The Chlorine Angel

I was six, maybe seven, the summer the pool at the Ashford Community Center became my second home. My mother was the lifeguard there, so I spent my days in the shallow end, my fingers pruned and my skin smelling of chlorine. But on that particular afternoon, I wasn’t in the water. I was lying on a scratchy lounge chair in the shade, my stomach churning with a fever that made the world tilt. My mother had given me a cool cloth for my forehead and told me to rest while she finished her shift. I closed my eyes, and the sounds of splashing and laughter faded into a dull hum.

When I opened them again, the light had changed. The sun was lower, casting long shadows across the concrete, and the pool was eerily empty. A single figure stood at the far end, near the diving board, silhouetted against the glare. The person was wearing a white uniform—a crisp dress, a starched cap with a red cross emblem, and white shoes that seemed to glow. My heart started hammering against my ribs. I tried to call out for my mother, but my throat was dry and no sound came out.

The figure began to walk toward me, her steps silent on the wet tiles. As she approached, I saw her face: pale, with sharp cheekbones and eyes that shifted between blue and green, like the color of the deep end. Her hair, a fiery red, was pulled back into a tight bun, not a strand out of place. She stopped right beside my chair and looked down at me, her lips pressed into a thin line. Then she spoke, her voice calm but unnervingly flat.

‘Elsie,’ she said. ‘You need to get up. Your mother needs you now.’

I shook my head, pulling the damp cloth over my face. ‘I don’t feel good,’ I whispered. ‘Go away.’

She didn’t move. She simply repeated, ‘Elsie, you must come with me. Now.’

Terrified, I sat up, and as I did, the world spun. The woman’s hand reached out, and I took it, my small fingers cold against her dry, warm palm. The moment our hands touched, a violent shiver ran up my arm, and I felt an overwhelming sense of dread. She led me away from the pool, through a gate I’d never noticed before, and into a long, dark corridor that I knew didn’t exist in the community center. The walls were made of rusty metal, and the air smelled of old water and something faintly sweet, like rotting flowers.

We walked for what felt like hours, my legs aching, my fever making everything blur. At last, we came to a door with a small, round window. Through the glass, I could see a room bathed in harsh fluorescent light. On a metal table lay a figure, covered with a white sheet. My mother’s face was visible, pale and still. I let go of the woman’s hand and pressed my face against the window, crying out, but my mother didn’t move.

The woman placed a hand on my shoulder. ‘She’s waiting for you, Elsie. But you must go alone.’

I pushed the door open, but as I stepped inside, the room was empty. The table was bare, the lights flickered, and a pool of water spread across the floor. I turned around, but the woman was gone. I was in the boiler room of the community center, the air thick with humidity. I ran out through a side exit and found myself by the back of the building, the evening air cool on my skin. My mother was kneeling by a small grate, her hands shaking, calling my name. She scooped me up and held me tight, but all I could do was stare at the spot where the woman had stood, and I saw a faint blue afterimage, like the ghost of a light bulb burned into my retinas.

For weeks afterward, the image haunted me—those blue-green eyes, the red cross, the words ‘your mother needs you.’ But my mother was fine. It wasn’t that night she needed me, but many years later, when she fell ill and I was far away. I still remember that woman, and I wonder if she was real, or a fever dream, or something worse. I never returned to that community center, and I never swam again. The chlorine smell still makes my skin crawl, and I can’t look at a red cross without seeing her. Sometimes, when I’m alone and about to fall asleep, I see that blue light forming in the corner of my eye, and I hear her voice again, not calling a name, but whispering, ‘You need to come with me now.’ And I know that one day, I will have to answer.