The police may have lost the trail but I know he's already dead. His ghost keeps floating outside my windows at night, thick rope around his waist, arms reaching for the surface as little bubbles of air slip past his blue-tinged lips. He decomposes more and more every time I see him, bloating and distorting and I know I'm running out of time to find his body and give him a proper burial.
He's trying to tell me where he is and I've narrowed it down to either the stagnant pond at the far side of The Somering Woods or he's in a tidal pool deep in one of the caves by Lilymer Lake. When I touch the glass I feel the stale water all around me and I smell freshly cut trees beneath the foul odour of the rotting body I'm experiencing.
There are three wood processing sites in the immediate area and two of them are close to rarely visited bodies of water. I've tried asking him which one he's in but all I hear when he tries to speak is air leaving his lungs and the ragged wet coughs as water fills them back up.
He's trying to tell me where he is and I've narrowed it down to either the stagnant pond at the far side of The Somering Woods or he's in a tidal pool deep in one of the caves by Lilymer Lake. When I touch the glass I feel the stale water all around me and I smell freshly cut trees beneath the foul odour of the rotting body I'm experiencing.
There are three wood processing sites in the immediate area and two of them are close to rarely visited bodies of water. I've tried asking him which one he's in but all I hear when he tries to speak is air leaving his lungs and the ragged wet coughs as water fills them back up.
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