Going to university was an interesting experience. A new place, new people and, for the first time in my life, I was out from under the thumb of my parents. I made the most of it. Little things like staying up late watching movies with my friends, or eating takeaway, which had been banned for being too unhealthy back home.
I broke basically every single rule that I had adhered to over the last eighteen years, and the freedom was intoxicating.
There was one exception.
Looking back, I realise now that my parents had been intentional in the way they had delivered their commandments. They knew that giving a kid rules was a good way to ensure that they were broken as soon as that kid gained the slightest bit of independence. And so their most important rule, the one that really mattered, remained unspoken.
I have never had a bath before. While it wasn’t expressly forbidden, any time I asked for one as a kid they always gave me a myriad of reasons to simply use the shower instead. It was cleaner, quicker, cost less money and was more environmentally friendly. As I grew up I just became used to it; taking showers instead of baths didn’t exactly seem like some big deal - I never even thought about the habit at all - and because it hadn’t been framed as a rule it never even crossed my mind to break it.
You may have already guessed, but that was the case until fairly recently.
Winnie was in many ways the perfect roommate - she tidied up after herself, did her fair share of chores and never made too much of a fuss about anything. We mostly stayed out of each other’s way, never really doing small talk or being particularly friendly, but that was not out of dislike or malice. Yet it still came as a bit of a surprise when she bought me a gift
“Sorry.” She said sheepishly. “I heard it was your birthday, didn’t quite know what you wanted.”
She handed me a box. I opened it, then looked back at her quizzically.
“Bath bombs?”
“Yeah! You put them in the water, and they dissolve. They’ve got stuff in them that’s supposed to hydrate your skin.”
“In water - in a bath?”
“Duh. Where else?”
“I don’t… I mean - thank you,” I said at last, and smiled. “This is actually really nice.”
She grinned back at me. If she had noticed my stutter, she gave no indication of it.
That evening, instead of my normal routine I found myself standing by the empty bathtub, Winnie’s gift in hand, considering. What would it be like to have a bath? A part of me protested at the very thought, and I recalled my parents’ many reasons for making me stick to showers. But things were different now. I was financially independent, an adult, so surely if I wanted to spend a bit extra on some hot water that was my call.
I took out one of the bath bombs and examined it. A swirling orb of blues and whites, speckled with spots of gold. It gave off a pleasant, resin-y smell that reminded me of pine trees. Almost unconsciously, I moved a hand to the faucet, and flicked it on. Water gushed out into the white ceramic tub, and I looked on in fascination as it swirled round and down the drain. I adjusted the temperature, waited for it to fill up, then dropped in the orb.
This may seem like hyperbole, but in the moment it truly felt as if I were conducting some kind of forbidden ritual. I watched it dissolve, waves of colour rippling outwards as layer by layer ablated away, forming an imperfect mandala of glittering blue.
Any reservations I may have had now seemed as ethereal as the wisps of steam which drifted up from the tub, and before my mind could find some reason to turn back, I slipped into the water.
It was warm, but not too warm. Lying back, I closed my eyes and felt my shoulders go limp.
One moment, there was hard ceramic beneath me. And then, before the next moment could arrive, I was falling backwards, through myself. Layers of water tugged at me as I swirled past, invisible hands ripping at every inch of skin. I became distinctly aware of every pore as sweat prickled out of them, the pull of each droplet a tiny pinch. Gluelike tears would not allow my eyes to open and, as saliva became honey-thick and gummed up my throat, my scream came out only as a horrible gurgle.
An instant of time passed.
The invisible hands released me. My eyes opened and closed; I could not tell the difference. I gasped for air, but instead water rushed into my lungs. Gravity had seemingly vanished, along with it any sense of up or down. Something pressed in on me from all sides, and there was an odd resistance to every movement I made. Panic clouded my mind, and I began to thrash my limbs around wildly.
By the time I had realised I wasn’t going to drown, my eyes had adapted somewhat to the darkness. I forced myself to calm down and, though my animal brain protested, I took a few more experimental breaths. It was a sensation unlike any other. The water was much heavier than air, and my chest felt as if it were filled with lead weights each time I breathed it in.
Even ignoring the fact that everything was submerged in some kind of weird, breathable water, it soon became apparent that I was not in my apartment. Questions burned in mind, but I put them aside for now.
I was in some kind of rectangular chamber, with walls of dark grey stone and a ceiling far above me. There were no windows. A row of tables were arranged below me, with accompanying rows of neatly positioned chairs. At the far end of the chamber was a large, heavy-looking door. Decorative curtains hung limply to either side, waving slightly in unseen currents.
My parents had neglected swimming lessons for much the same reason, I suspect, that they had discouraged bathing, but through trial and error I learned that I could propel myself forwards by kicking my legs, and that I could steer using my hands. I’m sure that any mildly experienced swimmer would have found my flailing movement rather pathetic, but it sufficed.
I swam down until I could touch the floor. Closer now, I saw that the tables were neatly laid, with porcelain plates and bowls resting atop an embroidered tablecloth, which was weighed down at the sides with small rocks. Each plate sat beside a small bundle of cutlery enclosed within neatly folded serviettes. Unwrapping one of them, I examined the material. It looked and felt like something between paper and cloth.
After a moment of consideration, I grabbed a knife from the bundle. The very fact that my parents had tried to keep me away from here for so long was telling, and it couldn’t hurt to have a weapon just in case.
I started making my way towards the door, but then I heard voices on the other side, getting closer. Immediately I dove behind the nearest curtain. Even if whoever it was had the best of intentions, hiding seemed like the favourable option.
The door opened, the movement displacing liquid and causing the curtain to ripple in the wave. I pressed my back against the wall and hoped it would not reveal my location. As luck would have it, there was a small hole in the fabric through which I could observe what was happening while remaining unseen.
They were not human. That much was evident almost immediately.
Sure, they had the same general body plan - they stood upright, with two arms, two legs, and a head. But that was where the similarities ended. Their skin was a pale, pearlescent green, scaled and slimy. Their webbed hands were at least twice as large as a human’s, each sporting seven spindly digits with too many joints. Where the ears should have been, there were only two simple holes set above what I took to be gill slits. One of them turned, surveying the room, and I caught a glimpse of its facial features - bulbous, pale eyes and an amphibian mouth filled with rows of needle sharp teeth. There was a notable lack of any kind of recognisable nose, and in place of hair there were a series of fin crests which ran along their heads.
There were over a dozen of them, dressed in clothing which gave the impression of being oddly formal even though it bore no resemblance to anything we would recognise. I watched as they moved throughout the room, communicating in a language of gurgles and hisses.
The creatures carried with them an assortment of trays covered with metal lids, which they set down along the table’s length. One of them pressed something on the wall, and the room was filled with a warm yellow glow. I wondered how they were able to operate an electric light underwater, until I noticed that the light wasn’t electric at all, but rather came from some kind of coral-like growth anchored to the ceiling. The ‘light switch’ had been a polyp, which was connected to the larger mass by a thin tendril.
A second group of creatures entered. These were larger, more corpulent and better dressed than the first. Each one took a seat at the table, and began conversing with the others, though they mostly ignored the first group, whom I took to be some kind of lower class.
The smaller creatures moved up and uncovered each of the trays. My eyes grew wide, and my heart began to beat faster.
All of the dishes were alive.
Live whole octopuses impaled on skewers. A small shark pinned down to a tray with its own teeth, gills stuffed full of herbs. Bowls of faintly wriggling sea cucumbers. Something which took me a moment to realise was a partially skinned otter, still twitching and struggling against bonds of barbed wire.
I froze as I saw the human. He was about my age, maybe slightly younger. He had been laid on his back, his rib cage pulled open, his still-beating heart floating in the reddened water above him.
The feast began, the creatures tearing into their prey with forks and knives and hands. The water in the room tasted metallic, and bile welled up in my throat. Had it not been for my sense of self preservation, I would have thrown up right then and there.
One of the larger creatures suddenly called over one of the smaller ones, and gestured towards its cutlery. This was the one whose knife I had taken, I realised. The smaller creature came closer, and said something to the larger one, who responded angrily. It then grabbed the smaller creature and lifted it up onto its plate.
With a fork and spoon, it began to dismember and eat it, while it let out screams and gurgles of pain. The other creatures did not seem to care.
The urge to act was overwhelmed by the primal imperative to stay still. I watched on as they dissected the shark and stripped the otter down to its bones. As the octopuses released ink cloud after futile ink cloud as they were swallowed whole. As they popped the human’s heart with a knife and then diced him up into bite sized chunks.
My grip on the knife was so tight that my knuckles hurt. I wanted nothing more than for this whole nightmare to end. My eyes squeezed shut, and I tried to block out the horrors happening mere metres from where I hid.
A thought occurred to me. Despite everything, I forced myself to relax. I tried breathing in and out slowly, and cleared my mind.
For a few seconds, I hung limp in the water, desperately trying to ignore the horrible sounds and tastes of the feeding frenzy.
Once again, I slipped between moments. I fell through myself, through that watery maelstrom that ripped and tore with invisible hands. The water that filled my lungs, throat and mouth became as viscous as tar, but I expected and endured it gladly this time.
The next moment arrived, and I was back in the bath, coughing and spluttering.
I haven’t told anyone I know about my experience. I don’t think they’d believe me. Had it not be for the knife I had brought back with me I’m not sure I’d believe it myself. I do mean to ask my parents about everything sometime, but I need to think things over first.
For obvious reasons, I have stayed away from large pools of water since then. I can imagine what would have happened had those things seen me all too well, and that strange watery place has been the subject of many sleepless nights.
Sometimes I think I catch glimpses of it, lurking behind the reflections in every glass of water and in every puddle; I reckon there was much more to that place than just that one room. Perhaps a whole world inhabited by those creatures.
That other human. I have no idea if he had been like me - someone who slipped through into that other world - or if there were more humans living in that place. I don’t know which possibility is worse, considering his fate.
There is another possibility, one that makes me shudder just considering it. Maybe some of those creatures could enter our world as well.
Perhaps it’s better not to think about it.