Nymph

by Brent Meranda

  Jealousy surged through me, and I felt my face grow flush. “Oh.” I looked down.

  “She could’ve been your twin. Only…” He looked again at my face and felt my hair with his fingers. Her hair was darker—black really. And her skin was…”

  “Pale? Sickly? Grotesquely white?”

  “You know her?”

  “We’ve met.”

  He seemed relieved. “She’s the reason he went out that night. We were pinned down by sniper fire, and he thought he saw you out in the jungle. He followed you down to a river, and then waded into the water, all the way up to his neck. We lost sight of him, but a few minutes later, we heard shooting. The next morning, we found Jim unconscious and shot up pretty bad. We also found the bodies of two enemy soldiers, their throats cut.”

  He took a breath.

  “Then it got weird. We evacuated Jim out of there to a field hospital. The nurses later told us that he seemed to be recovering well. He even wrote a letter home the day he died, and they saw him talking and laughing with a volunteer late into the night.”

  The Marine stopped talking. I looked at him with question marks in my eyes.

  “The volunteer,” he continued. “The nurses said she had a pug nose, black hair, and ghostly white skin. She was the last to see him alive.”

  The room began to spin.

  The bitch killed Jimmy. She led him into an ambush because he thought she was me. Then she followed him to the hospital and finished the job. Why didn’t he tell me what was happening? I could’ve warned him. Nausea swept through me, and I had to get out of there.

  I rushed past the Marine and then past Carl as I wove my way through the crowd, into the foyer, and out into the parking lot. There, I threw up behind a red VW Beetle.

  * * *

  I came back in time to follow the procession to the gravesite. Then I held Carl’s hand as we watched the honor guard fire their tribute. I kept holding his hand as they folded the flag and then lowered my Jimmy into the ground.

  Time stopped.

  When Carl turned to go, I stayed put, pulling on his arm to keep him beside me. He faced me and I couldn’t help thinking how much he looked like his brother. Then he kissed me on the lips. I kissed back.

  By the time our kiss ended, I was ready to go. It was prom night, and Carl had waited long enough. I followed him home and slept in his bed. His dad didn’t seem to notice.

  * * *

  The next morning, things were different. I was still sad, but also at peace. Carl held me in his arms and I felt safe for the first time in a long while. I thought about the nymph. She seemed to prefer hands on killing and, while the enemy soldiers had been knifed, Jimmy had been shot. Maybe she’d tried to save him. Maybe, because of her, he didn’t die alone. Maybe he was thinking of me. And maybe, when it happened, he felt just as warm and safe as I did at that very moment in Carl’s arms.

  Then again, maybe the bitch really did kill him.

  * * *

  I didn’t see the nymph for an entire year, so I assumed she’d stayed in Korea. It wasn’t until our wedding day that I knew for sure she’d returned. As Carl and I exited the church I smelled lilacs and I thought I spotted her tossing rice into the air. When I stepped her direction she disappeared behind the bridesmaids. Although I didn’t see her again for another year, I felt her presence.

  I sensed her behind every bush and every tree during our honeymoon in the Smokies. And when we hiked to a waterfall, her presence was overwhelming. Carl got mad because we’d just trekked for an hour and he couldn’t understand why I insisted on leaving so soon. When we got back to the hotel, I tried to make it up to him with sex, but that seemed to bring the nymph even closer. It felt like she was in the room with us and I ended up making Carl sleep on a recliner.

  It was a miracle that we had sex at all, but we did. And, when I got pregnant, the nymph seemed to leave us for a while. She missed out on six weeks of morning sickness followed by six months of constipation and hemorrhoids. I got fat and grumpy and I had gas.

  The summer was the worst. As I entered my third trimester, the temperatures averaged ninety in the day and seventy five at night. With the humidity, it was impossible to get comfortable and the only reason I got any sleep at all was pure exhaustion.

  Then one night, I awoke from a fitful sleep to the sounds of sobbing.

  At first, I thought it was a cat courting a would-be lover. But the voice sounded all too human. Maybe it was a child? I turned to wake Carl only to discover an empty bed. Instinctively, I rubbed my belly as a knot grew in my throat. There was no need to panic. The baby wasn’t due for another month. Besides, Carl probably just went to the kitchen for a snack.

  Casually, I checked the spot by the bedroom door where I always tripped over his boots. Okay, he took them. So he wanted to eat his snack on the porch where it was cool. The house was suffocating so it made sense. I rose from the bed and walked to the window where I looked out over the yard. I could hear the crying louder from there, and I searched for the source. The yard seemed empty except for the willow tree and rosebushes. Near the garden, a pie pan clinked against a metal post and a rabbit scurried between the rows of green beans.

  The truck was still parked by the woodhouse where we’d left it when Carl’s dad died. I wondered if it would still run since it had sat for nearly a year. The bed was covered with a tarp, and I thought for a second that the sound was coming from underneath. Then I realized it was coming from the other direction—toward the front of the house. When I looked that direction, I noticed that Carl’s Pontiac was gone from the driveway. I gritted my teeth.

  Without warning, the sobbing stopped.

  I opened the screen and leaned out. As I did, the breeze blew across my face and I closed my eyes and inhaled the sweet smell of fresh cut alfalfa. The crickets chirped, the pie pan clanged, and then, right below me, I heard Jimmy call my name.

  My eyes shot open and I froze.

  “Sam,” I heard. “Come play.”

  Slowly and deliberately, I looked down and saw Jimmy standing there with a wicked smile on his face. He winked and then turned and ran. I leaned out further and watched him round the corner of the house.

  “Jimmy!”

  No one answered and I felt foolish. I’d been to Jimmy’s funeral. I saw them bury him. It couldn’t be him.

  I heard noises on the front porch. Then the staircase creaked behind me and the hairs stood up on the back of my neck. I looked at the closed bedroom door and then glanced at the driveway. The Pontiac was still gone.

  I heard another creak.

  Surely Carl had locked the door on his way out. No one could get in. Old houses made noises, that’s all. My pregnant mind was playing tricks.

  Footsteps padded up the hallway and I rushed to the door and flipped the lock. The knob rattled. Then someone knocked.

  “Where’ve you been?” I asked, hoping it was Carl.

  “What kind of welcome is that?”

  I froze. It was Jimmy. “Go away!”

  “So you can screw my brother?” Something scratched at the door. “I saw you kissing him, you know.”

  I closed my eyes and took a breath. This wasn’t happening.

  “I wasn’t even buried yet.” The scratching continued and I thought I heard a growl.

  It had to be a trick. “Carl. Don’t do this.”

  “I’m not Carl you whore!”

  The smell of rotting flesh filled the room and fingers pattered along my back. I screamed and it shoved me against the door and put its face next to mine. Its whiskers scraped my cheek. My baby kicked and seemed to scream inside me.

  When it stepped back, I turned and swung, fist plunging into emptiness. Nobody. Nothing. I searched the room and checked the door. It was still locked. I could still smell putrid flesh.

  My baby continued kicking. I rubbed my belly. “Shh… It’s okay. Mommy’s here… Mommy’s here…”

  That hadn’t been Jimmy. But Jimmy had said it: nymph
s could shape shift.

  My baby continued crying, so I began singing the only lullaby I knew:

  Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,

  Go to sleepy little baby.

  When you wake, you shall have,

  All the pretty little horses.

  Blacks and bays, dapple grays

  Coach and six white horses.

  Hush-a-bye don't you cry,

  Go to sleepy, little baby.

  It worked and my baby calmed down just as crying started drifting through the window again.

  I looked around. Whatever had been in here was either hiding or gone. But a part of me wondered if a real child was out there lost and alone, and my heart melted.

  I looked at the empty bed beside me. My ass of a husband had disappeared, so I was on my own. Did I risk going outside to find out who was crying? Or did I barricade myself and my unborn daughter in the bedroom until morning?

  I glanced at the door. A lock hadn’t kept that thing out, so I wasn’t any safer here than outside. I needed a weapon.

  Carl’s old man had kept an axe he’d used to split wood. An axe would work nicely.

  “Okay, little one. You sleep tight. Mommy’s going for a little walk.”

  I rose from the bed as gently as I could and then walked to the door. I paused and listened for any movement outside, and when I heard none, I opened it. The hallway was empty so I continued out of the bedroom and down the stairs. I couldn’t help thinking that a hand would reach out from the railing at any time and grab my ankles. When I got to the kitchen, I thought of grabbing a knife but didn’t want to be like her. Instead, I searched the junk drawer for a flashlight.

  When I found what I was looking for, I turned it on. Carl intentionally kept old batteries in the flashlight so the brightness wouldn’t scare away night crawlers before he could pick them up. As I expected, the light was dim but at least it worked. With the help of the full moon and the porch light, it would get me to the shed.

  I flipped on the porch light and stepped into the night.

  The crying seemed to be coming from the woods at the far end of the yard, near the path that led down to the creek. I shined the light that way, but the feeble beam didn’t even reach the trees. No matter. I was going to the shed.

  As I walked, I noticed vultures circling in the night sky above the woods.

  A sense of dread filled me when I got to the shed and I paused before opening the door. When I swung it open, it was silent and dark inside and my flashlight only lit up a small area. I stepped through the doorway, felt along the wall, and flipped on a light switch. Unstacked wood filled about a third of the back wall. Near the front, a chainsaw sat on the floor alongside a container of oil. I could smell grease and gasoline and sawdust.

  A couple of hatchets hung on the wall. I wanted something bigger and soon found what I was looking for: a single headed axe with a wooden handle. I picked it up and felt the weight in my hands. It was heavier than I thought, and it would be awkward to swing with my pregnancy bump. As I tried to figure out if I could use it, the door slammed shut and I heard scratching running along the outside of the building. I gripped the axe. The scratching stopped and I heard, “Samantha… Come out and play.”

  “I have a gun!” I shouted.

  Everything grew quiet. After a moment, I walked to the doorway, raised the axe, and shoved the door open. There was nothing there, so I peaked outside. Someone screamed in woods.

  “You okay?” I yelled.

  No answer. Even the crying had stopped.

  The thought of going back into the house alone scared me more than staying in the open; so I gripped the axe and walked toward the woods.

  I should’ve turned back and called the police. They would’ve thought I was hysterical, but at least they would’ve come. I should have called them. I knew I should have. But I’d made up my mind. The police would just scare her away and I wasn’t going to wait around any longer. It ended tonight.

  I pushed forward. Something moved up ahead and I shined my light toward the motion. Maybe it was running away. Or maybe it was leading me into a trap. Jimmy’s warning came back to me: Stay away from the creek. He wants you.

  Until that night, I’d always known the nymph as a girl. How’d Jimmy know she’d come as a boy? Either way, I wasn’t backing down.

  A few yards into the path, I spotted the largest dog tracks I’d ever seen. This was no Shih Tzu.

  The crying started again and soon turned to moaning. It was coming from up ahead. After another few yards, I found an old varsity jacket lying by the path. It looked like it had been there for years and the sleeve had been chewed. The date on the sleeve showed that the owner had graduated eight years earlier.

  Another scream drew me forward.

  Soon I heard motion behind me. I stopped and the movement stopped. I moved and it moved.

  I rushed forward and soon came to the old white tree. Everything looked the same as I remembered. I glanced at the axe and wondered if I could chop the thing down. Too bad I hadn’t brought the chainsaw.

  The moaning seemed to be coming from the tree. I glanced behind me and then shined the light into the tree branches. I saw nothing unusual at first, so I walked toward the creek while keeping my light in the tree. She had to be up there somewhere. Then, as I got closer to the water, I noticed something swaying. I stepped closer and saw a body hanging from a rope.

  I screamed and stepped back.

  Something growled behind me and I swung around to see a wolf creeping out of the shadows, teeth bared. Singing burst forth above me. I glanced up. The nymph swung her legs on the limb. I gripped the axe and focused the light on the wolf. It circled up the bank, forcing my back to the creek.

  The nymph sung about that damn lamby with no eyes.

  I swayed the axe back and forth in front of me, letting the wolf know I was ready. It ignored the motion and focused on me. Saliva dripped from its tongue and it stepped closer. I edged backward and looked for the best place to sink the axe head.

  Then I stumbled. The wolf leapt, knocking the axe and light aside. I fell and the beast pinned my arms to the ground. Its teeth were inches from my face, and I gagged on the smell of rotten meat.

  It smiled.

  Suddenly, blood squirted at me and the wolf convulsed and choked. It fell away, revealing the nymph standing over me with her knife raised in the air against the backdrop of the full moon. She lifted her head and let loose a primal scream. Then she took two steps toward me, leapt into the air, and disappeared over my head. There was no crash and, when I turned to look, I saw only water.

  The wolf gasped for air beside me, blood still spouting from its throat and pooling on the ground. As I stared, it shifted into the form of a naked man with pointy ears and a strange resemblance to my Jimmy. Then it shifted again into a fur covered boy. He struggled to breathe, so I took him in my arms and placed his head in my lap. I ran my fingers through his hair, humming gently as he fell limp and faded away. Then I looked up and saw the frayed rope swaying from its branch.

  * * *

  When I got home, I found Carl running around the yard calling my name. He saw me walking up the path and ran toward me. Then, when he saw the blood splattered across my face and gown, his jaw dropped and his face turned pale. I assured him the baby and I were fine.

  He hugged me and asked what had happened.

  I told him to drop dead.

  I never did tell him what happened that night. Not the full story, anyway. I just smiled and hummed a lullaby. That was his punishment for running off to the local bar when he should’ve been home with me.

  As for me and the nymph, we called a truce. When my daughter was born, I named her Carya after a nymph I’d read about once in mythology. Carl thought I’d named her after him. The idiot.

  I did love my husband, though. We lived together another forty years before he died of a heart attack. Life’s been good. Carya visits me every day and my grandkids come around once a month. Once, t
hey brought me some chocolate covered nuts and I remembered the time I told Carl I was going to marry a squirrel. I laughed and tried to tell the grandkids, but it came out wrong and they thought I was senile. That’s okay. Maybe I am. I swear the ears on that nurse are a little too pointy and her nose is a little too pudgy.

  I smell lilacs all the time now. When I shut my eyes, I feel gnats buzzing my face and hear the sounds of rippling water. And, somewhere in the darkness, children are laughing as their bare feet slap the ground.

  “Wait up guys, I’m coming.”

  * * **

  About the Author

  Brent Meranda lives in Cincinnati with his wife and two children. He writes software by day and fiction by night. His non-fiction articles have appeared in The Plain Truth, Christian Odyssey, and Control Engineering. He’s also a certified teacher of relationship skills with Equipping Ministries International, and is a member of the pastoral leadership team at Christ Community Church.