Stagnant

TW: Descriptions of drowning.

A white mist of brittle air escaped from Wren’s lips. Cautiously, she tiptoed through rubble and broken glass, avoiding murky puddles and damp mould. She raised her gaze to observe the faded sea-green hair of the person blazing the trail ahead of her, dimly illuminated by the pitiful rays of blue light emitted from her torch.

“Hey, Fran? How much further?” She called out to them, stumbling clumsily over a soggy scrap of cardboard, catching herself just short of a black mass of mould. She sighed, relieved.

“Shh! Keep your voice down.” They spun their head around to glare at her, scowling in annoyance. Wren went silent. They were deep inside the pits of a long-abandoned building, cold and isolated behind layers of trees and barbed-wire fences – dejected by the community. Nodding in solemn acknowledgment, the two continued in intense silence down the harrowing hallway lined with grimy doors and debris. Wren’s hands subconsciously reached up to rub warmth into her freezing arms, turning to ice even through the thick corduroy jacket she’d ‘borrowed’ from her mum’s newest partner, Mike. He smelt of sandalwood cologne with a hint of cigarette smoke. He didn’t seem like a bad guy, he probably wouldn’t have cared if she’d just asked for it.

But asking leads to questions, and questions lead to arguments.

Past experience sways the scales of moral rights and sporadic wrongs.

“...Francis.” She tried again, a whisper this time, “you sure you know where you’re going? We aren’t lost, right?”

Francis slowed to a halt, heaving a scoff of reluctance and creating a frosty swirl of fog that danced through the air before disappearing wistfully into the darkness. “Of course not. I told you earlier, my brother said to just keep following this corridor. And he’s been here, like, hundreds of times before.”

A look of uncertainty crept across Wren’s face, sending shivers down her spine as it crawled to every crevice of her body. Francis softened their gaze as the frustration seemed to subside. “Stop worrying, it’s really not as dangerous as you’re making it out to be.” Flinging their backpack to their side and hastily unzipping it, they rummaged through a sea of supplies before drawing out a wrinkled piece of paper. “He even drew us a map – see?” The diagram was scribbled in blue ink, the layout roughly comprehensible if she squinted and tilted her head for it to look even remotely like a building. The feeling clinging tightly to her chest twisted into an unnerving hybrid of overwhelming terror and regret, as a sly smile flickered across Francis’ face like the forked tongue of a snake.

***

The soft glint from her torch grew steadily over an ancient concrete wall, detailing the cracks formed by years of neglect. Wren jolted in surprise as Francis burst into sudden excitement,

struggling to keep up with their gleeful skipping towards the peeling crimson paint of an ominous door staring back at them.

“This is it. This is the room he was telling me about – some of the graffiti in here is, like, decades old!” Without missing a beat they strode up to the door, promptly pushing it – with much resistance – as wide as its weary hinges could take it. Wren felt her heart skip a beat, half expecting some sort of feral creature to lunge out and snatch them up. She held her breath, frozen in place.

“You’re sure there isn’t anyone else in here…?” Wren’s voice had lowered to a barely audible murmur, her body stiffening against the chilled air as she winced at the thought.

“Huh? What’re you on about?” Francis tilted their head, their perplexed face scrunching up. “C’mon, don’t chicken out on me now,” lifting their hands from their hips, they threw them up in a dismissive shrug. “Besides, no one comes here, especially not since that shiny new fence has been put up. Luckily for us though, it wasn’t plier-proof.” There it was again. An impish grin shrouded by reckless malice. Or was it simply a display of amusement? She couldn’t tell. Though, they did seem to get a kick out of adrenaline chasing.

Wren felt a cold sweat accumulate around her neck as Francis’ gloved fingers clasped around her own bare hand, tugging her beyond the borders of the ruby door and its weathered frame.

“I told you, didn’t I?” Francis snatched the torch from Wren’s grasp and shone the dull beam of light onto the wall, revealing a vast canvas of spray paintings – the vibrancy felt like it was almost burning holes through Wren’s pupils. She stood puzzled – surely these can’t be decades old if they’re still so saturated with life, even the grimy gripe of mould hadn’t covered them yet.

Minutes had flown by. Wren had almost fully pushed aside the eerie feeling clutching her heart, the fluttering fear that churned like a sea of panicked butterflies in her stomach. She almost felt content. As content as one could be sitting on the frigid, moist floor of a pitch black warehouse that had all but forgotten the touch of care.

“Hey, Fran. Thanks for dragging me out here with you.” She elbowed them, flashing a light-hearted smile. “It was actually pretty cool to see all this.” She motioned at the wall of artworks as Francis’ eyes followed, gleaming flecks of gold in the glare of their torch.

“Oh please, I didn’t drag you – I know you were keen to explore this place, too. If anything, you’re lucky I was there to persuade you, or we wouldn’t have come.” They snickered, shoving Wren’s shoulder teasingly. “Let’s keep going. We could find some cool secrets!” A serpent’s grin. Wren chuckled nervously, her jovial mask began to crack.

“I thought we were going home after this?” She shifted awkwardly. “This room is the only reason we broke in here – didn’t your brother say it wasn’t worth going further? Plus, it’s already pretty late. We said we’d be back by twelve.”

Francis’ playful demeanour dropped. A cold, hard stare pierced Wren’s head. She looked away, but it could be felt even through her hood.

“So what, you wanna just leave? …since when were you such a massive pussy?” Abruptly, they stood up, marching over to a door on the opposite side of the room than they had entered. It was even more filthy than the first one – sealed shut by a build-up of mould and a rather generous pile of rubbish stacked against it, undisturbed for probable good reason.

Francis wobbled as they kicked at the dense pile until it collapsed, then turned their attention to the rusted door handle. With a glance over their shoulder to check that Wren was watching in anticipation – which, to their surprise, she looked more terrified than intrigued – they yanked the handle with an audible grunt followed by a metallic screech. A repulsive odour wafted through the air as the door scraped open.

Foul, stagnant, rancid. Sinister by nature.

It was as if the stale air itself had been trapped in there, marinating for a lifetime. Wren gagged, too disgusted to speak. Francis’ nauseous expression made it evident that they too could hardly stand it – their pride, on the other hand, was too full of contempt. They regained their composure, clearing their throat and puffing out their chest. Striding through the door, Francis swiftly sped off into the haze of darkness, turning a sharp corner – with each step the glow of their torch fading, fading…

…gone.

A shrill shriek echoed down the corridor. Had the batteries died? Wide-eyed, Wren jumped to her feet, racing towards the doorway – she slid to a hesitant stop, waiting, listening. Silence. She felt the prickly grip around her heart squeeze excruciatingly, over and over again until it made her body throb. Still silent. She shouted Francis’ name into the void.

There came a meek reply of a shaken voice. She clasped the doorframe, bracing herself to enter the putrid atmosphere. Where were they? She couldn’t tell. The only option was to feel along the wall until she reached the corner. As the fuzzy texture of mould brushed against her fingertips, Wren shuddered.

“Francis – Francis! Your phone is in the bag! Use it as a flashlight–!” Wren’s fingers fell off the edge of the wall – she’d made it to the corner. Swivelling in place, she took a left and continued along the wall, growing more nauseated by the second as the rank smell infiltrated her systems. As she stepped closer, the wall once again came to an unanticipated drop. “Fran? Why aren’t you responding?” Her frostbitten fingers lingered in the air for a moment, drooping to her sides as she inched her way forwards, leaving the safety of the wall.

“Sorry! I’m freaking out– okay?” Francis’ voice broke into an exasperated sob. “Let me find my phone.” The rustle of a bag reassured Wren that she was headed in the right direction. Her stride increased ever so slightly. “Ah– just watch your step, Wren. I almost slipped when the light went out. The ground’s all slimy.”

Wren, barely comprehending what they’d said, felt her boot slide out from underneath her – sending her tumbling forwards. What was waiting to catch her was worse than the floor.

Her body slipped down a flight of algae covered stairs – sloshing into the freezing embrace of stagnant, murky water.

Her head throbbed. Had she hit it on the stairs? An incoherent babble was being screamed close by. Francis had rushed over to the stairway swinging a blurry ball of light, desperately yelling at her as she breached the surface, gasping for air.

Yet she hadn’t reached the surface, not completely.

Choking, the algae-infested water rushed into her mouth the second it was given the chance – delving into her lungs. Her heart beat faster than ever – a tight grip was prohibiting her from breathing as it slowly crushed it like a water-balloon – it was about to burst. It stung like a swarm of enraged wasps.

Karma, it groaned.

Only mere seconds of flailing and Wren’s limbs had already begun to shut down – the searing iciness of the water cradling her to sleep. She felt the pressure on her chest lift, releasing her from its torment, the muddy scarlet bubbles drifting around her faded into a blur of shadows. She closed her eyes, hardly even noticing the firm grasp clinging around her wrist and tugging her towards the surface once more.