Drowned Earth Secrets

7216 words

Jo’s fingers dug into the damp earth, black soil caking under her nails as she clawed at the edge of the stain. It wasn’t just dirt no more—it was slick, cold, like the skin of something drowned and dragged up from deep water. Her breath hitched in her chest, sharp and ragged, the air tasting of rust and old sorrow. The cotton field stretched out behind her, silent under a sky gone bruised and heavy, the kind of gray that pressed down on your shoulders ‘til you felt small. She didn’t need to turn to know the house was watching, its sagging porch and empty windows fixed on her like a hound waiting for the kill. “Jo, you hear me? Get back from there!” Robert’s voice cut through the quiet, rough as gravel, but it wavered at the end, betraying him. He stood at the field’s edge, near the rusted fence line, hands on his hips like he could will her to listen. Lily clung to his side, her little face pale, eyes too wide, staring past Jo to the stain like she saw something moving in it. Jo didn’t want to think what. “I ain’t leavin’ it,” Jo snapped, her voice low, almost swallowed by the hum starting up in her ears. It wasn’t a sound you’d name, not...