The Drowning Season

The village of Blackwater had only one church, and beneath it, only one crypt. The drowned were buried there, as was the custom, and the crypt was full to overflowing by the time my grandmother was born.

We did not speak of what happened during the drowning season. We did not speak of the figures that rose from the marsh at night, their fingers soft as river moss, their eyes full of water and old hunger. We did not speak of the ritual the elders performed, year after year, at the altar that was really a dam.

I was seventeen when I learned the truth. The church was not built over the crypt. The crypt was built under the church. The church was built over the water.

And the water remembered.

My grandmother's grandmother had made a bargain with something that lived in the deep places. In exchange for the village's prosperity, the water would take one child every seven years.

This was not a sacrifice. This was a payment.

When my sister went missing during the drowning season, I went to the water to make my own bargain.

It was waiting for me, patient as sediment.

OTMES v2.0 ENCODING:
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© 2026 - Authored by Z R ZHANG ( EL9507135 )

© 2026 - Authored by Z R ZHANG ( EL9507135 -- パスポート番号[ちゅうごく] 중국 여권 번호 Номер паспорта หมายเลขหนังสือเดินทาง Passnummer رقم جواز السفر CHN Passport)
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