This story was originally written in 2023 and published in Macabre Magazine in December 2025. I have decided to share the unabridged version here. The cover image was originally taken by Jeremy Wermeille.
Most of the “horror stories” people recount from their university years take place in their first or second term. Perhaps they went out drinking and got lost in the city’s winding streets, their impaired minds guiding them deep into unknown alleyways and ivy-covered husks, leaving them totally disorientated. Or, inhibited by unfamiliarity, they attempted to find their class only to barge into the middle of a seminar with a renowned guest lecturer. It’s almost always something trivial like that — impactful in the moment, but not too serious, something that stays with them as a moment of embarrassment or a cause for laughter.
My story is a little different.
It was my final year, near the end of the Easter term. I had long since left the university’s accommodations and had been living in a flat with my girlfriend for the past year. Our social circles overlapped heavily until they were finally one. It wasn’t uncommon for a few of us to go out drinking on the weekends and end the night lazily chatting by the water, trying to cling to the fading moments of our youth without even knowing we were doing so. It was a good year, at first. I was surrounded by people I enjoyed spending time with and, despite the apprehension of change, I looked forward to stepping out into the world. I had secured a position with a mid-sized firm early on and was able to breathe for a moment and enjoy the efforts of my work with little weighing on my mind.
We had fallen into our routine, all of us, but at some point, that started to fade. Arriving back for that final term, the atmosphere had shifted. Our hands had curled around our environment and each other, unconsciously holding on to what we had, our connections. Those hands were now there deliberately, their knuckles turning white with unvoiced strain. Looking back now, that pressure was not worth it, and the time that we had was far less than the perceived gravity of it had suggested. To our young minds, that was all we had left in the known world — that was all that had been properly charted out for us. That specter of the unknown brought uncertainty, and an anxiety silently took hold of all of us while we tried to hang on to those final moments.
The effects of this shift were felt by all, even if they too were unvoiced. The merry attitude that had once governed my perspective began to slip away as the uncertainty crept over me, its cold breath brushing my neck even on the warmest of days. My position in the world as a soon-to-be university graduate and a true professional was secure enough, but I knew that I was leaving much behind, people and places that I feared could never be matched again. That included my girlfriend. She and I both knew that things were coming to an end, but like the uncertainty, we never spoke of it. What had brought us together had allowed us to stay together for nearly two years, but it wasn’t enough to sustain a mature, adult relationship. It wasn’t enough to keep us from going in different directions, which we undoubtedly were.
There’s a certain type of sadness that comes with a relationship strained by partners gradually drifting apart. This was something I would learn then and relearn once again, decades later. Because the bridge between us was being built by different desires and plans for our futures, an inconquerable pull in different directions, I knew that there was nothing that I could do to right the course, to salvage what was left. It wasn’t as though there were simple, reconcilable differences. There were no fights that we could apologize for, no mistakes that could be righted, nothing temporary. No, this was definite — it was just a matter of waiting.
In retrospect, I simply should have done what I needed to do then, without further delay. Perhaps, if I did, I wouldn’t have a story to tell. But, I couldn’t let go, even if I could see the unavoidable future.
In those final weeks, as exam season approached, our band quieted slightly. Those weekend nights still came, but less frequently, and less well-attended. I had taken to drinking more frequently, particularly during the week. It became a true habit, one that would take many years to shake off. I would often find myself sitting alone at the pub, glass in hand, ruminating about my future until closing time and praying for any way to change directions. It was odd, I had so much before me — and yet, all I wanted was to hold on to what I had now. I yearned, desperately, to keep those dwindling days for an eternity.
It was one of those such nights, a Wednesday, that I left the pub far too late and far too drunk. I was still able to walk, but I was certainly in a state. The alcohol always offered a numbness; even if I could fixate on my anxieties, they somehow felt less overpowering. As I staggered around, my mind was flooded.
It was the second half of May by then, warming up but still cool in the evenings. The slow breeze kept my senses alert, refusing to allow me to sink fully into numbness. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened had my mind been completely gone. Perhaps I could delude myself into believing something else about that night.
The pub we frequented was a ten-minute walk from a small park — an exaggeration, given that it was little more than a seating area resting on a sliver of grass. But, it stood at the edge of the cliff overlooking the water, which was the real appeal. Inebriated, it was double the walk, assuming one didn’t go astray. I managed to stumble forwards, allowing instinct to guide me as my mind lazily swam around.
I felt the breeze grow cooler as I approached, delivering a slight jolt to the senses as I slumped into a seat facing the dark expanse. My eyes wavered, unable to focus at first, not that there was much to focus on. I allowed the cool to ground me, at least as much as was possible with the alcohol. Soon, I found my vision had become relatively steady.
Just a sliver of the moon remained, hanging low in the sky off to my right, faintly illuminating the water, which seemed otherwise indistinguishable in hue from the black horizon. It rocked softly, waves audible as their attempts to push forward were quashed by the unyielding rock down below. Those waves were steady but strong. I knew that the water would slowly envelop all that stood before it. For now, for me, it was just something to look at and enjoy.
As the haze receded slightly, my mind settled on the same thoughts that had come to dominate the moments alone. Fears, really. Inevitabilities that taunted me. Perhaps the worst part about those moments was that they weren’t all dark. I wasn’t simply fixed on the specter before me — I kept turning, looking at what was slipping away and trying to grab at it.
The first thought that came into my head as I sat there was her smile. Her lips pressed together, the edges curling upwards, faint wrinkles visible by her eyes whenever she saw me. That smile hadn’t vanished, but it felt as though it faded with every passing day. Her embrace, ever warm, felt more withdrawn as she quietly withdrew. It stung, a pain that I had only grown aware of once it was no longer something that could be addressed.
Those chairs, set a dozen feet back from the shallow railing blocking the edge of the cliff, were a fine vantage point, but I wanted to be closer. The water seemed to call me, a shrouded hand beckoning me forward. Perhaps it could clear my mind if I allowed it to wash over me as it wished to.
I’m still not sure if I moved forward of my own volition. Regardless, I stood, making my way to the edge and staring down at the thirty-foot drop that these bars hardly protected me from. The top bar fell just below my waist. I wrapped my hands around it and leaned forward, feeling the metal press against me, my trousers a poor guard against its cold touch. The water continued to push forwards, the curls as it was rejected disturbing the even black surface. As I stared, the water seemed to lighten; my vision was adjusting, the contrast between the almost empty sky and the empty water became clearer.
My mind swam through my problems, offering solutions as unhelpful as they were repetitive. How could I end it myself? Wouldn’t that just force what I wanted to avoid? But how could I — how could both of us — allow this to drag on, even as the end was so obvious?
I clung to something intangible. Hope, maybe. An irrational, childish belief that somehow there was a way out that wouldn’t involve pain. Maybe this wasn’t inevitable; this wasn’t a christening to my adulthood, it wasn’t something that I needed to endure. I kept trying to turn away from the truth, too young then to steel myself and take the blows that life had in store, blows that no decision could avert.
It was at that moment, finally, that reality won out. The hope was defeated, and I knew that there truly was no way to go but forwards. Tears came, then, as I leaned out, my torso passing the railing as my hands raised to my face.
The focus on the water that I had managed to cobble together was pulled by a new sight. Something had broken the opaque surface, a sliver of contrast now visible. I tried to focus on it, unsure of whether the alcohol or the distance was what prevented me from identifying it.
It didn’t move with the water. It drifted, yes, but it did not bob up and down – it remained perfectly level. I leaned out further as though that would be enough for me to get a better look at the object. I was able to see where it ended and the water began. I could make out a distinct curvature on one end.
Before I could see more, my attention was torn away again as a shriek tore through the still air. I whipped around, the piercing noise disorientating me as I stumbled, fervently glancing around among the empty chairs and poorly lit streets in the distance. It sounded like it was right in front of me, right behind me, and right beside me all at the same time, a cry of pure terror. And then, just like that, it was silent again but for the soft crashing of the waves against the rock below.
I stood for a moment, adrenaline sobering me up but not enough for me to move with any confidence, before the scream came again, now clearly behind me, out on the water. I turned around, slipping on the smooth stone before me. My hands gripped the railing as, unable to find purchase, both of my feet rose from the ground for just a moment. I tightened my grip and lowered my body, pressing my knees against the stone and letting my head rest against the railing as I regained my composure. This time, I didn’t even notice when the bodiless scream had stopped, but I noticed my own.
I rose, knees trembling but holding, and retained my grip to the bar, far tighter than it had been before. Shakily, my eyes searched for the source of the sound. All I could identify was the same, unknown presence that I had seen before. It was now much closer, only about twenty metres away. It had drifted into the sliver of light provided by the moon.
It took me a moment to understand what I was seeing. The shapes were easily discernible, but my mind was unable to place them. I traced the full outline, pausing as my eyes landed on a mass at one end. Its jaw hung open, exposing a hollowness within, just as black as the sky surrounding it. Faster, I retraced the complete outline. All of it was now clear, but the head, turned towards me and tilted slightly, was the most obvious. Its hair was matted, stuck against the skin, too short to cover the eyes. The moonlight was just enough for me to see dark irises that would have returned my gaze had they not been empty.
My instincts worked faster than my jumbled mind, and the realization didn’t hit me until I was a few hundred metres from the cliff. I tore through the streets blindly, everything but that cold stare now shoved aside as I was pulled mechanically forwards.
-=-
The next morning, all that greeted me was a hangover. The last few minutes of that night had slipped away, or perhaps been buried, replaced solely by regret and the return of fully vibrant thought.
About a week later, he returned to me.
It was quiet when I awoke. My girlfriend sat at the edge of my bed, staring at her laptop, an uncertain expression on her face. As she read the article out loud, that expression shifted to sadness, and something cold crept over me. As she named the local man who had gone missing and stated the discovery of his body, the cold stare of his partially submerged corpse returned to me. The article said that the police had not concluded whether it was an accident or a suicide. We never went back to our spot looking over the water, but I suspected that the railing would be taller if I saw it again.
We graduated a few months later, and the inevitable did indeed come to pass. It was awful in the moment, a pain sharper than any I had thought possible. Now, with time, it has faded to just another step, a moment that shaped me. We still have the occasional call, now as old friends who managed to stay in touch despite our split paths.
There are times when I’m frozen, gripped by the fear I had that night. It’s as though it has caught up to me, occasionally locking me in place as I almost was by the water. I hear the echo of that scream and feel my body tremble, begging for me to move, but I simply can’t.
I turned back to that suppressant again and again, allowing myself to be enveloped in a haze in hopes of forgetting, this time for good. It took time for me to understand that the face, mouth agape in a final scream, will not leave me until I’m dead, and perhaps not even then. I kept trying to put distance between it and myself, to get away from the fear. I know he’s there forever, now. But there is still one part of that story that I will never return to, that I will never lay my eyes upon again. I did not read the article myself. I never looked at the obituary or checked the official date of death. I still do not know whether it was that same night.
Somehow, though, I know what I would find if I were to read it now. It isn’t something I can explain. It isn’t something I want to. I know that those eyes were long vacant, that the scream had escaped far before I heard it.