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Come to the Water

by David Connor

Come to the Water - David Connor & E.F. Mulder
Editions:ePub: $ 4.99
ISBN: 9781685505707

Ask anyone in Eerie Falls, Louisiana, if the town lives up to its name, and they will tell you yes. Trees that never die, a voodoo priestess, a centenarian mortician who has come back from the dead on several occasions, the mystery surrounding an infant found in the town’s namesake waterfall, and the guardian of the falls who died to prevent anyone else being lost to the water ... many local legends abound.

Keith-Aaron finds himself entangled in several of the legends upon meeting a handsome stranger named Bash, who is new to Eerie Falls but has a possible past connection. Life and death, heartbreak and romance, and a dog that might be a ghost ... the two men will need every bit of magic and mystical guidance the townsfolk and enchanted locale can supply.

With all that’s thrown at them, can their growing affection thrive? When the water tries to take them, will they even survive?


Golden curly hair, brown eyes, and a wet pink tongue that licked Keith-Aaron’s chest, he sprang up within half a second, scrambled backwards, and fell against the closet door that slammed shut from his weight.

“I’m not afraid of you!” Keith-Aaron wondered if he could believe his eyes or any other sense. “Why is your breath so rank?”

It wasn’t Marc in actual form, not the one he’d been in when Keith-Aaron last saw his ex six months earlier. On the other hand, once again, that last encounter came to mind.

“A dog.” Keith-Aaron pressed himself harder against hollow-core wood. “You ... you’re a dog.”

He was a dirty dog, his paws and his underbelly muddy enough to have left the brand-new bedclothes with paw prints and streaks of dirt.


“Where did you come from? I was out, for sure, but ...” Keith-Aaron ran naked to check the front door out in the living room. It was locked, just as he was pretty sure he’d left it before falling into bed. “How’d you get in here?”

The dog --

Marc --

The curly-haired, brown-eyed apparition had followed him, as dogs had a reputation of doing.

“Did my mother let you in? Are you my Christmas gift from 1999?”

It was destined to be a one-way conversation. The pup now up on all fours just panted and stared, once again reminiscent of a pose and an act Keith-Aaron had witnessed Marc take and perform.

“Are you ... Marc?”


“No fucking way.”

It made sense, though. Technically, it made no sense whatsoever, unless one just participated in a spirt summoning ceremony summoning the spirit of someone they’d repeatedly called a dog during their last two confrontational conversations.

“Holy shit!”

Keith-Aaron paced.

“You don’t need to follow me!”

Everywhere he went, back and forth, back and forth, the curly-haired thing with the downward pointing tail was on Keith-Aaron’s.

“What do you ... what do you want?”

The dog’s head twisted to one side.

“Can you sit?”

If it could, it didn’t want to.

“Are you mad at me?” Keith-Aaron closed his eyes tight enough to bring wrinkles to his forehead and make his bottom lip touch his nose. He extended his arm, put out his hand. “Do you hate me?”

Then jerked it right back when Marc licked it.

When the dog licked it.

The back and forth was already exhausting.

Keith-Aaron opened his eyes and took a breath. “I guess that wasn’t so bad.” He put his hand out again. The dog sniffed it, and this time, the licking went on a while. “Tongue is your thing, I guess. Always was. Stop that.”

The dog obeyed.

“I was talking to myself, but, hey, good boy!”


“Jesus!” Keith-Aaron stumbled backwards and fell on his bare ass. “Why’d you have to go and spoil the moment like that?”

Just like when Keith-Aaron refused to hug him at Fayette’s, Marc’s head and eyes drooped.

“Sorry. That was loud. I’m not mad. You’re a good ... a good boy.”

The dog’s wagging tail beat a rhythm against the wall, a response to the praise or maybe just the tone.

“That’s better. Come here.” Keith-Aaron held out his hand one more time. Instead of going for it, the dog bounded over and hopped into his lap.

“I’m not afraid.” Gritting his own teeth wouldn’t do a damned thing if the dog sunk his into flesh. “I’m petrified. Please don’t bite me.”

The pup laid its head atop Keith-Aaron’s heart, looking up at him with loving brown eyes.

“Loving? Am I getting that right or making it up?”

The swoosh of his tail tickled bare skin.

“I’m sorry I yelled.” When Keith-Aaron started rubbing the dog’s velvety ears, the loving brown eyes got droopy again, this time closing peacefully, it seemed, not with angst. “I’m sorry for a lot of things. I wish I had told you I forgive you. I did, Marc. It took a while, but the good feelings and memories eventually took the place of that last day. I missed you, too. I don’t know what would have happened between us. Could we have been friends? Could we have gotten back together? Probably not.”


About the Author

I feel blessed to have a creative mind, even if my thoughts and moods are often jumbled. I might sometimes not stick with "write what you know" but I always write what I feel, which often results in characters who struggle with uncertainty, anxiety, too many thoughts in their head, or other social issues, like me. I also write a lot about nature, animals, music, creative arts, and hope.