The Marshes

A grey mist hung over the London Borough of Wycham. Like it always did. The air didn’t feel cold, but damp. Water droplets clung to George Cartwright’s jacket as he walked towards the pub.

The pub, sitting on what all the locals still called the High Street, looked its age. The Wycham Arms. George remembered it from when he wasn’t old enough to drink pints.

He entered the bar and spotted his drinking buddy Sally Marshall. She sat at the end of the bar. Their usual spot.

—Alright, mate? She asked.

—Yeah, same as. Pint?

She wiggled her half-empty glass.

—Mate, I need another one, sharpish, innit?

George grinned at her and put in his order with Bob Kent, the landlord. Then, he sat on the stool next to Sally.

—What’s ’appening then, mate? He asked.

—Some day that was, accident in the yard, there was.

—Oh? What appened?

—Proper weird, right? Lenny, one of the forklift drivers shifted a load off a lorry. The lorry pulled off, all good. Then, Lenny was heading over to get a brew in the canteen, and the ground fuckin’ swallowed him, didn’t it?

—Wha’?

—I know! They said it were one of them sink holes. Right in the bloody yard. So Parnell Storage and Distribution is bloody closed for a while.

—Soddin’ hell. That’s mad.

George and Sally took long pulls on their pints of Special. A bitter brewed in the brewery out beyond Gallows marsh. George liked the taste, smooth, not too hoppy.

—What ’appened to that Lenny chap then?

—Disappeared, mate. No sign of ’im at all.

—Eh?

—Yeah, the emergency services expected to yank him out. But nothin’, no sign of him at all.

—Bloody hell, Sal. That’s well weird ain’t it?

She nodded and sipped more of her pint. Her face had a look of fear, George noticed.

—Will we ‘ave another? Or d’yer fancy some chips? My treat.

—Let’s ‘ave — Nah, wait. I’m knackered. Yeah, I’ll have some chips.

—Sound.

They both finished their pints, waved to Bob and left the pub. They both turned the collars up on their jackets. The air dropped damp droplets on them, like always.

They walked along the High Street, heading for the Wycham Chippy. George smiled. He’d been going to that Chippy since he was a lad. The same family owned it. Steve Cook owned it now. But it had been his dad’s, his grandad’s and beyond.

As they approached the Chippy Sally froze.

—What’s up mate?

—That lass servin’. I’m sure that’s Lenny’s daughter.

—Eh? She shouldn’t ‘ave to work. What wiv what’s ’appened to her old man.

—I know, innit? What the fuck?

—Are yer sure it’s her?

—Yeah. Toni her name is.

They stepped into the shop and joined the small queue at the counter. George watched Toni, happy, chatting with the customers. Something was off. It didn’t make sense at all.

It was their turn. Toni looked up, smiling.

—What can I get yers?

—Er, two bags of chips please, plenty of salt on one, plenty of vinegar on the other, said George.

—Righto! I’m on it.

Sally glanced at George, her brow creased in a frown. Toni was humming a happy tune as she served up their chips, dropping them into the greaseproof paper.

—Toni, love?

—Yeah?

—Er, I work wiv yer dad. Is he alright?

—Ah, do yer? At Parnells? Nice! yeah, he’s great thanks. Came ’ome today grumpy like always.

She chuckled and placed the two bags of chips on the counter.

—Yer saw ’im? After work? Today?

—Yeah, of course! I had a laugh wiv him about the Hammers losing again. Why?

—Ah, nothin’, we were proper busy today, so I hoped he was alright.

—Yeah, yer know me dad. He ‘as a moan but gets on wi’ things, innit?

George paid for the chips and they left the shop. They started walking towards Marsh Lane where Sally lived. George sensed she wanted company. So did he, when it came to it.

—Yer weren’t seeing things today, right?

—No, it ’appened like I said. And it was Lenny that went in the hole. I don’t get it. They searched for him for ages an’ all.

—What the fuck is goin’ on?

George pondered the point as they turned onto Marsh lane. George noticed how the dark seemed deeper, more intense.

—These new low energy street lights are shit, ain’t they? It’s proper bloody dark down here.

—Yeah, and is it me, or is it bloody colder down here an’ all?

Sally threaded her arm through his. He transferred the chips to his other arm. He noticed the mist off the marshes rolling in.

—Yeah, yer right. It’s bloody colder.

They walked faster, Sally’s house was halfway down. They didn’t have far to go.

—What’s that?

Sally pointed out into the mist. George strained his eyes. He could see what she meant. A dark shape, loomed out of the mist and towards them.

—Dunno. It’s coming this way. It looks like.

They stopped walking. George didn’t want to. But he felt like he had no choice. He glanced at Sally. She stared at the shape that now looked human. A man. Wearing an old donkey jacket and heavy duty work trousers, plus safety boots.

Sally gasped.

—That’s bloody Lenny!

—Hello there, Sally, said the man.

—Lenny?

—Yeah.

—How the hell? What appened? How did —

—Shut it, and listen, he growled.

—I walk with the Marsh folk now. Joined ’em, didn’t I? People what lived here years ago.

—Er, so you’re… dead?

Sally stared at him.

—We live in the marshes. Where the drowned go. This place is a wrong ’un. Should never ‘ave built houses an’ that. Tabitha says.

—Who’s Tabitha? George asked.

—Tabitha Chapman. Drowned her they did. Said she was a witch. She weren’t, but they drowned her anyway. She’s right annoyed now.

—What happened to yer, Lenny? Sally stood still. Frozen to the spot.

—Went down, didn’t I? Down the hole. And into the marsh under the borough. Drowned. Choked on water and mud. But Tabitha came. Said if I ’elped her she’d save me.

—Helped her do what?

Lenny stepped forward. George got a better view. His face looked pallid in the light from the street. His skin glowed and lesions ran down his face.

—I’ll be takin’ more, won’t I? Tabitha needs the souls. It’s them what keeps us alive out there.

—Why are yer tellin’ us? George tensed up, every muscle strained.

—I liked Sally. Had to pick a messenger didn’t I? Tabitha said. I picked Sally.

George felt himself moving forward. Nothing he could do. Sally hung on to his hand.

—Lenny! leave him, he’s mine!

—There is only one messenger, Sally.

George felt himself moving again. Dragged, with no choice about it. His feet scraping along the floor. Lenny smiled. His mouth a hideous bloody gash, rather than a human smile.

—Lenny! Please! leave him, I’ll have him work wiv’ me for yer!

Lenny stepped back towards the marshes. He looked over his shoulder.

—He’s gotta come wiv me.

George felt a massive weight bearing down on him. He could only move towards Lenny. He couldn’t speak. The chips fell out of his hands. He got wrenched away from Sally. He found himself in the marshes, with Lenny, who took him by the arm.

Lenny dragged him into the reeds and the mud. And they both sank down. George choked on the stagnant water and the mud.

He went down.