'IT lives beneath
Under us all
We can't escape from it.'

Three lines of crude poetry marked the beginning of the booklet. It was not a shocker, though. Jake Simmons was not the most talented boy with creative writing. That always had been something Ríone was good at. Not him.

She flipped over to the next page. This one was much more comprehensive than the poetry imbibed on the first page. It described the possibility of something being wrong with Loutham - as supported by many mysterious drownings taking place ever since the town's foundation. It was quite like the list they had compiled when they were young, but it had more names in it, dated right up to three years ago. There were some names that she recognised, while others were new to her.

The next part detailed the strange lack of life in the sea, despite its conditions being totally well adapted to supporting life. He had given a thorough chemical report of the seawater to support his statement. A frown emerged on Ríone's forehead. What he had written was true; never in all their lives had they encountered anything larger than a salmon in the sea. Even that was rare. The only living things they frequently did encounter would be seaweeds.

Following two-three pages teased the idea of some kind of a native ritualistic practice to appease 'the entity in the sea', which was in course of time forgotten, leading to what happened now in the town; strange deaths that are ruled as mere accidents. By this time, her hands had grown cold, right up to her elbows. The underside of her palms was sweaty. A part of her believed in what the booklet said, while the other, more pragmatic part of her was lost reading it.

In a little time, she was on the second last page of the booklet. There was not a lot written there; just a paragraph stating:

'The entity, who is very much the guardian of Loutham, must not be thought of as evil. Nothing is inherently evil; that is what I believe despite all the grief it has caused me and my family. However, I will say without fear of favour or ill-will, this is not a place where you come to stay. It was never supposed to be a town. We also remember that once we are here, there's no going back from it.

What once belongs to Loutham stays in Loutham. Always.'

Ríone dropped the booklet on the floor. Her eyes widened in sheer terror. She felt that a thousand chilly needles prickled through her skin and tried to stop her heart. What once belongs to Loutham stays in Loutham. It flashed in front of her eyes repeatedly, like the flash of sirens. What did he mean by this? Was she too doomed like this town?

She retraced all the things that happened to her once she had left Loutham. Her immense thalassophobia, recurring dreams about the sea and sudden remembrances of things related to the town. All of them, other than the phobia, reduced as she aged. Some memories she had buried so deep in her subconscious that if she did not come back here, she never would have remembered them.

Shock does that, Timothee had said. She believed in his words, still did. But a seed of perchance grew in her heart. What if all those times she dreamt of the sea, it was not just some repressed memory but something far more sinister calling out to her? That could be possible, could it not? Perhaps-

Before she could end the chain of thoughts, her phone rang. Startled, Ríone looked back to find that none other than Timothee calling her. In spite of herself, she smiled. That man was going to live for a hundred years.

"Hello," she said, picking up the call. "Checking in to make sure that I have not yet popped off?"

A moment of silence, followed by an audible sigh. "Ríone, c'mon. That is not something you joke about."

"You always say that I should take things easy, don't you?"

"Taking things easy does not include joking about your death."

Ríone bit her cheek to suppress a bout of laughter. She could totally visualise Timothee rolling his eyes. Maybe he had one of his fancy cigars in his mouth too; the smoke rolling off from it would make his expression look even more comical.

"Anyway, how is everything going? You have not updated to me in days."

"Two days, sir, two days," Ríone said. "Actually, I am having quite an... eventful week."

"Woah, sounds good. What have you been getting up to?"

Ríone paused for a moment. The cheeriness from her face vanished. For a moment she considered telling him about the things that had happened, but then changed her mind - it would be detrimental to reveal the truth to someone like Timothee, who had never experienced Loutham firsthand.

"I have been going out a lot." She said instead.

"That is good for you. Better get that fresh air and rejuvenate your poor lungs that get assaulted daily by the polluted city air."

"Ha, so funny."

"That I am." Timothee said with a smug accent.

"Yeah, who else knows that better than me? You speak more than me during our sessions."

"I am not that bad," he answered. "You are so cruel, Ríone. You have hurt my feelings."

This time, she could not stop herself from laughing. Within a few moments, Timothee too joined her.

"To be honest, Ríone, you make me happy," he said. "You are not the kind that makes people feel sorry for being happy. Trust me, I have met loads of specimens like that. You went through a lot, but look at you, you are thriving, man!"

A sad smile emerged on her lips. "People who have been hurt the most try to make others happy. It is because they know what it feels to treated like dogshit and how much it can hurt."

A surge of emotions took hold of her heart. Tears peeked from the corners of her eyes. She would miss them so much. Hell, there was a good chance she will stray like an undead spirit after her death because of this attachment.

It would be so difficult to let go of them.