The Drowned Locket

The first time I noticed something was wrong with Cal was during third period, when he sat at his desk, staring at the blank wall as if listening to a voice only he could hear. His pencil case lay untouched, its zipper half-open, and his notebook was open to a page filled with the same phrase written over and over: ‘She waits below.’ I chalked it up to exam stress, but the next day he didn’t show up to class. The principal said his mother had called in sick, but I knew better. I had seen that look before, on faces that had been touched by something cold.

I was still shaken when I received an email from his mother, Mrs. Aldridge, apologizing for Cal’s absence and asking if I could drop by to bring his homework. She lived in a part of town that had once been a thriving orchard, but now was a maze of weather-beaten houses with peeling paint and sagging porches. The house was a Victorian relic, its gingerbread trim rotting, and the front gate creaked as I pushed it open. The door was ajar, and inside the air was thick with the smell of damp earth and old roses. I called out, but my voice was swallowed by the silence.

I found Cal in the back garden, kneeling at the edge of a stagnant pond that I hadn’t noticed before. The water was black, covered in a green film, and Cal was staring into it, his lips moving in a silent chant. When he heard me, he turned, and his eyes were not his own. They were the milky gray of a dead fish. I stumbled back, and he smiled, a slow, deliberate smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘She says you knew her,’ he said, his voice too steady. ‘The one with the red hair. She says you left her here.’ I felt the blood drain from my face.

I had not thought of Eleanor in years. She had been a student of mine, bright and full of life, with hair like a flame. She had gone missing during her senior year, and the case was never solved. The police searched the woods and the river, but they never found her. I had always felt a pang of guilt because I had last seen her near this very house, where she often went to sketch the overgrown garden. But I had forgotten that. I had convinced myself she was just a runaway. Now, staring at Cal’s empty face, I knew she had never left.

I tried to pull Cal away from the pond, but his feet were rooted like trees. ‘She wants you to join her,’ he whispered, and then the water in the pond rippled without any breeze. A shape surfaced, a pale hand, and then a head with wet, tangled strands of copper hair. Eleanor’s face broke the surface, her skin bloated and gray, her lips parted to reveal blackened teeth. Her eyes were open, and they fixed on me with an ancient hunger. I heard her voice, not in my ears but in my skull, a hissing whisper: ‘You promised you would come back.’

I staggered backward, tripping over a root, and landed hard on the grass. Cal turned to me, and his own eyes were now his own, wide with terror. ‘She’s real,’ he gasped. ‘She’s been in my dreams. She said you took her locket.’ I remembered then, with a sickening clarity, that on the day Eleanor disappeared, I had found a silver locket in the parking lot after school. It had her name engraved on the back, and I had intended to return it, but I had forgotten. It was still in my desk drawer, buried under old papers.

The pond began to churn, and Eleanor’s torso rose from the water, her dress rotted and clinging to her bones. I scrambled to my feet, grabbing Cal by the arm, and we ran. We fled through the overgrown garden, through the gaping front door, down the porch steps, and into the street, not stopping until we reached my car. I drove without looking back, my hands shaking on the wheel. Cal was silent, his face pale, and when we finally stopped at his house, he just got out and walked inside without a word.

That night, I could not sleep. I went to my study, pulled open the drawer, and found the locket. It was cold, colder than it should have been. I opened it, and inside was a tiny photograph of Eleanor, smiling, and a lock of red hair. The glass over the photo was cracked, as if it had been pressed against something hard. I felt a draft, and the lights flickered. A voice, soft and broken, spoke from the locket: ‘You kept me. Now I will keep you.’

I slammed the locket shut, but the room was suddenly full of the smell of rotting water. I turned, and Eleanor stood in the doorway, dripping water onto the hardwood floor. Her mouth moved, but the words came from all around me: ‘You left me in the dark, Mr. B. Now I will show you the dark.’ I backed away, but she came closer, her wet fingers reaching for my throat. I screamed, but no sound came out.

The next morning, my neighbors found my front door ajar, the room littered with wet leaves and a thin trail of slime leading to the hall mirror. My reflection was not my own; it was a woman with red hair, her face bloated, her eyes black. I have not left the house since. I keep the locket hidden in a box under the floorboards, but I feel her watching me from every puddle, every glass of water. Cal has been moved to a hospital far away, and they say he no longer speaks, just mutters about a lady under the pond. And I, I wait. I wait for the night when the water in my sink runs black, and she climbs out to take me home.