Soft sweet whispers

Tired, hungover, and confused, Frank stood by the Gallows River as it carved through the city’s heart. The deep, murky waters made Hallow Grove City an island, its various burrows connected only by bridges and underground tunnels.

Kings Bridge stood as the city’s most prominent connection, true to its majestic name. With the holiday season in full swing, decorations and colorful lights transformed it into a marvel, stunning both day and night.

Its multiple routes—subway lines, roadways, and pedestrian paths—let visitors experience its wonders up close, drawing countless curious souls to explore its rich history and grand construction.

For Frank, he just liked to marvel at it. Whatever judgment he faced, he was unsympathetic as he stared up at it like a hopeless fool. He was in the middle of taking a break. And with any break, a drink was needed.

Opening his flask, Frank took a sip. He sniffled as the cold, brittle air chipped his lip.

“Alright, we’ve tried everything else. This is the only thing left. Let’s see how hard ya fight me on this one, you tough son of a bitch.”

Gazing at the trunk, Frank retreated to the police cruiser he had borrowed to transport the object he’d been desperate to remove. He plopped it down; the heavy thud echoed against the snow-covered concrete, breaking the winter’s silence.

Sizing it up, he sighed, realizing he should have backed the car up a bit more.

“You wouldn’t burn, and for some reason, the compactor over at the scrapyard couldn’t do the job. So I guess drowning it is.”

Crouching to find the right angle, Frank wrapped his hands around whatever he could grasp, struggling with his limited leverage. With a grunt, he felt a twinge in his back, cursing himself for skipping the gym all those times when Woods had suggested it.

“Why on earth is this thing so heavy?”

He shifted to pushing instead of pulling; the object finally budged—but now it felt as if it had mysteriously gained weight, fighting against his every effort.

“Oi, oi. Hold on now? Did you just get heavier?”

Cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders, Frank took to smiling. “Ahh, so death by drowning is what you fear indeed.”

Taking a few steps back, Frank got a running start and threw his whole body at the trunk, only to fall over easily. Embarrassed, he took a second look at the blood-stained storage box that contained the witch’s remains. It was not that it was heavier but that it was stuck, caught up on a few unpaved stones.

Cursing some more under his breath for being a fool, he grabbed what he could and mustered the strength to inch it closer to the river. Ice and snow coated the very edge. With his work cut out, he took another sip of his flask. A big one with a large gulp. The alcohol’s warmth stretched from his stomach to his lungs.

“Yeah, that hit the spot,” he remarked.

Frank tested the glossy ice with one foot, heart steadying as it held his weight. When it only whispered a slight creak beneath his full stance, he turned back for the trunk, easing it forward with him.

The moment both he and his burden settled on the frozen surface, his throat constricted. Despite having just quenched his thirst, Frank reached for his flask—the last sip, indeed the last sip.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he remarked.

The cold day exhausted him, and he needed a drink.

“I’ll take this as a sign for us to hurry things along.”

Just as he moved to slide the trunk forward, a hollow knock reverberated from its depths.

“Nahhhh,” Frank said with a humorous grin. “Not today. It’s got to be in your head, Frankie boy. It’s in your bloody head. Come on.”

Frank caught himself, drawing a deep breath to steady both mind and throat. Another step forward—and another knock. He turned to face the trunk, now sitting with uncanny stillness at his heels.

He inched closer, questioning his sanity. Pressing his cheek against the stained leather, he listened. Silence. Minutes crawled by without a sound, yet something compelled him to raise his hand and knock back.

“Who’s there?” a sweet voice whispered—not from within the trunk, but seeming to curl directly into his ear from the direction of the river. Frank startled, his hand slashing through empty air.

He scanned the barren frozen river, his eyes straining to find anything, but to no avail. There was nothing. Nothing but the trunk that stood beside him.

“You…”

Frank’s words stalled. A man known for talking, talking too much by some, even in circumstances that weren’t required, now sat with none to spare. Flustered, he gave it a hefty kick.

“I am losing it…”

“Are you…,” chimed the whisper.

Doing a complete turn, Frank looked around again. His hands jerked in the air to swat at what was not there.

“That’s it,” Frank snapped. “We’re done! You HEAR ME?! DONE!”

Grabbing the corners with fury, Frank dragged with all his might. As his boots strained for traction, creaks and cracks formed. The snow that covered what had frozen over shimmered.

Frank had no idea how deep the river wound through the city’s heart. Doubt began to swirl like the dark waters below—perhaps it wasn’t deep enough to swallow this trunk and its contents, to grant him peaceful nights ahead.

“This is not good,” he spat. “I need to try something else. NO! I HAVE TRIED EVERYTHING ALREADY! Did you—YES! NO! Burning was the most efficient way. BUT IT DIDN’T WORK! I have to drown it. THE SEA! That’s right. It will work. It has to.”

“Will it…”

“Shut up!” Frank snapped, turning to the side from which the voice whispered into his ear. Once more, there was nothing there, leaving him to curse.

Huffing and puffing, Frank noticed the direction he faced. The city skyline and its marvelous drumming of sirens, cars honking, people shouting, the magic of it all with the chaos and craziness. It felt right yet so wrong.

“I can’t leave this here. Too many people. What if someone comes or decides to clean the waters finally? The sea is too far, though. What if I don’t make it? What if…”

Frank’s mind fleeted to doubt. He wasn’t sure if any method would work anymore. The ones he had tried didn’t, so how would this one fare any better?

“There’s gotta be something...”

“No,” the whisper answered.

“Shut it!”

“Just open it…”

“YOU ARE NOT REEEEEEEALL!”

“Open it…”

“You’re not real, you’re not real, you’re not real, you’re not real!”

Frank’s words were more of a pleading whimper. A far cry from his usual snappy attitude. Thus, it cemented the realization he was not acting himself, forcing him to smack his face. His best effort was to shut out the voice that seemed to find its way to perch inside his ears.

He continued his self-inflicted torment until nausea rose in his throat. And then it found him—pure bliss.

Silence.

With his composure regained, Frank reached for the trunk, ready to end this. His fingers tightened as he dragged it closer. If he had to follow it into the frigid depths himself, so be it.

As he sank to his knees at the water’s edge, his reflection stared back. What stared back over his shoulder was his wife’s face.

“What?”

“Are you going to leave her?”

“It’s not real. She’s dead.”

“You can be with her.”

“No!”

“Yes…”

Frank’s lips quivered. It was not possible. Yet he found himself asking as if to quell a curiosity that itched him. It seemed to taste like a sweet candy he’d never had before.

“H-how?”

“Open it…”

Trembling, Frank’s hands stretched out. The steel latches bit his dried skin, cutting him several thousand times like paper cuts as his fingers tucked to get a better grip. Click, and the top opened.

The Gallows River lay perfectly still, not a single ripple disturbing its surface. A solitary hair could have shattered its unearthly calm, sending tremors across its entire expanse. A hand emerged from the trunk’s seemingly bottomless depths, followed by another. Then, a woman unfolded herself, twisting like a contortionist, rising from the confined space onto the prickly ice surface.

“Me, oh my, how love is the greatest curse.”

Not a single part of her outfit was in tatters, and her skin was free of any blemishes or cuts. She was a perfect picture of health.

“Y-you,” Frank stuttered. Even he could not believe how she came out unharmed from the state she was once in. “You spoke of my wife. How do you know her?”

To his question, the woman raised her hand, a single finger extended playfully as it reached the side of her temple. Her answer was simple—his thoughts. His desires. All that he kept close, lying dormant in the furthest reach of his mind, had been exposed the moment they last met.

“Then… Is, is it true? That I can be with her? H-how?”

His words ushered in a wide smile that crept from one side to another, flashing a toothy grin.

“Me, oh my, but wait. First comes first, my name. You know it. Thus, you must say it.”

Frank’s brow creased. He did not know what she spoke of, yet at the same time, he did. He knew not how or why, that only a dream that he could remember as a child seemed to stick out. Most of it was haze, vague and cloudy. Yet, certain parts loomed as they terrified him even to this day. A nightmare that made him wet the bed and with words that seemed to usher along his tongue like a habit.

“Say it.”

“…A…” There was a moment of hesitation as he searched his thoughts. The words filled his mouth like broken glass as he uttered them. “…Alicent Marinette LoveQueen.”

Hearing her name sparked a grin. One that stretched even further than any before to an impossible length. A smile, unearthly, horrid, unbefitting, and anything but human.