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Whispers of the Water

Light Ending

© Cederwyn Whitefurr

4th October, 2024

All Rights Reserved.

Eamon shuddered, his heart still racing from the ecstasy of their union. The moonlight glimmered on the surface of the loch, rippling under the effects of a stiffening breeze. He dismounted from the mare and slumped back onto his buttocks, overwhelmed by the post-mating high that surged like wildfire through his veins. Suddenly, he twitched, feeling ice-cold fingertips brush against his nape, sending goosebumps prickling across his bare skin.

A voice, as if emanating from the depths of the loch, whispered against his ear, tainted by the fetid breath of decay.

Hear me... it breathed, chilling him to the core. The Kelpie will ensnare you, as it did me...

Eamon's gaze was drawn to the edge of the loch, where a faint glimmer flickered beneath the surface—something just below the water's edge. The ghost, pale and wreathed in aquatic plants, dripping with cold droplets, gestured toward the object, its eyes filled with both fear and hope.

Claim it, the ghost urged, its voice choked with water as if it still was drowning. Before the Kelpie realises her fate is to be sealed. Take it... save us from this torture, let us... rest.

The mare, overcome by the blissful sexual pleasures she had shared with him, lay sprawled behind him, her chin resting on the ground, her breaths billowing as she quivered and her breath came in short, sharp pants. Her body was still stricken by the powerful aftershocks of the climax he'd induced, blissful, unaware of what he had done behind her.

Eamon's heart raced with fear, torn between the intoxicating allure of the creature before him and the urgency of the ghostly voice that urged him to hurry. He knew the legend, a magickal bridle, it was their only weakness. A weakness that they guarded jealously. It was a tether that would bind her spirit and render her powerless. It was so close, yet so out of reach, its shimmering beauty taunting him from just a few inches away. Eamon steeled himself, breathing deeply, knowing he had to plunge his hand into that cold water to retrieve it.

He panted, trying to prepare himself, fearing the rapid breaths would draw the mare's attention. He knew the second his hand touched the water, he'd have just moments to grab the bridle and bind her with it. If he hesitated or missed—she would be upon him in the blink of an eye, her teeth around his throat and drag him down into the darkness, where he would be drowned and trapped forever.

The ghost watched intently; its eyes pleading. Hurry, it whispered urgently. She will feel the loch's surface shift, once she does, she will devour you like she did her previous victims...

Eamon's breaths quickened, the cool night air scraping at his throat. He stole a glance at the mare—still blissful, unaware. His pulse hammered. The bridle shimmered just beneath the surface, close but treacherous. The moment his hand broke the water, the Kelpie would sense it.

He had seconds. Just seconds.

No room for hesitation. One miss, and she'd be on him—teeth sinking into his throat, dragging him under, to join the lost souls.

The ghost hovered, its eyes wide and desperate. Now!, it whispered. Before she feels the water shift.

Determined, Eamon focused on the faint glimmer of the bridle, a thread of magick woven through the water. He felt a surge of hope mixed with terror. His fingers grazed the cold, slimy surface of the bridle and he closed his hand around it, feeling its malignant energy pulse against his frozen skin.

Suddenly, a ripple surged through the loch, the surface quivering as if the very water suddenly come alive. Eamon's heart fluttered as he knew the moment of truth had come, He snatched the bridle free of the inky water, its shimmering form shining with a brilliance that pierced the darkness around him, despite the weed and slime that clung to it.

Just as he started to turn, he felt a sharp, icy exhalation on his back. The Kelpie had snapped back to awareness, awoken by the shift in the water. Her voice, sultry, yet edged with malice, purred through the air, “What do you think you're doing... Eamon?”

He froze, the weight of the bridle in his shivering hand feeling like a leaden anchor. Her eyes, now glowing with a feral light, locked onto him, and he could see the truth in them. The warmth of their union vanished, replaced by a predator's focus.

“I—“ he stammered, the words catching in his throat. He was torn between the intoxicating desire that coursed through him and the knowledge, now, of her true nature. “I'm...”

A low chuckle escaped her lips, but there was no humour in it. She shed her inquisitive, playful demeanour, letting her true self shine forth, her eyes narrowing behind her closing lids. “Give that to me! Then come closer, let me show you how deep this love can go...”

The ghost's voice broke through his entrapment, urgent and frantic. Now! Before she can weave her magick and truly ensnare you!

Eamon didn't think, couldn't think. He lunged forward, slapping the bridle down across the mare's neck. As the reins settled into place, a crackle of energy pulsed through the air, sending a shock wave of power exploding outwards. The loch's waters visibly pushed backwards, and the Kelpie let out a guttural scream, the sound echoing like shattering glass, and for a moment, the world stood still.

“NO!” She shrieked, her eyes wide in disbelief as the bridle tightened around her, its magick binding her spirit. The connection that had once thrummed with desire between them now felt like a constricting noose around her black-furred throat, constricting around her essence.

Behind him the water churned violently, shadows rising as the spirits of her past victims emerged from the depths, wailing in triumph and sorrow. The Kelpie squealed and writhed, her form shifting between the mare's alluring shape and the monstrous visage of her true self—a creature of rotting flesh, bone and draped with slime and weed from the depths of the loch. Her rage grew, the sound nearly shattering Eamon's eardrums.

“Release me!” She hissed, her eyes glowing with fury. “I'll make you suffer such agony, you'll beg me to let you drown... I'm a fae, I command you, mortal, RELEASE ME!”

Eamon clutched the bridle tight, his knuckles white. Adrenaline surged through him as he realised the weight of his choice. He had bound her, but at what cost?

The ghost floated beside him, a look of relief mingled with a lingering sadness. “Thank you... You have done it. You have broken the cycle. Now, she can no longer harm the living or the dead... Thank you...we can rest now, our torment is over...”

Eamon shuddered, as the ghost touched his cheek before it faded away. He stared at the Kelpie, her power draining away, her once radiant allure twisted with fury and desperation. “You tricked me,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions within him.

“Tricked?” She laughed, her voice a choking gurgle, her true voice, clotted and rotted vocal cords struggling, water flying with each word. “I offered you a glimpse of ecstasy, a taste of what you had lost, of the forbidden and unnatural. You were always meant to be mine!”

As she spoke, he felt the strength of the bridle resonating within him, a bond forged not just in magick, but in defiance. “No,” he said, conviction burning in his chest. “You will no longer hold sway over me or anyone else.”

With those words, Eamon felt the power of the bridle surge, and he tightened his grip on the reins, watching as the Kelpie's form flickered, her power waning. The loch began to calm, and the echoes of the past faded into the depths, leaving only the moonlight to illuminate them and the smoothing out waters.

With a final, desperate squeal, the Kelpie dropped her head, her form transforming back into the ebony-coated Friesian, her eyes warm and brown, her body slick with sweat and her nostrils flaring with each panting breath. She stood, submissive, as he moved forward and slid the lower half of the bridle over her muzzle, the silver bit into her mouth and behind her rear molars.

Eamon shuddered, for he had not only just escaped her grip—he had taken back the power that had been stolen by her kind for centuries. He turned, his hand gripping the side of the halter, and the mare compelled to turn with him. He looked at the still water of the loch, his heartbreaking, as he whispered. “Go, find your rest, thank you...” He knew the price of their freedom would haunt him until the end of his days.

As dawn broke over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson, he felt a sense of peace, of finality, settle within him. The Kelpie had been trapped, imprisoned, powerless and helpless, for the first time in centuries, if not millennia. The loch would heal from her dark taint, it would know silence and peace once more.

As he began to walk, the mare reluctantly following, he felt a sense of righteousness and warmth. She would serve, she would be loyal, true and his... in physicality and the mutual sexual pleasures they would share.

Walking behind him, her head bowed, the mare followed, but then her lead lifted slightly and a dark shadow momentarily flickered over her form, her eyes gleaming with a baleful eldritch glow.

I will linger, waiting for the moment to rise again... She thought to herself.

END