The Bloom Beneath the Bellies

The July sun beat down on my shoulders, a false promise of warmth. I’d been staring at the same four walls for three days, my usual companions scattered to distant shores and mountain retreats. Restlessness gnawed at me, a familiar itch that only the outdoors could scratch. My beat-up bicycle, a faithful steed, carried me to the edge of town, to the sprawling, manicured lawns of Atheria Fields. But the usual cacophony of shouts and squeaking sneakers was absent. The vast green expanse lay eerily still, as if holding its breath. My gaze drifted to the sluggish grey ribbon of the Serpent’s Coil river that bordered the western edge of the fields, a place whispered about, a place strictly forbidden.

The descent was treacherous, a scramble over loose shale and tangled roots that clawed at my jeans. Finally, I reached the muddy bank, a forgotten place where the air hung thick and heavy with the scent of decay. I chose a smooth, dark rock, slick with algae, and settled onto it. Closing my eyes, I sought a sliver of peace. That’s when I heard it – a gurgling, a frantic thrashing, like something desperate fighting for air.

Before I could process the sound, an impossible cold clamped around my ankles. It wasn’t the chill of river water; it was a dead, clammy touch that seeped into my bones. I was yanked forward with shocking force. The muddy bank vanished, replaced by the swirling, silt-laden current of the Serpent’s Coil. Panic surged, a tidal wave of terror. I choked on the foul water, my lungs burning, my vision blurring into a chaotic mess. Darkness claimed me.

When consciousness returned, it was a gradual, horrifying unfurling. I was adrift, not in the churning main current, but in the unnerving calm at the center of a perfect, grim circle. Around me, bobbing gently like macabre water lilies, were figures. Their skin, stretched taut over sunken features, was the sickly hue of bruised plums and drowned men. Their eyes, wide and unseeing, stared at the indifferent sky. I opened my mouth to scream, but only a pathetic, waterlogged gasp escaped. Then, I felt it again, a subtle shift in the water, a gentle nudge from below, drawing me deeper into the silent, submerged congregation.