Jenny Greenteeth
Something stirred in the murky water, sending bubbles up to pop on the scummy emerald surface.
“Honey, stay away from the pool!” I called.
“Why, mommy?” my four-year-old pouted.
I was tempted to yell, “because I said so”, but knew that wouldn’t help. She was old enough to remember playing in there when she was smaller, but not old enough to understand why I wouldn’t let her do it now.
The simple answer was that the pool hadn’t been cleaned since the summer she was two years old. A new management company had taken over our apartment building shortly after we moved in, and they seemed more interested in collecting rent from struggling tenants than actually managing the complex. The pool had remained uncovered for the past two years and was now so disgusting that you couldn’t see anything other than vague green filth. My mom brain spun all kinds of horrible fantasies of what could be lurking underneath.
“Because Jenny Greenteeth lives in there, and she’ll pull you in and drown you,” I said. I hadn’t meant to say that. It just popped out. Oh, God, did I scare her? Was she going to start crying? Juniper was a sensitive soul.
“Jenny Greenteeth?” she asked cautiously.
“She’s a monster who lives in the water and pulls unwary little girls under.” Folklore degree for the win. “But you can avoid her if you just stay away from the pool. Okay?”
“Okay,” she nodded.
Great job, Beth. Threatening your child to get her to behave. Real mother-of-the-year material.
I shook my head at myself and told my daughter to gather her things so we could head back inside for dinner.
As Juniper and I crossed the courtyard back to our apartment, I thought I heard someone calling my name. It sounded almost like my wife’s voice, but it was coming from behind us, and I knew for a fact that Rosie was still in our apartment, ahead of us. I turned around, but didn’t see anyone there. Maybe it was just the wind.
* * *
That night, after Juniper had been bathed and put to bed, I tried to make love to Rosie, but she still wouldn’t let me touch her. Her depression had deepened into crippling agoraphobia over the last year, and our marriage had become one in name only. Her therapist had recommended that I try gently pressing her, but it made me feel slimy and gross. I decided to go for a walk to try to shake it off.
As I passed the courtyard, I thought I heard that voice calling my name again.
“Beth…Beth…”
It really did sound so much like Rosie. I decided to take a look, just to see whose voice sounded so much like my love’s.
I saw a figure standing next to the pool, long hair around her shoulders, pale skin bathed in moonlight. It was my Rosie. She looked so beautiful, as lovely as the day I met her.
“Rosie! You—you’re outside!”
I ran up to her and as I did, I noticed that she was completely naked. It was a cold day in early March, the sun had already set, and she must have been freezing. I pulled my coat off and tried to wrap it around her, but she pushed it away, shaking her head. She smiled, keeping her lips closed over her teeth, and pulled me into a kiss.
Our lips met and her mouth didn’t taste right. Normally Rosie tasted like tic tacs and strawberry lip gloss, but now she tasted like green things and summers by the lake. I should have pulled back and made sure she was all right, but my god, it had been so long, and I missed touching her.
Before I realized it, she was pulling me towards her, down into the mucky water of the pool. I did try to extricate myself from her grasp then, but she had me in her grip and I followed her down.
I had never experienced anything quite like it. She was all around me, filling me up, overwhelming me. I never wanted to leave.
All too soon, however, she was done with me, and I found myself back on the edge of the pool, coughing up water and wondering what the hell had just happened. I shivered violently, trying to get back to the apartment before I froze.
* * *
When I got home, I found Rosie waiting for me.
“How did you get back so fast?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You were just…” I trailed off.
“What?”
“Never mind,” I said, and this time the shivers were not from the cold. Had I imagined the whole thing?
“Why are you all wet?” she asked. “And what’s that green stuff all over you?”
“Oh, I, uh…I slipped and fell in the pool. I’m gonna take a shower now. I feel gross.”
“Yeah, probably a good plan. Who knows what’s down there.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Who knows.”
* * *
About a month later, someone made an anonymous complaint to the health department, so the management company finally brought some contractors in to drain and clean the pool. It didn’t seem so scary, once I could see the bottom of it.
That same day, I realized that my period, usually as regular as clockwork, was three days late.
Rachel Baker is a queer, disabled writer who haunts the Pacific Northwest with her sister and their cat Boo. Look for more of her work in her upcoming short story collection All the Dark and Pretty Things.
