The stranger was gone. In the distance, she could still hear the remnants of disturbed water, of frantic footsteps fleeing something.

Mary felt around in the water for the rifle, which was a few feet away. She pulled it from the depths and shook the droplets away that were clinging to its metal and wood. She had little confidence that it would fire after being submerged, but she clung to what little hope she could find. As she stood, she realized the water had risen considerably during her struggle: it had gone from her calves to her thighs in a matter of minutes. She pushed the butt of the gun into her shoulder again and looked down the iron sights, waiting with bated breath for the faintest sound of the stranger or the source of the horrid sound she had heard.

“I would run if I were you,” the stranger said. “If you value your life, and the life of your children, get out. Now.”

Mary swiveled the rifle again, moving her feet as she tried to focus her breathing through her nose. And then she saw it.

The darkness had abated a bit, and through the shattered remnants of their back window, underneath which was a thick, broken branch, she saw a terrifying shadow. Its limbs were thin and long, while its head was a dented oval upon a scrawny neck and an even more emaciated body. But what truly chilled her blood were the two red eyes staring, watching, waiting.

Instinct told her to fire, to unleash the remaining rounds in the rifle (if they would even fire), and run to her children. Maybe that would be enough. Logic told her to stay put. So she did.

The stranger’s voice came again, echoing in her mind. “I left you a present. Good luck.”

Silence regained control over the house, though for only a few moments. Then, she heard another sound that curdled her blood and froze her heart.

Disturbed water.

A gaunt, wheezing breath.

Masculine grunts.

Mary turned her head, her heart pounding with ferocity in her chest. Her fear turned to horror as she saw her husband sit up in the water, his eyes glinting with life in the darkness.

The shadow in the window seemed to notice the sudden movement. It began to sniff, the sound thin and jagged. With eerily fluid movements, it stepped into the window, its hand gripping the pane. The remaining bits of glass crackled and crunched under its grasp, and it stepped into the home with its long, withered limbs. The sniffing sound came again as the water rippled from the creature’s entrance.

Salty sweat stung Mary’s eyes as she stood paralyzed. Her husband, or whatever he was now, was standing. Loud splashing, which sounded cacophonous in the small home, pricked up its ears – ears that were torn and ripped, hanging from its head by luck more than anything else.

Jackson’s body was shuffling toward her. His limbs was frozen in odd places; his arms were bent backward; his legs were turned inward; one eye was off-center while the other stared directly at her, both pitch-black and glinting like gunmetal. His mouth was turned downward on one side, and black-crimson blood was trickling from inside his mouth, down his chest, strands of bloody spittle twisting in the air.

“MRRY,” his corpse intoned. “MRRY.”

The creature screeched and leapt from the window, its shadow a blind blur in front of her eyes. Jackson’s corpse let loose a guttural cry of pain as it dug its claw-like fingers into his eyes. Blood spurted outward, along with a milky white substance.

Pain tore through her heart, but Mary took her chance. She fled toward the bedroom as the monster brought its mouth down on Jackson’s face. She could still hear his muffled screams as she opened the bedroom door.

Everyone looked at her with the same expression: confusion and panic. Mary didn’t say anything as she walked over to the bedroom window and smashed it with the butt of the rifle. When she turned, both Rose and Luis understood what she meant. Her children did not.

“We need to go,” she said to them, gesturing out the window. “Now. We can’t wait.”

“What about Dad?” Jack asked. “He needs his burial.”

“We can’t wait!” Mary said again, this time with more force.

Nobody else asked any questions, and Mary didn’t wait for any. She stepped out of the window barefoot and stood guard with the rifle as the rest of them climbed out into the blustering wind and the streaming rain.

When Luis stepped out, the stranger’s revolver in his hand that he had taken, she leaned in so her mouth was next to his ear. “Is that thing loaded?”

Luis snapped open the cylinder and nodded before closing it.

“Good,” she said. “We need it.”

Next Chapter: Luis