The Marsh Girl

 We’d all heard the stories about the mysterious Marsh Girl. 

Born from the mud, with hair dark as the space between the stars. Eyes like rotted tree bark. Teeth filed into sharp points - to help her catch her prey. Sharp black nails stuffed full of dirt and dark reeking blood. There were rumors that she had once had a family, but they’d been driven away in fear when they saw what she was becoming. Others claimed she’d used her claws incapacitate them and cooked them one by one over a spit. At this point there were so many stories told about her it was impossible to determine which was real, and which was fiction. The only thing Micheal knew for sure was that she was different - strange… dangerous.  And that was enough for him to stay well away from her swamp.

Not long ago, a tradition had been started. Every year, a group of boys would test their bravery by traveling deep into the marsh and touching the witch’s house. Michael had been dreading the day it would finally be his turn to go. But his time was up and there he stood on the edge of the dark woods, his thoughts circling on every detail, real or otherwise, he had heard about the Marsh Girl.

The boys around him were whispering nervously as they began their journey through the dark trees, their path lit by kerosene lamps, but Michael kept quiet. Their path had been laid out by Jim’s older brother, one of the first boys to make it to her shack. His instructions had been quick and to the point: “Do not stray from the path. When you’s get there, stay as quiet as you can. And after you touch it, run like hell and pray she ain’t followin’ ya”. 

Each step through the squelching mud was too quick, each breath in his lungs too loud. Mosquitos bit at his arms, drawn by the light of the lamp, but Michael ignored them. His gaze fixed in front of him as he traveled deeper and deeper. Closer and closer. 

Soon enough the ramshackled structure appeared out of the dark. Only its outline was visible in the dark, still it was clear to each boy, they had arrived. There was something in the air here, something not quite right, Michael thought.

The boys motioned each other forward, egging the others on. “Go on - touch it” someone whispered. He wanted to turn away, but Michael could hear the jeers of his classmates ringing in his ears. He couldn’t turn away now, not when he was so close. 

He crept closer still, eyes scanning all around them for any signs of a humanoid creature in the trees. He was 20 feet away… 10 feet… 5 feet, 1… His hand pressed the rotted wood.

He sucked in a breath waiting for… nothing. He backed up from the house, some of the boys around him started whooping as they raced for the tree line, and even Michael felt a small smile start to grow on his face. He couldn’t wait to see Chase’s face on Monday when he told him he’s done it. He hadn’t “chickened out” or “ran screamin” like he’d said he would. No, he’d done it. 

He was just about to join into the celebration of his friends when he saw it. A flash in the dark between the leaves. A huddled shape just barely darker than the rest of the marsh. 

It was her. Her eyes flashed in the light of the dim lamp he held. A feral gleam. 

He stopped frozen in his tracks. They stared at each other, just for a few seconds. Then Michael found his feet and he was off. Racing through the woods like he’d been instructed to. Terror pushing his feet faster than they’d even gone before.

It wasn’t until he was back safely in bed that he realized she hadn't been angry or ravenous. No, when she’d looked at him the only thing he’d seen was his own fear, reflected back at him.