The Drowning Girl Margaret Leroy

Such a pretty girl. Four years old; well-loved by her young mother, Grace. But there’s something… off about the child. Her deathly fear of water; her night terrors; most of all, her fixation with a photo of an Irish fishing village called Coldharbour.

“Sylvie, tell me about your picture. Why’s it so special, sweetheart?” My heart is racing, but I try to make my voice quite calm.

“That’s my seaside, Grace.” Very matter-of-fact, as though this should be obvious. “I lived there, Grace. Before.”

I sit very still for a long slow moment. Cold moves over my skin.

“I don’t know about it,” I say.

“Don’t you, Grace?” She seems surprised.