It was soon after my fifteenth birthday that I came home from school one day to find that our frame house on the corner of Monument Avenue and Malvern Street had filled up with water all the way to the second-floor ceiling. I don’t mean it was under water — it was full of water, like a toy house that you’d put in the bottom of an aquarium for the guppies to swim through and the bottom suckers to clean. Inside, my mother and my ten-year-old sister Babette floated from room to room like big soft ballerinas doing a pas de deux in soggy slow motion.
The Family Underwater, Lucy Taylor
I don’t often read horror, or short stories, but Ms Taylor, you have my attention. Please continue.