The Riverside Road - Part Two

As the ripples of the river began to dissipate and Justin’s lifeless body gradually sank to the muddy riverbed, I stood on the riverbank staring dumbfoundedly at the spot where Justin had disappeared.

Around me, the river was filled with the same deathly stillness as before Justin’s fall. My mind was an empty cavern, devoid of any thoughts except a small voice at the back of my head that whispered: So, I guess I’ve killed him.

Finally, after more than two minutes of this motionless reverie, the implications of what I had done registered, and my panic set in.

With a swift movement, I sprang up from the riverbank. I turned my head left and right to make sure that nobody had been there to see Justin’s death. Only then did I begin to make my way back home.

Over the course of the jog back to our compound, countless thoughts crossed my mind. My mind was swallowed by a hurricane as I proceeded along the riverside road. My thoughts were a jumbled mess, and the only discernible idea was the instinct to get as far away as possible.

Besides that, questions like what I should do and how Justin’s disappearance would be viewed in school flitted to and fro in my mind. However, I could think of no satisfying answer to any of those, and the more I thought of them, the more my head ached.

When I reached our apartment, I had developed a dull pain at the back of my head that was increasing by the second.

At home, I tried to calm my spirits, but to no avail. My mind kept screaming at me to do something about Justin’s death, and it just won’t shut up.

Should I inform Justin’s parents? Definitely not. Should I tell my Father? Maybe? Should I tell the police? No. My headache grew more painful with every second.

At around ten o’clock, I finally decided enough was enough and prepared for bed.

I was getting dressed for the night when I caught a flicker of movement in the corner of my eye. I turned and noticed in my bedroom mirror a dripping, mangled human form with pale skin and a torn shirt.

No, it couldn’t be, it couldn’t be him, I hoped with all my fervor, and yet when I squinted, I made out the blond head and narrow face of Justin, swollen with cuts and bruises and still planted with an evil smile.

Shocked, I sprang back with a start of terror only to crash headfirst into the half-open doors of my closet. With teeth clenched in pain, I regained my footing. I frantically swiveled my head left and right, and found, to my relief, that there was nobody except me in the room.

Thank God, it was only my imagination. The thought had barely taken hold in my mind when I turned around and saw, once again in the mirror, that cursed ghostly apparition.

Justin’s mouth was apparently moving, but no sound came out, and this eerie phenomenon chilled me to the bones. My blood ran cold, my legs felt like noodles, and I couldn’t help suspecting the fact that Justin had now come back to wreak his revenge.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of just standing there, I recovered the ability to move. I rushed over to the mirror and threw a sheet of blanket over it to rid myself of the demonic image.

I sank back onto my bed, breathless and with beads of perspiration across my brow.

That night, I went to sleep with the feeling that the malicious presence of the ghost Justin was still somewhere beside me in the room, watching my sleeping form while planning the next stage of his revenge.

Even in my sleep, Justin didn’t spare me rest. That night, I became the victim of a horrendous nightmare that shook me to the ground.

In my dream, I was walking along the riverside road.

As I walked, a storm gathered above me with winds raging and lightning flashing. Rain pelted down from above, leaving the hoodie I was wearing soaked in a matter of minutes. In the distance, the booming of thunder could be heard as if shots fired from a cannon.

In the middle of all that, I heard a hissing from the direction of the riverbank. Looking down, and there he was, translucent, floating just above the surface, eyes locked on mine. He didn’t speak this time. He just lifted a pale finger and beckoned me down.

Terrified, I ran. No direction. No destination. Just the blind instinct to flee. I didn’t dare look back. I couldn’t bear to see his face again. My foot struck a rock, I nearly fell, but I kept going.

Still, the road stretched endlessly before me. No matter how far I ran, it didn’t end. At last, I collapsed, breathless and defeated.

Then came the voice, booming over the thunder: “Little Hudson, my eternal enemy, you can’t escape me even with wings.”

I looked down. There he was again, hovering in the river, grinning, triumphant. My ears rang. My legs shook. I curled into a ball, waiting for the nightmare to end.

But it didn’t.

Justin rose from the water, drifted to me, and grabbed my collar. His voice was ice: “You took my life. Now it’s time I took yours. Come — take your place in hell.”

I struggled — kicked, writhed — but his grip was iron. He dragged me across the mud toward the river. The world blurred. The sky split. Just as my body met the water’s surface, the ground gave way beneath me, and I fell.

To Be Continued.

Note: This fictional piece was originally published on Journaly and is republished here with slight changes.