The Brine Line

The summer I turned nine, my parents shipped me off to my aunt and uncle’s farmhouse in the middle of Kansas, a place where the nearest neighbor was a half-hour drive and the cornfields stretched like a green ocean to the horizon. Uncle Harold and Aunt May were early risers, up before the sun to milk the cows and tend to the chickens. I, on the other hand, was a city kid who had never seen a real farm, and the novelty of it had me wide awake at the crack of dawn, or rather, before the crack, when the world was still a dark, muffled blanket.

I crept out of my room, its walls decorated with faded horse prints, and padded down the narrow hallway to the stairs. The house was old, creaking with every shift of the wind, and I moved slowly, listening for any sign of life. My plan was to join Uncle Harold in the barn, but halfway down the stairs, I felt a breath on my right ear, and a voice, thin and watery, whispered, ‘Come find me.’ I froze, my heart hammering. I spun around, but there was no one there. The darkness pressed in, and I scrambled back up the stairs, diving under the quilt, pulling it over my head, and trying to convince myself it was just the house settling.

Eventually, I drifted into a restless sleep. I dreamed I was floating in a vast, dark lake, and something was pulling me down, down into the cold, silent depths. I struggled, holding my breath until my lungs burned, and then I woke with a gasp, choking and coughing. I sat up, disoriented. The room was bright, sunlight streaming through the window, but I was drenched. My pajamas were soaked, my hair dripping. I looked around: puddles of water on the wooden floor, water dripping down the walls, and the bed was a sodden mess, as if someone had dumped a bucket over it.

I stumbled out of bed, my feet sliding on the wet floor, and ran to the window. Outside, the sun was shining on the golden fields, but the glass was streaked with moisture, as if the room had been crying. I heard footsteps on the stairs and then my cousin, Danny, appeared in the doorway. He was a year older, with a mop of red hair and a perpetual smirk. He looked at me, his eyes widening. ‘What happened to you?’ he asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and disgust. I opened my mouth to explain, but no words came out, just a sob. I pointed at the bed, at the water, at the mess. Danny stepped closer, his bare feet squelching on the floor. He sniffed. ‘Smells like salt,’ he said, and then his face went pale. ‘Did you go down to the cellar?’ I shook my head. ‘There’s a well in the cellar,’ Danny whispered. ‘It’s all that’s left of the old farmhouse that burned down. They say a little girl drowned in it, back in the 1800s. They never found her body.’

I stared at him, my mind racing. The whisper, the dream, the water – it all clicked. ‘I think she’s here,’ I said. Danny grabbed my arm. ‘We have to get out,’ he said, and we raced down the stairs, our wet footprints leaving a trail behind us. But when we reached the bottom, the front door was stuck. We pulled and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge. We ran to the back door, but it was sealed shut, as if the house itself was holding us in. The air grew cold, and I heard the whisper again, clearer this time: ‘Brine.’ Danny heard it too, his eyes wide with terror. We ran to the kitchen, where Aunt May was making coffee. She looked up, startled at our disheveled state. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked. Before we could answer, the kitchen sink began to overflow, not with water but with a thick, dark liquid that smelled of seaweed and decay. Aunt May screamed, and the lights flickered.

Then, from the cellar door, came a sound – a child’s giggle, followed by a splash. Uncle Harold burst in from the barn, his face grim. ‘It’s her,’ he said. ‘She’s angry. The drought brought her up.’ I didn’t understand, but I didn’t need to. The floor began to tremble, and the water from the sink spread, crawling toward us like the fingers of a ghost. We huddled together, and I saw in the corner of the kitchen a small, wispy figure, a girl with long, dark hair and empty eyes, her lips moving silently. She pointed at me, and the water rose, lifting me off my feet. I screamed, but no sound came out, and I was pulled under, into a dark, endless sea, the taste of salt in my mouth. And as I drowned, I heard her whisper, ‘You’re mine now.’ But just as I was about to give in, Danny grabbed my hand and yanked me back to the surface. I coughed, spitting out water and gasping for air. The figure was gone, and the water receded, leaving the kitchen a wreck. Uncle Harold and Aunt May were clutching each other, shaking. ‘We need to find the source,’ Harold said. ‘We need to drain the well.’ But I knew it wouldn’t be that simple. As I looked around, I saw that the water had left a pattern on the floor, a spiral, and in its center, the words ‘BRINE LINE’ etched as if by a knife. And I knew our battle was only beginning.