The River Takes and Returns
1010 Words
Darkness swallowed everything.
Not the soft kind that comes when you close your eyes, but a heavy, suffocating dark that felt like water pressing against her skin. Marisol couldn’t tell if she was falling or floating. Her ears rang. Her chest burned. Her limbs felt distant, like they belonged to someone else.
Somewhere far away, Ana was screaming her name.
Then the world snapped back.
Cold.
Wet.
Violent.
Marisol hit the river like a stone.
The shock tore the breath from her lungs. The water closed over her head, icy and thick, pulling her down. She kicked wildly, but the current dragged her deeper, spinning her in a disorienting spiral.
Up was down. Down was sideways. The river didn’t move like normal water—it twisted, coiled, tugged at her clothes like hands.
Hands.
She felt them.
Small fingers brushing her ankle. A palm pressing against her back. A grip around her wrist.
She thrashed, panic exploding in her chest.
No. No, no, no—
The river whispered around her, voices layered and echoing.
“No te vayas…”
“Don’t go…”
“Ayúdame…”
“Help me…”
“Quédate…”
“Stay…”
She kicked harder, lungs screaming for air. The pendant thumped against her chest, cold as ice. She grabbed it instinctively.
It pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
Then it glowed.
A soft, pale light spread through the water, illuminating the darkness around her. The hands recoiled. The whispers turned sharp, frightened.
The river surged upward.
Marisol shot toward the surface, breaking through with a gasp that tore her throat raw. She coughed, choking on river water, blinking against the gray sky.
“MARISOL!”
Ana’s voice.
Marisol turned, disoriented. Ana was on the riverbank, splashing into the shallows, shoes sinking into the mud.
“Grab my hand!” Ana shouted, voice cracking.
Marisol kicked toward her, arms heavy, muscles trembling. The current fought her, pulling her sideways, but the pendant glowed brighter, pushing back against the water’s pull.
Ana waded deeper, reaching out. “Come on, come on—”
Their fingers brushed.
The river yanked.
Ana lunged.
Their hands locked.
Ana screamed with effort as she dragged Marisol toward the shore. Mud sucked at their feet. Water surged around their legs. The river roared like something alive and furious.
But Ana didn’t let go.
Not once.
They collapsed onto the bank, coughing, shaking, soaked to the bone. Marisol rolled onto her back, staring at the sky, chest heaving.
Ana lay beside her, gasping. “I swear… if you ever… fall into a haunted river again… I’m leaving you.”
Marisol let out a weak laugh that turned into a cough. “Noted.”
They lay there for a long moment, the river whispering behind them, the trees swaying overhead. The pendant dimmed slowly, returning to its cold, inert state.
Ana sat up first. “What happened? One second you were there, and then—”
“The watcher pushed me,” Marisol whispered.
Ana’s face paled. “I knew it. I knew it was too close.”
Marisol shook her head. “It didn’t just push me. It wanted me in the water.”
Ana swallowed. “Why?”
Marisol looked at the river, at the dark surface that reflected nothing.
“Because that’s where the river boy died.”
Ana shivered. “And where you almost did.”
Marisol didn’t respond.
Because she wasn’t sure she hadn’t.
---
They walked home slowly, clothes dripping, shoes squelching with every step. The cold settled deep into Marisol’s bones, a chill that felt older than the river itself.
When they reached her house, Ana hesitated at the door. “Do you want me to stay?”
Marisol nodded. “Please.”
Inside, the house was quiet. Too quiet. The eucalyptus scent was faint, almost hesitant, like the room wasn’t sure if it should welcome them or warn them.
They went straight to the locked room.
The moment Marisol opened the door, the air shifted.
The green notebook—the orchard story—lay still.
But the blue notebook—the river boy’s story—was open.
Pages fluttered as if caught in a breeze that didn’t exist.
Ana whispered, “It knows.”
Marisol stepped closer. The page showed a drawing of the river boy standing at the water’s edge, his reflection distorted, his eyes hollow.
Below the drawing, her mother had written:
“El río toma lo que no se recuerda.”
“The river takes what is not remembered.”
Marisol’s throat tightened. “He wasn’t just lost. He was forgotten.”
Ana frowned. “By who?”
Marisol looked at the next line.
“Por todos.”
“By everyone.”
The room hummed.
The pendant pulsed once.
The blue notebook snapped shut.
Ana jumped. “Okay. Nope. I’m done. I’m so done.”
Marisol stared at the notebooks, at the symbols, at the faint stain on the wall where the watcher had stood.
“The stories are waking up faster,” she whispered. “And the watcher is getting stronger.”
Ana sank onto the floor. “So what do we do now?”
Marisol unfolded the map.
Three symbols glowed faintly.
The spiral.
The crossed‑out eye.
And now—
The circle with three lines.
Ana groaned. “That’s the next one, isn’t it?”
Marisol nodded.
“It’s Lety’s story.”
Ana rubbed her face. “Of course it is. Because why wouldn’t the next location be the one where a girl vanished walking home?”
Marisol traced the glowing symbol.
The map felt warm.
Alive.
Waiting.
“We go tomorrow,” she said quietly.
Ana stared at her. “You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
Ana sighed. “Fine. But if the next story tries to drown you, I’m quitting this friendship.”
Marisol managed a tired smile. “You won’t.”
Ana muttered, “I hate that you’re right.”
The pendant pulsed again.
Soft.
Warning.
The watcher was still out there.
And the next story was already stirring.
- Writer
