Creative Writing #3 - Mercedes Hawks

Author's Note: This is unlike anything I would normally write, but I wanted to keep the story in the same vain as those that I remember hearing/reading online at a young age. These Creepypasta's often did not have a super strong sense of writing, but the core was the horror and believability of them. I hope I somewhat captured the essence of that here! This was a lot of fun to write and I hope you enjoy xx 

THERE IS AN ANGEL IN THE RIVERBED  

  I come from moonshine babies, born from moonshine grandparents. In the harvest seasons of my youth, I helped press peaches with my thumb in a wooden kitchen and wandered down the broken pavement to my small home tucked softly up on the hill. Where kudzu was almost trespassing, and the overgrowth of weeds swallowed my home out of sight–devouring us in its wonder and obscurity. My life was sweet by natural blackberry bushes on the hill, and the historic river that flooded every hurricane season, taking over the banks with a vigorous strength that felt an act of God. Everything seemed to be trying to eat us in the river bottom; as if life swelled too warmly in the bosom of the valley, too beautifully in the warm thigh of early autumn. There were unseen adult struggles, it was obvious by the quaintness of our home, but everyone struggled here from the pressing world around. My childhood was on the brink of heaven out there, a purgatory unreachable from the outside world.  

    There was one summer I cannot seem to forget, one that haunts me and mesmerizes me all at once. I was probably about fifteen, the ripeness of innocence flourishing deep. My first ever boyfriend had dumped me before summer, and I was friendless. In these sweltering days, I would walk across the empty main road and up the river, before stripping my clothes and dipping my naked body in the deepest part. The trees cut the sunlight in obscured shapes on the water, revealing the underbelly of the rushing goodness. I could stare for hours at the rocks tossed in slow motion, or the crawdads hiding close to the banks. There was something about being there that felt unmovable and filled with desire. Sometimes I would sit there on one of the protruding boulders with my knees to my chest, my wet hair over my arms, looking upstream. Sometimes fawns and their mothers would cross the shallow parts and look down at me, bewildered by human nakedness. The river seemed infinite and quaint all at once. When you are fifteen, these places feel sacred, only known by you, only touched by you. I would soon discover I was not the only one. In fact, I was the last human being that would ever come to visit here.  

    Let me explain. Like all angsty teenagers who despise their parents, I would purposefully spend my time outside to avoid the annoyance of their constant requests, that were not grand or impossible, but frustrating to a teen who wanted to sit and contemplate world travel. That summer, I was going to the swimming hole early in the mornings and staying there until late in the evenings. My parents knew where I was, and I was not far if they needed me, but they never came. As I look back now, I am thankful my parents did this. They knew something about life I thought I already knew, and how foolish that was. However, I wish I could go back to my little heaven and see it all one more time in that childish looking; that childish, perceived ownership of what has never belonged to a human palm.  

    One night my parents had really sent me off; something about attainable dreams and aspirations I had no desire to accomplish, which led to a door slamming and lots of tears. I had planned, in my angst, to spend the whole day at my swimming hole and stay long into the night, which I had not done before. When the morning came, I brought with me my copy of Paradise Lost, by John Milton, which I was given as a gift from my English teacher who told me to read it over the summer, which I did end up doing and I love that dense book till this day. I brought some snacks, sandwiches, and a whole thing of strawberries. A towel, some dry clothes, water. All the essentials to escape and be somewhere alone.  

    The day went about as normal. The sun was pulsing under my skin, a small rain shower came about mid-afternoon, but the green was so thick above me, nothing penetrated me. It was gone as quickly as it came. I read my book and thought about God, a lot. At the time, my parents did not enforce religion, but it was expected. I did not believe in God, or the bible. Some kid on the bus showed me a book about evolution and humans coming from monkeys, and that seemed more believable to me. I thought about my parents and their own lives, and I felt guilty about being so avoidant, but at the same time, I held feelings of betrayal from them. I ate strawberries floating on my back, naked in every way. I swam to the bottom of the hole, retrieved some sea glass and cool rocks from the caked mud. I thought maybe this place existed in other places, that this could be replicated elsewhere in its perfect wholeness and that I would find a second swimming hole in my life where I could exist forever. I did end up staying until late into that July fever, and the twinkling of the fireflies was magnificent, mirrored in the water. I remember sitting on the boulder, looking upstream at the forest, that was growing into darkness.  

    That is when I saw it.  

     Standing in the river, almost consumed by the velvet night, were two giant wings stretched across from one side of the river to the other. I froze, in complete awe, and then fear. The body was almost an open void, but I could slightly make out a figure between the two wings. The eyes of the figure were staring at me with that deer-like yearning, bulbous and engorged. I felt the sudden desire to walk towards it and fall to my knees for it, but my rising fear kept me still. I believe, if memory serves me correctly, we sat there in observation of each other for at least five minutes, though it felt like fifty. It was only when the figure began to move that I began to panic. It dropped on all fours, its wings up between the branches of the overarching trees, and it slowly wavered towards me. As it came into the light, I was petrified.  

    The thing became completely luminescent, almost beautiful in the dark, beside those infernal eyes. Until it started moving in the last ray of sun, where it became a nightmare. Its breasts were covered in blinking eyes, that winced and shook open out of agony. The legs were like a deer's–stout and gentle, while the arms were long and strangely feminine. Its stomach was non-existent, a hole of vast endlessness carved the creature. Two large antlers grew from its head like some wild, untrimmed tree. The whole body, if you can call it that, had kudzu wrapped around it. Slowly, the being came forward. I shivered sitting there, increasingly feeling as if I may die, but I could not move. The thing had me mesmerized, and I watched its slow descent down to me. As it came closer, I could see the lips, two thin twigs forming a small “ooo,” humming with the rhythm of the river. The gentle brush of the wings was oddly calming, and despite my horror, my eyes flittered as if I might fall asleep. I remember my parents' faces flashing across my mind, and I felt immense sadness thinking they might never see me again. When the creature eventually made its way into the swimming hole, its feet sunk into the mud and became eye level with me. There was nothing human about this being, but its face, surrounding its eyes, had a delicacy of an angel.  

    Before I could think, the creature pushed its forehead to my own and spoke. It is hard to recall everything the creature said, but I am going to do my best. There was a strange quality of calmness brought over me when the creature pressed their forehead to mine. It reminded me of those old stories of lighthouse keepers being taken by sirens. The creature told me it was an angel, and God had sent it here to this river bottom years ago. The angel told me it had been watching me for quite some time, stalking me from beyond the river’s edge. The angel began to rub its calloused palm within my own, never losing eye contact. And the angel continued to go on and on about some duties it was tasked with by God on Earth, that I seem to lose now when remembering, but I recall the angel telling me I had trespassed into something sacred. I was lost in the angel’s eyes; their every movement intrigued me. Those strangely sunken, yet wildly bulged eyes. They seemed to have hard lumps under the corneas, like they were about to pop. Yet there was a light so human, so innately the same as my own, dazzling there across from me that I could not resist––then there was a sharp pain in my rib cage. I broke away from their gaze and winced, harshly.  

    I was stabbed by their wrist, that had some rusted butterknife attached to it. I became frantic. I grabbed the butterknife and pulled it out, which left the angel confused. It fell into the river. I grabbed my bag and ran, naked and all, as fast as I could. The angel began to screech and tried to follow me, but they could not keep up. When I looked behind me the enormous wings were getting caught in branches and the creature seemed to lurk beneath them, their eyes glowing just below the bank. All I could think about was how badly I wanted to be home; how much I wanted to be within my parents' sight. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. The creature cried loudly but eventually fell silent after some distance. Once I got to the bottom of my gravel road, I shoved my clothes on and when I looked to the river, the angel hung in the sky like a God. Its eyes carving me out, placing me on this hill forever, before it spun itself into a cocoon and folded itself into the dark pit of its own stomach.  

    It has been twenty years since this happened, and I have not told anyone about the angel, or my swimming hole. Hell, I never even went back. I did not think anyone would believe me. The only reason I am writing this now is because something happened last night that I cannot seem to explain. I ended up moving to a smaller town not too far from my hometown after attending college, but I come home frequently to see my aging parents. Home is no longer the little house on the hill, but rather a nice suburb home closer to town. I grew up to be an editor at a small publishing press, I got married and even have two little girls. Time has seemed to erase the angel from my memory, until now.  

    I had gotten home around midnight; it was quiet besides all the small insects who keep the forest alive well into the dark hours. I was a bit delirious from exhaustion, so everything moved out of habit. When I got to my door to go in, on my door mat was a rusted, old butterknife. I had to blink several times to even believe it was there. I did not want to touch it, for the fear had already begun to fester. Where did this come from? How could this be happening? Is the angel watching me? As soon as this thought crept into my mind, I turned to the woods. The insects had gone silent. There in the cavity of foliage, were two strained, blood-shot eyes. The wings barely poking into the light of the streetlamp at the edge of my yard, but I knew. I made my way inside in a panic, my breath quickening with every lock I fastened on the door. I tried to be as quiet as possible, to not disrupt the sleeping house. I made sure to close all the blinds, lock the windows and I checked the girl's room to make sure all was well. Everything was safe inside. When my nerves were calm, I decided I had imagined it and went to bed rubbing the small scar on my side.  

    Today, all I can think about is the creature. The angel. The thing. I do not know what to call this being, but I need to get this story out there in hopes someone will believe me. I am desperate to know if someone has experienced this entity, or something similar. I am begging. I am thinking about driving by the old house later in the afternoon and walking down to the swimming hole. I need to know if this angel is real. I need to know why me. I need all the answers I can get. If anyone has seen anything like this, please let me know. I am bringing the butter knife with me; it is laying on the grass now. I hope it will bring the creature out. If anything happens, which I hope to God it does not, I will report back. Wish me luck.