The Rising Deep

"You're dead," Morgan choked out, her hands blindly searching the kitchen counter for anything she could use as a weapon. Her fingers brushed the handle of a heavy cast-iron skillet.

"I was chosen," Ligeia corrected smoothly. She took a step into the cabin. The sound of her joints moving was a sickening sequence of wet pops and cracks, as if her bones were no longer bound by human ligaments. "The ocean didn't take me, Morgan. It embraced me. It showed me the truth of the world beneath the waves, and the ancient, sleeping things that rule it."

With a sudden, terrifying jerk of her head, Ligeia began to chant.

The syllables were jagged, non-Euclidean sounds that scraped against Morgan's sanity. *Ph'nglui mglw'nafh...* The black water pooling around Ligeia’s feet surged forward. It didn't just flow; it crawled, moving with aggressive, predatory intent. It swept across the living room floor, rising with impossible speed. Within seconds, it was ankle-deep, freezing cold, and burning Morgan’s skin with a toxic, unnatural chill.

Morgan didn't wait. The pure, unadulterated instinct for surviving that had kept her sane during their marriage took over. She turned and bolted for the narrow wooden staircase leading to the attic.

"You always run when it gets deep!" Ligeia's voice echoed, distorted and booming, bouncing off the cedar walls.

Morgan scrambled up the stairs, slipping on the damp wood. Below her, the black water was rising in a torrential swell, defying gravity as it rushed up the stairwell in pursuit. She glanced back and screamed. Ligeia was climbing the stairs, but she wasn't walking. She was undulating, her limbs bending at impossible angles, sliding up the wood like a sleek, predatory eel.

Morgan reached the attic landing, threw herself through the trapdoor, and slammed it shut. She threw her entire body weight onto the heavy wooden panel, sliding the iron deadbolt into place just as something massive and heavy slammed into it from below.

The attic was a claustrophobic triangle of exposed beams and insulation, illuminated only by a single, flickering bulb. Morgan backed away from the trapdoor, gasping for air. But the wood of the floorboards immediately began to warp and groan. Black water hissed as it sprayed through the cracks, flooding the small space.

"They demand a vessel, Morgan," Ligeia’s voice purred from directly beneath the floorboards, vibrating through the wood. "Your drowning is my key. I survived the abyss so I could bring it to you. Give me your life, and I will be granted ultimate power."