Fear of Drowning

The water was cold, dark, and it stank. She had no idea how she had ended up here, why she was in the river. She’d been in a bar, hadn’t she? Yes, she’d been in the pub with her friends. So why was she holding onto the riverboat pier in the middle of the fucking Thames?

Panic started to set in, and her breath started to become fast and shallow. She was going to drown, she’d be fished out of the river by the police, but only once she’d been left there to swell, discolour, and be eaten by fish. Oh God, she was going to die. She opened her mouth to scream but a wave pushed a roll of river water into it instead. She gagged on the brown, polluted liquid and spat it back out. If she didn’t drown, she would end up with E.coli instead. Another wave threatened to knock her loose from the pier she was holding onto, and this broke through the panic. Fixing her eyes on the structure that was keeping her afloat she reached up with her other hand and managed to grab on. Now she had both hands on something solid, she felt her panic start to fade.

She kicked her feet and swore as one of them struck the pier supports under the water. She felt a momentary burst of warmth as the impact split her skin and blood flowed into the river. Gritting her teeth, she shifted her legs until she managed to get some sort of foothold, increasing her stability. Now that she felt a little more secure, she looked around. Other than in the water, where was she? She looked ahead and saw The Riverside, the pub she’d been drinking at. She must have come outside for some fresh air, and, what, fallen in the river? Jumped in? On her left, she could see Vauxhall Bridge, buses and taxis moving across it. To her left were the chimneys and lights of Battersea Power Station, she could hear some of the revelry drifting along the river.

As she started to feel her fear properly subside, she was hit by another wave that shook her body. She was freezing. She remembered that’s how most people died in the Thames. They didn’t drown, it was hypothermia that killed them. She hadn’t gone out dressed for warmth, it was Friday night. She had to get out of the water. Her first shout was consumed by the shivering that racked her body, it ended up as nothing more than a series of croaks and hiccups. Steadying herself, she focused on calming her body. She made sure her head was far enough above the water to avoid another mouthful of God knows what took a shuddering breath, and yelled, “Help me! Help!”

Nothing. She felt tears prick her eyes, the warm saltiness a sharp contrast to the freezing, filthy water she was trapped in. “Stop it,” she muttered to herself through chattering teeth, “stop it!” Drawing herself up again, she screamed one more time “Help!”Still, there was no response from the riverside. She looked over at the bridge, but there were no pedestrians walking across it. The tears started falling again, and this time she could not stop them. This was it, she was going to either freeze to death or drown, and she couldn’t even remember how she had ended up here.

“Hello?” The voice was faint, but it was clear. She gasped and looked towards the sound. It came again, “Hello?” She could see someone standing at the riverside edge, the light from their phone shining towards her. She tried to respond, but her lips were starting to lose feeling, so she risked waving one of her arms. Quickly she returned her hand to its place gripping the metal of the pier, although the cold was starting to penetrate every part of her. The voice came again. “Oh my God, hang on. I’m coming!” Even through the soul-sucking cold and gnawing fear, she felt a small upswell of hope.

Her would-be rescuer was frantically trying to open the gate of the pier, but it was locked. She registered this as she watched him, and again, in her cold-fogged brain, she couldn’t work out how she had got here. Eventually, he gave up and climbed over the railings. She watched as he managed to clamber onto the shore-side platform that supported the pier’s entry, then climb onto the gangway and sprint down towards her.

He ran across the pier to where she was hanging on. “Oh fuck, what happened? Are you OK?” She shook her head, as he shook his in reply. “Of course you’re not, Jesus.” Leaning over the rails he tried to reach her but his arms weren’t long enough, and she didn’t dare let go of the metal. He pushed himself back onto the metal platform. “OK, don’t worry, you’re going to be OK. I’m Paul, what’s your name?” She managed what she thought was a smile at this, or at least as much of one as her numb face would allow. “I-I’m P-P-Priscilla.”

Paul smiled back, “Hi Priscilla. OK, I’m going to get something. I’ll be right back.” His face disappeared, and Priscilla’s guts dropped. Moments later, Paul reappeared, holding a life ring he’d grabbed from somewhere on the pier. “OK, Pris, can I call you Pris? Fuck it, Pris, I’m going to drop this to you. Grab on, and try and get it over your shoulders, OK?” Priscilla nodded; she wanted to tell him that only her mum called her Pris, but if he managed to save her then maybe she’d let him too. Hell, maybe she’d let him do more than that.

Paul dropped the life ring towards her on its rope. It swung awkwardly past her and she heard him swear under his breath. He managed to get better control of it and hung it by her head and arms. “Come on Pris, grab on. You can do it!” Despite being so cold she wasn’t sure where or who she was, Priscilla managed to get one sluggish arm onto and then through the ring. Paul cheered when she had one shoulder inside the plastic ring. “I’ve got you Pris, now the other one.” Slowly, no longer able to feel her body below the waist, Priscilla managed to fumble her other arm into the ring and push it under her armpits. Paul gave another cheer. “Nice one! OK, I’m going to pull you up now, hold on.”

She felt Paul take the strain of the rope and her weight, and she felt herself start to lift out of the water. Despite the cold, she couldn’t help but wonder how strong he seemed, her mystery saviour. She felt her body gradually ride out of the water, and the cold London air brought fresh goosebumps to her already frozen skin. She gazed up at Paul, he had a handsome face framed underneath curls of light brown hair. He made eye contact with her and smiled at her, “Nearly there Pris, you’re going to be OK. I’ll get you onto the pier and we’ll get help. It’s going to be OK.”

As he hauled her within arms reach, Priscilla felt something change within her. She no longer felt cold, the water was no longer a threat to her. Instead, she felt hungry. As she gazed up at Paul, she felt herself reaching towards him, her arms outstretched. She saw his handsome face change from a smile to shock and horror. He started to let go of the rope, to let her fall back into the water, but Priscilla knew it was too late. Her hands grabbed hold of his shoulders, hands that were now webbed, fingers that now ended with jagged, bloody claws. As she fell back towards the river, Paul was pulled with her. Priscilla’s smile grew, splitting her face as she reached forward with her needle-like fangs to Paul’s neck. As they hit the water together, all she could feel was his flesh, all she could taste was his blood in her mouth as she fed.

Priscilla woke with a scream, sitting bolt upright in her bed. Breathing in short, sharp pants, she fumbled for the bedside lamp. Its calming glow bathed her bedroom as she stared about herself, shaking from the dream. She was at home, in her room, in her bed, and alone. Gradually, the adrenaline faded from her system, and her breathing slowed. She was OK; it had just been a bad dream.

She reached for the glass of water on the bedside table and took a mouthful. When she put the glass back down, she saw tendrils of blood spiralling down into the liquid. She put it down with a shaking hand, as she became aware of something stuck in her teeth. As she probed it with her tongue, she was struck with sudden and powerful stomach cramps. She felt bile rising and leapt out of bed to get to the bathroom. She barely made it in time before she emptied her stomach into the toilet bowl.

“Pris? Pris, love, are you OK?” Her mum’s voice came through the bathroom door, concern emanating from every word. Priscilla found she couldn’t answer immediately, her body was weak from being sick. Her mum knocked gently on the door, “Pris? I think you should let me in sweetheart.” Priscilla lifted her head from where it had been resting against the toilet bowl. “It’s OK Mum, I’m OK. "

Undeterred, her mother knocked again. “No darling, I think you should let me in. You’re going to need a bit of help with this.” Priscilla frowned, what did she mean? She was twenty-three, she’d been sick from a night out before. “Seriously Mum, I’m fine. I had a bad dream and I got sick. I’m OK.”

Her mum was silent for a few moments, then the knocking came again, firmer this time. When her mother spoke, her tone matched the knocks on the door. “Priscilla, you need to let me in, now. Look at your hands.” Confused, Priscilla took her hands from the toilet seat and stared at them. She saw the pale, puckered skin, as though she’d been in the bath for too long. She saw the webbing, less than it had been, but still there, and she saw the claws, still jagged, and wet with blood.