The sun was setting in streaks of crimson and gold as Jonah Callahan rode his weary horse to the edge of the Black River. The air smelled of decay, and the water ahead glistened unnaturally, dark as midnight ink. The sight of it churned his stomach, but he tightened his grip on the reins. 

Somewhere beyond that cursed river was his wife, Clara, stolen from their homestead by bandits two days prior.

Jonah had found the outlaws’ camp at dawn, scattered with signs of struggle and Clara’s torn shawl. The bandits, gaunt-faced and hollow-eyed, hadn’t fought him when he burst into their hideout. Instead, they fell to their knees, begging.

“Don’t cross the river!” one of them had rasped, his voice trembling. “She’s gone. You can’t bring her back.”

The burn of his fury and love for Clara left no room for fear. “Where is she?” he had growled, cocking his revolver.

“She’s there!” the leader stammered, pointing toward the distant sound of rushing water. “The river took her. You’ll never make it across.”

As Jonah stared at the unearthly current before him, the bandits’ pleas rang faintly in his ears. He’d heard tales of cursed waters before—old wives’ warnings about spirits that demanded payment for passage—but stories didn’t scare him. Clara needed him.

Sliding off his horse, Jonah approached the riverbank. When his boot touched the wet earth, the water seemed to ripple in anticipation. A shiver ran down his spine, but he steeled himself and waded in.

The first step was cold, biting into his skin like needles. The second brought a strange pull, as if unseen hands tugged at his legs. By the third step, the water whispered. Words he couldn’t understand danced around him, promising, cajoling, threatening.

Then came the pain.

It was a searing, slicing agony, cutting deep into his calf. Jonah grunted, nearly collapsing. Looking down, he saw no visible wound, but the water beneath him shimmered with a red hue. His blood. He clenched his jaw and pressed on.

Every step demanded more. The river drank from him greedily, drawing blood as though each inch forward was a bargain struck with his flesh. The whispers grew louder, transforming into an anguished wail that echoed in his head. Yet Jonah didn’t stop.

“Clara!” he shouted, his voice raw. “I’m coming!”

The river didn’t like that. A wave surged, slamming into his chest and forcing him to his knees. The icy water rushed over him, and for a moment, Jonah thought it would swallow him whole. But as he struggled to rise, a shape emerged from the current—a towering figure of water and shadow. Its form was indistinct, a swirling mass of darkness with glowing eyes that pierced through the gloom.

The creature’s voice rumbled, deep and ancient. “You tread where you should not, mortal. Leave, or pay the ultimate price.”

Jonah staggered to his feet, his resolve unshaken. “Where’s my wife?” he demanded.

The creature tilted its amorphous head as though amused. “She is beyond your reach, claimed by the river. Turn back now, or be consumed.”

“No,” Jonah spat. He reached for his revolver, though he knew it was futile. “I’ll take her back, or I’ll die trying.”

The creature let out a sound—a guttural, inhuman laugh that chilled Jonah to the bone. “So be it.”

The river surged again, and Jonah was pulled under. He thrashed against the current, the icy tendrils dragging him deeper into the abyss. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he thought he saw Clara—her face pale, her eyes wide with sorrow—calling to him from the depths.

With a roar, Jonah kicked free, his lungs burning as he returned to the surface. The creature loomed above him, but something in Jonah’s eyes gave it pause—a defiance it had not expected.

“You want blood?” Jonah growled, pulling his knife from his belt. “Then take it.”

He slashed across his arm, letting the blood pour into the river. The water hissed and bubbled as the sacrifice seeped into its depths. The creature faltered, its form flickering.

“Release her!” Jonah bellowed.

For a moment, the river stilled. Then, from its black depths, Clara rose, gasping for air. Jonah lunged forward, grabbing her and pulling her to the shore. Behind them, the river roared in fury, but it did not pursue.

When they reached dry land, Jonah collapsed, cradling Clara in his arms. She was alive, though her body bore marks of the river’s cruel embrace. The bandits had been right—the river demanded a price. But Jonah had paid it, step by bloody step.

As the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, the Black River receded, its whispers fading into silence. Jonah and Clara lay together on the bank, battered but unbroken, bound by a love that no darkness could drown.

The End