The thing that swallows you

There is a thing that swallows you. It holds you together while it tears you apart. That is the terror of it — both at once, and neither one letting go.

And there is another thing. Separate. Not the swallowing, but a shape the swallowing takes.

You can sense it. Not touch — there is nothing to touch. More of a feeling. Something being there and not there, and not exactly there there, because there is nothing in between to carry it. No air. No music. Nothing that moves when a thing moves through it.

Water, maybe. Because something used to come up out of the deep when the shape was gone. But when the shape was there, the monster never came, and the water was good.

This is what Chika sensed.

And Chika wanted to know.