Rebecca sat on the porch, her eyes fixed on the trees that stretched into the dark horizon. She'd seen those trees every day for the last seven years, but they still felt like a strange, changing world, one that didn't care whether she was there or not. It felt like they knew her, like they were waiting for her to slip up.
The crocs had never cared either. They were close enough to make the air feel thick with their presence. They had their own kind of rhythm, the way they moved, silent as the water beneath them. Rebecca couldn't remember a time when the crocs hadn't been there.
They'd been circling since the first time she'd seen one. It felt like something only she could hear—a low, constant growl from the black water that reached into her bones.
She heard the birds. No—there weren't any birds. The stillness only made it worse. The air had always been still in this place, like everything had to hold its breath. She'd gotten used to it, but sometimes, at night, she thought she could hear them. Voices, too. They came and went, slithering into her mind.
Rebecca had tried talking to people, back when there were people. But it had been so long. Long enough that the walls of her house had started to bend, long enough for the windows to warp. The world outside felt different—further away each time she looked.
They said the land was cursed. No one came around anymore, not after the accident. It didn't matter. Nothing really mattered.
But tonight, something was different. She could feel it in the space between her ribs, like it was crawling under her skin. Something in the trees had moved. There it was again. A rustle, low and deep. She blinked. There was nothing there.
Just the crocs—always the crocs, waiting. She leaned back in her chair. She didn't know how much time had passed before she stood, barefoot, to walk to the edge of the land. The sound of the crocs was louder now.
It had been hours since she'd last seen the creatures, but they were close. She could smell the rot of their breath in the air, just beyond the thicket. But it wasn't just the crocs. She could feel the brush of something else—something watching her. A voice from the trees, distant yet sharp in her mind, whispering words she couldn't understand.
Rebecca stepped forward, her feet digging into the earth as she crossed the dry ground. The crocs were nowhere in sight, but the pressure was worse now, like they were getting closer.
She could see the dark shapes, like they were waiting for her to come to them. Her heart beat harder in her chest, but she couldn't move. Her legs were frozen to the spot.
The voice in her head was louder now. It wasn't the crocs.
It was someone calling her name.
"Rebecca."
The ground beneath her cracked.
Something sharp bit into her foot. A croc's jaw—wide and unforgiving. Her scream splintered the night, but it was too late.
The croc dragged her toward the water, its teeth tearing through her skin. The last thing she saw was the black water swallowing her whole, her body broken in ways she couldn't feel anymore.