The Waterweeping

The rain pittered onto the slanted metal roof, trickling its way below to the storefront where it pooled at the overflowing gutter, reflections of the store lights shining a hazy mirror of the railway bridge above as the latenight train heaved over the tracks. The bell rattled above the door accompanied by the squelch of nimble boots against linoleum. The man slapped both palms of his wet gloves against the counter. “Jerry I need to tell you-” “What the hell are you doing?” “Jerry-” “Get off me mate, you’re soaking” “I know-” “Stop touching my face.” “I know-”

The man behind the counter flailed as he slapped away the damp fabric. “WHAT?” “Wait.”

The drenched customer shuffled his sodden form over to the refrigerator cabinet, his hooded neck craned over his shoulder and staring with precision outside into the road. He fumbled between a can and a bottle as the cashier held his head in his hands. Murky water seeping from the worn coat fabric onto the tiled floor where it coalesced beneath him like coffee stains against paper. There was squeak of his heel and the ungracious thud of the can against the countertop as the customer leant forward, his soggy breath shaking and rapid.

“Don’t ring me up. Dont- Ring me up.” “Mort- chill.” “I need to be un-suspect.”

Jerry stared at the man with a gaze so questionable that it would’ve made a professor doubt themselves. For a moment, neither of them said a word. Just staring at each other over the drinks can as Mort’s breathing drowned out the refrigerator hum.

“I saw it.” “Saw what?” “It- IT! I saw-” Mort flailed with outstretched palms as his mouth caught up with his mind. His voice croaked to a sharp whisper as his head leaned so close to Jerry’s that he could see every blackhead on his nose. “I saw the Lacrimor”

There was silence.

“That’ll be one pound, five pence please.” “You’re not LISTENING to me, Jerry” “I’m not doing this with you.” “I SAW it, I was on the trawler-” Jerry slapped both hands on the countertop, smacked his lips and backed away from the desk, stepping towards the storefront, Mort trained on him, swivelling to follow him. “It swam right underneath me- but it ain’t swim. Nah… It was walking. Below the-”

Jerry tightened his hand on the doorhandle and glared at the floor, nodding to the open exit. “Off you go, mate.” But Mort didn’t reply. From where he stood with his gaze angled at the floor, the dripping puddle coagulating at Mort’s feet was shimmering and swirling as the droplets seemed to not fall against it, but into it. No ripples or disturbance in the brown water. Jerry sighed at the mopping that he would now need to do, realising that Mort still hadn’t left the store.

“Mort.” He snapped “Its time to go mate-”

He switched his gaze out onto the street in front of them. It was raining still, no heavier and no much more gentle. The wind brushed the flow of thick droplets against the shop windows where they thrummed like drumsticks against the glass and the metal awning outside. The street was empty and the lights from the store radiated into the cold darkness in front as another train rumbled across the bridge. The lamppost at the other end of the road was the only other light outside, where the invisible raindrops were exposed in the light of. Mort was wide-eyed looking at it. So was Jerry. In the light of the streetlamp was a figure at its base. Not of a person or animal, but an outline of something. Something that was not there between the dryness. Its shape only existing through the reflection of the water, like it was within it. Neither of them could discern what it was, but felt somewhere within their instinct that it was looking at them.

Mort looked down to the puddle at his foot, as it began to sink into the pool.

He wretched his shoe from the viscous fluid, pulling with such fright that it yanked his heel from the boot, stumbling backwards, he grabbed a hold of Mort’s damp coat to steady himself. Which, In turn, liberated the man from his hysteria and they both stared at the shoe as it sank gradually beneath the swirling ripples of the puddle, vanishing into the opaque murk.

Jerry scoured to grasp any words, in his shock he refined his terrified gaze to the outside again. The figure still stood beneath the streetlamp, however, its abstract form hidden in the raindrops had begun to sway between the intervals of torrenting water. Had begun to move in rhythm with the pittering rainfall.

The store clerk yanked his vice grip on the fishmonger’s coat and pulled them both well inside the store and in one swift movement, Jerry slammed the door shut with his full bodyweight, fumbling with the latch when finally, the metallic shunt indicated that it was locked.

“That’s it.” Mort shook, trembling finger outreached to the door. Jerry didn’t retort, his eyes darted between the outside and inside. Finally, his shrinking pupils honed in on Mort’s drenched coat. His breath running thin as he stared in horror at the Fishmonger’s back, as a dark shadow swam over the glistening wetness.

“Get that FUCKING coat off.”

Mort scrambled like a fish on dry land, his body overtaken in spasm as the man desperately yanked at his clothes, pulling them off layer by layer until he was stripped down the vest and shorts. Jerry kicked the soaking slump to the door, which he opened for an ephemeral moment before chucking the heap outside.

Both men panted like weak dogs. Gasping in shock, neither dared move an inch. Both fixated their adrenal stares to the shop windows, focused on the streetlight now. But nothing stood beneath.

Mort stepped towards the glass, his bare feet sliding against the tiled ground as he beckoned closer and closer. Trying to find where the shape had gone, closing the distance between his face and the glass, until his trembling breath fogged the window.

It was not until his eyes refocused from the outside- to in, that he suddenly realised that the reflection in front of him, dripping down the walls outside- was not his own.

Mort let free a primal screech of ancestral fear as he fell backwards, stumbling to keep himself upright as Jerry swooped behind to catch him. His pale features drained of all life.

“Mort- what do we do?” “Um-” The Fishmonger swivelled his head around to analyse Jerry’s before returning to his limp posture. “Do you have any spare clothes?” There was a brief silence that hung in the air like dust. “...Yeah, in the back.” “You have a phone back there?” “Good idea.”

Mort uprighted himself and exhaled, patting Jerry on the shoulder as the two mutually began to shuffle away from the front of the store towards the counter.

As they did, Jerry looked back at the window. There was nothing there. As they began to walk, his gaze trickled over to the refrigerators against the wall. Passing over the glass bottles inside, barely catching it at first; but unmistakably- he saw it. Time moved slowly as the shadow moved within the bottles. Like peering through a window, the figure moved from the front of the store towards the counter.

“Mort-” Jerry pulled the man by his shoulder.

The glass bottles began to vibrate as the shape moved through them, some fracturing along their necks and leaking from their busted caps. It glided through the store, appearing in front of them within the vodka bottles and whiskey. Mort watched on with a grave expression as it vanished completely.

Their eyes had followed the moving figure from one end of the shop to the other. And their silent stare now fell upon the drinks can on the countertop.

Jerry’s ear twitched as he heard Mort take a step backwards. Jerry did not. He was frozen in a fatal blend of curiosity and fear where all sound soon faded along with all other senses. The can began to shake. The aluminium casing twitching as the contents pressed and writhed to push its prison apart. The container spasmed upon the counter, building in intensity as the sound of clanking metal against the hard counter filled the room. Soon, the can was bouncing itself up and down, sliding and tipping as the metal deformed with the building pressure. Like a teapot screaming for release.

Mort clenched his cold and clammy fingers on Jerry’s collar and pulled on the clerk quickly as he bolted for the backroom, slamming his skinny frame against the door as he urged Jerry with his movements to reach safety before that can exploded. The two men fell through the doorway. Jerry, snapping from his shock, fiddled with his breast pocket for the door key before pulling the door closed and turning the lock.

Jerry’s back slid down the door as the man slumped to the ground. He hadn’t blinked in so long that his pupils were almost cracking like brittle clumps of sand. His mouth was equally as dry as his shallow breath reverberated through his mouth like a death rattle.

The two locked eyes for a moment as the sound of the can erupting outside made them both startle. Like a shotgun firing from next door.

“Is- is there anything in here?” “No. I forgot to bring a water bottle today.”

Mort nodded as his eyes darted around the office, staring at the empty boxes and cabinets until catching a glimpse of the phone on the desk. It almost fell out of his hands as they trembled with seismic intensity. His frail fingers passing over the dial pad.

From the store, the sound of a glass bottle shattering echoed throughout the building. Jerry shook. Then another. This time closer along the cabinets to the backroom. For every bottle that smashed, spilling its contents across the floor outside, Jerry could hear them get closer and closer. He began to whimper silently.

The phone began to purr and the dial tone began to fill Mort’s ears. His concentration shrinking and shrinking until the whole world was dead-set on the phone in his hands. All sounds outside of his bubble now muffled and silenced. The operator picked up. Mort’s panicked and shaky words ricocheted throughout the room. The operator’s words sinking with his own into a soup of mental fog.

It was only then that he could begin to discern the sounds outside of his immediate attention; a low and bleak, muffled sound. Almost like groaning. But it was growing. The sound of pain, unimaginable pain. Jerry’s screams shattered the barrier of concentration as Mort’s own words trailed off. The phone in his sweaty palms trembling just as much as feet. His head turned slowly towards the door.

“Sir? I need you tell me what’s happening.” Mort’s breath lodged in his throat. In all his strength, he fought it, but couldn’t stop the tears from welling. “Sir?”

“...it’s coming out through his eyes.”