I'd heard stories about her since when I was little. Terrifying stories. She was the shiver that ran through our spines back when our moon lit nights were filled with her stories. Kutulo, she was called. And we'd never thought to ask what her name meant. We only knew that her name made the shadows darker, and the streams and rivers more mysterious. I feared Kutulo, but unlike others I never really thought she was real. "Fear could come from anything" I told myself, "it's only just a feeling..." But Kutulo wasn't real to me. And this conviction only grew as I grew older. Until that night... I didn't know how I found myself at the river bank, but I did. And I was naked, completely naked. Everywhere was quiet, only the waves of the water sang. And it was no ordinary song. I tried to call out, but I had no voice. I told myself to be conscious, to not succumb to the panic slowly rising inside of me. But it was all for naught when she finally arose, her body a full river of water, and her hair floating in a spiral on it's surface. Her eyes bore into mine, and she seemed to stare into my very soul. I tried to close my eyes, to move my hands or feet. But I couldn't. I was physically dead. Then she parted her lips, just a little, and she spoke no words. But I felt it. I felt my life source sucked away deep into her moist limbo. I woke up. I was drenched... And I've worshipped her ever since...
Written for @vermillionfox's Foxtales Contest
Happy Christmas Celebrations y'all. I'm still awaiting Santa, are you?
Or you prefer Kutulo?🙃
