I recently came across a prompt for a flash-fiction story competition: A river. The story had to be set on, or near, or have something to do with a river. I had nothing written—partially or completed—that fit that theme, so I thought I’d try to conjure something. I thought about it that night, and the next morning I wrote this creepy little tale…I hope you like it! (although it may actually qualify as “micro-fiction”…at slightly over 300 words, it’s a quickie):
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The River Copyright © Rand Eastwood | Eastwood Innovations, LLC | Woodlands Press | All Rights Reserved
It’s not the forest that is haunted.
It’s the river.
The river runs along the south side of our neighborhood.
The forest stands behind it.
During the rainy season, the river swells, and creates a swamp in the forest.
And people think the forest is haunted.
But it’s not the forest.
It’s the river.
How do I know? Because I live here. My whole life, since I was a child.
And the river tells me its secrets.
It tells of decisions; it tells of endings.
It tells of tragic accidents; it tells of evil deeds.
It tells of natural disasters; it tells of mysterious events.
And not just involving people, but animals too. Even birds.
We all live here now.
My father searched for a long time—much longer than my mother—but finally gave up years ago.
And I can still hear them. I don’t know how, but I can. Especially when they talk about me.
My father says they’re building a dam.
The river will fill a reservoir, the remainder redirected to the farms out west that need it.
It will no longer run behind our neighborhood.
The river bed will dry up, and the yearly swamp will become a mere memory.
It will be better, they say. Safer. Healthier.
He says that maybe then, they’ll finally find me.
But she seems worried that they will.
In fact, she seems terrified; I can sense it.
After all, she brought me here as a child—barely old enough to walk—and gave me to the river.
It’s not the forest that is haunted.
It’s the river.
The river that flows from our hearts.
The river of love; the river of hatred.
The river of enlightenment; the river of darkness.
The river of kindness; the river of evil deeds.
The forest stands around us, outside of us.
But the river flows within us.
It’s not the forest that haunts us.
It’s the river.
The River Copyright © Rand Eastwood | Eastwood Innovations, LLC | Woodlands Press | All Rights Reserved
I hope you enjoyed the story, and remember, I have published more stories for free reading here on the blog, under My Fiction, you might want to check them out!
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