Stephen King: Six Scary Stories

I’m very used to lakes, the fact that there’s nothing but the dark below you, going down tens, often hundreds of feet. That’s never bothered me. The sense of emptiness beneath, I even quite like it. But that’s not what I felt here at Vaiduoklis. Rather than nothing-ness beneath me, I felt a something-ness. That it wasn’t empty space, that there was something there. I peered down, and I swear I thought I saw something move. Not a fish, much bigger than that. It looked like someone was swimming several feet below me. I even saw a flash of pale flesh.

Becky Adlington couldn’t have made it to the shore faster than I did. I shot up that root like a rat. At the top, I stood holding on to the tree, gasping for breath, looking out over the water, half expecting to see something burst to the surface. But once the disturbance I’d made died down, the water returned to its glass-like state, rippling slightly at the edge, reflecting back the dreary firs and grey sky.

I felt annoyed that Mrs Jakovleva must have got to me, and tramped back to the guest house.

She was standing at the door and for a minute I thought she was going to hug me with relief. That didn’t make me feel any better. ‘You not long,’ she said. ‘All okay?’

‘Yes, lovely thanks, really nice swim. I’ll go check out that church you suggested now,’ I said. She looked surprised, and I could sense her watching me as I went up the stairs.

I felt a bit better when I was warm and dry, but the new village soon knocked that out of me. The church she had been on about looked like a 1970s municipal library, and all in all, the place was fantastically dull. There was one shop, selling groceries, some awful-looking floral frocks and, bizarrely, postcards. I couldn’t believe that anyone would have printed a card of such a town. But instead of the place I’m staying, it showed a black and white photo of a pretty village in a valley, part of it clinging to the side of the hills.

‘Is this the old village?’ I asked the man behind the counter.

‘Vaiduoklis,’ is all he said.

‘When was it sunk?’

‘Soviet days. The villagers, they object. Some never left. Still there.’

‘The Soviet Union drowned them?’ I asked. I had seen the KGB museum in Vilnius, but this seemed particularly chilling.

The man shrugged. ‘Bad times,’ he said. ‘Water low now, Vaiduoklis must be near the surface, maybe even possible to see, if you look.’

I thanked him and bought a handful of cards. Despite my scare this morning, I’ve got to say the idea of seeing some of the old medieval village cheered me up. A sort of Lithuanian Dunwich. It must have been a bit of that I saw today, not another swimmer at all. From the shape of the reservoir map I printed out at the Vilnius tourist office, I think the church might be quite near the exact spot where I got into the water this morning.

Anyway, I’d better go as I’m feeling a bit bad about hogging the computer in Mrs Jakovleva’s breakfast room all this time. Although she seemed to be out when I got back.

Will update you on the hidden village hunting! Chrissy xxxxxx

From: porpoise1swimit@gmail.com

To: barflysuse@gmail.com

Date: 30 May 2015, 17:24

Okay, me again. So I just had to get this off my chest. I went up to my room after emailing you, and would you believe the bath was running, with the plug in. Any longer and it would have overflowed and flooded the place. It DEFINITELY wasn’t me who left it on. I don’t know what Mrs Jakovleva is playing at, there were even wet foot marks from the bath to the window. Nothing missing, thank God. Do you think she’s been hanging out in my bedroom?!!

Gross

From: porpoise1swimit@gmail.com

To: barflysuse@gmail.com

Date: 31 May 2015, 16:48

I’m so frightened, Suse, I have to leave this place, I have to leave, and I don’t know how. Everything is shut in the town, there are no trains tonight and I don’t know where Mrs Jakovleva has gone.

I wish to God I’d never come here.

I don’t know what’s happening, I don’t know what to think.

The day started all wrong. I slept in late this morning and when I came down, there was no landlady and no breakfast.

I thought maybe I’d pissed her off by going for a swim yesterday, and after that stuff with the bath, she’s obviously odd. I walked into town to see if I could find something to eat there. But it’s Sunday and the place was a ghost town. All shuttered up and nobody on the streets. I passed the church. The lights were on and there was singing inside and I had this mad thought of going in, but for what? I ended up going to the train station instead. There was nobody in the ticket office, and the snack kiosk was shut, but I did manage to get some sweets and crisps from the vending machine, along with a really sad-looking sandwich.

I checked the timetable and saw there was only one train out that day. To Vilnius in about half an hour. I had this sudden feeling that I ought to rush back for my bag and take it, but then I thought that was ridiculous, and how would I pay Mrs Jakovleva?

Back at the guest house, I had the sandwich and went through the guidebook again in my room. There’s absolutely nothing on this place. I looked up Lusai and decided to head there first thing in the morning. Felix or no Felix, I’ve had enough of Vaiduoklis.

The tourist office map of the reservoir was still on the bedside table. For some reason I didn’t fancy going hunting for buried villages quite so much today; there was something weird about being here without Mrs Jakovleva. But then there was absolutely nothing else to do, and I thought, While I’m here, it was really worth trying to spot a bit of the old town.

I got my goggles and headlight out, and togged myself up in the wetsuit. It was so quiet walking to the water, I sort of missed the sound of the old woman thumping on the glass behind me.

The reservoir looked even lower today. There was a light wind, breaking up its reflective surface and I walked round the edge, peering down the sides, trying to see if there was anything that looked like masonry down there. I thought there might be a pale shape, about a ten-minute swim from my root stairway, not far from the edge.

The climb down felt more difficult. I swear it looked as though some of the roots had been broken off, but once in, I got that familiar high from the cold, and adrenalin soon took me to the spot I had scouted out. There was definitely something down there.

I plunged under and at first nothing. But after surfacing and then going a little deeper, finally I saw something. The torch on my forehead picked out some red brick in the gloom, covered in algae. From the carving work it looked like it might be part of a church tower. I got a bit closer and saw the remains of a green dome at the top, smashed in on one side with reeds blocking the hole. I didn’t want to get tangled up, and knew I’d have to surface for air soon, but it was amazing to think I’d found a medieval church underwater, so I swam a bit nearer.

I looked into the hole, shining my headlight into the black. The reeds got in the way, and I went to move them aside without getting my arms tangled. I pushed my face towards the dark and felt something soft brush against my lips. I drew back, thinking it might be a carp. And that’s when it happened. A face bobbed up out of the broken dome. It was a person, Suse, all bloated and rotting, the eyes white and sunken like a dead fish when it’s been left out in the sun. It had swollen lips, lips that had just touched mine. Terrified, I pushed it away, and its jaw fell open. Half the tongue was gone.