AQUAPHOBIA

A.C. Lovelace © 2026

Aquaphobia is a fear of water. People with this specific phobia feel anxious when they think about or see water. They may avoid baths, showers, pools and bodies of water. Many people with aquaphobia have had traumatic experiences with water.  

- Cleveland Clinic 

DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT; The work below features abject depictions of bodily fluids, viscera, and contains offensive language towards the mentally disabled including racial groups. Brace yourself for the utterly grotesque. 

AQUAPHOBIA’s narrative structure mirrors Bram Stoker’s 1897 Gothic Horror novel, Dracula, where events are told through a series of diary entries, letters and transcriptions, yet executed using our era’s technological advancements. Similarly to Stoker’s magnum opus, this is a contemporary work reflecting current events with historical context shaping its setting. 

Chapter I

ASHLYNN’S JOURNAL

14 October, 5 P.M. –  Our landlord presented one, and one rule only for tenants: don’t clog the toilet. Being young, I didn’t question this seemingly reasonable yet unorthodox directive. Mom wasn’t a strict parent, though dabbled in spirituality throughout our years together. She touted herself as a devout Christian notwithstanding her bouts of polytheism. Despite her flippant, spontaneous mode of life, her adamance on the sole rule’s compliance painted it as a divine decree. Furthermore, I believed disobedience brought upon the Man in the Sky’s wrath. Hell, I convinced myself how thunderstorms were harbingers of His anger towards mankind. My parents raised me under Evangelical principles, and I’m certain those with an Abrahamic background interpreted natural phenomena as signs of a higher power. We live in my childhood home, a basement apartment belonging to a dingy pre-war building in the middle of New York City. It’s comfortably placed beside a halfway house, in which I was banned from approaching. Honestly, this area gives me the creeps. 

              While I’ve forsakened the Christian faith, I’m a firm believer in the supernatural, and we’re haunted with echoes of generational trauma. My mother takes it a step further, claiming the home’s a portal to the spirit realm, including an “energy vortex”, hence our collective melancholy. Have I mentioned she’s a conspiracy nut? Anyway, the atmosphere is downright eerie. Paranoia is common, especially in such a dimly-lit, dilapidated dungeon. We’re delaying the inevitable via constant repairs and pointless plaster fills. I can’t stand that dastardly slumlord, exploiting us since we’re an expansive unit of blue-collar illegals. Besides falling apart at the seams, footsteps or pantry doors slamming aren’t unusual when alone. I swear, movement’s in my peripheral vision half the time. To make matters worse, we simultaneously deal with mice and roach infestation. None of us wants to be here anymore, not even my grandfather who was a tough cookie; we desperately need out…

              The living room is our only reliable source of sunlight, which sports a measly window and gated door with visibly aging netting, consequently leading every member of the household to develop Vitamin D deficiency. An industrial door accompanies the entrances to ensure total security. Two exist in the apartment: One leads directly to the living room, and the other past my mother’s room (She’s lucky that her room never floods). Stand flush against the central wall, and you’d be met with three viewpoints. To the left is a small hallway spatially separated by a standard white door. Conversely, the right features a long corridor that connects everything else to the living room in an almost hotel suite fashion. Due to the layout, walking from one end to the other is a straight line. The flat-screen TV (which belongs to my uncle) is mounted on the wall facing the corridor, and farther back in space, that aforementioned milquetoast window. We always decorate the pane based on holidays or seasons. Right now, it’s Halloween-themed, adorned with fairy lights in addition to cheap stickers from the 99-cent store. A beacon while descending the steps at night, I’d say. The only space unsuitable for human life is, predictably, the boiler room. It’s located in the self-contained hallway past my mom, which must be monitored as we’re the “Super”. 

                  In the 80s, my Grandmother fled a Nicaraguan dictatorship caused by rising tensions between the US and USSR, and sought refuge here for generations. Our home has seen several family units move in, and is functionally the epicenter of all domestic conflict, given that my Grandma’s the matriarch. The landlord, let’s call him Charlie, was generous enough to charge $300 a month in exchange for building maintenance, such as trash disposal at government mandated hours, and ensuring each floor’s cleanliness. However, I wasn’t privy to the hidden, no, true responsibility. 

At the furthest end of the basement, where neither artificial nor natural light reaches, dwells something beyond human comprehension, yet undoubtedly malevolent, and it’s adjacent to my bedroom…

ESMERALDA’S SOCIAL MEDIA POST

18 October, 9 A.M., attached is a photo of a Bombay cat. – papa has been antsy lately from all of the rain. he shouldnot feel Unsafe because he is the ruler over everything in the home. i see him constantly marking his scent on the same spots. poor baby .  this probably brings back memories before we rescued him. it rained a lot this summer so he took went under my friend’s balcony. he might sense negative entities within the house. i should burn palo santo in all the rooms if he is picking up bad frequencies. papa is clearly aranoid because just now he got startled by a water dropplet. it came from ceiling because of leak in the bathroom. He is so beautiful . to think that a few months ago he had worms in his booty. pobrecito… i love you papa. you are our little guardian angle! the universe blessed me with alovely familiar

ESMERALDA’S PRIVATE STORY

18 October, 9:30 A.M., a generic Instagram story gradient overlaid with white text. – ash hasnot come out of her room yet. she said her the rapist recommended starting a diary to organize her thoughts & control her emotions. hpefully, she will be less catty. i am her mom, and the only one making money so it is unfair that everyone acts against me. I missed when I lived by myself though my mother needed me. she is another pain inthe ass but none of my siblings ever help her out. i feel like she treats me like a kid. iam a 40 yearold woman and I am tired of the disrespect in this household sadlyI could not have left her alone. she is getting old.

i hope everyone have a great hump day xoxo

  GRANDMA BUELITA’S PHONE CALL TO HER SISTER

19 October, 3:15 A.M., Spanish, long-distance to Nicaragua. – I can’t sleep tonight. Something was watching me at my bedside. ¡Maria Purisima! Thankfully, Ashlynn checked up after using the bathroom as my lamp was on during a queer hour. She’s a sweet, yet deeply troubled girl, just like her mother. I’m unsure if she realizes her tone while speaking Spanish. I mean, no jodas?! ¡Ay, Dios! At least she’s trying to communicate. She barely understood our tongue when she moved in for college 3 years ago. Shit, don’t they grow up so fast? I can’t wait for her to get married and bear plenty of grandchildren! My daughter only had one, not to mention, she had a c-section instead of God’s intended method. Other than Ashlynn, her stinking cat is often on his regularly scheduled patrols. He is cute; I’ll give him that. My daughter wished to turn the spare room into a playpen for him, but not under my roof. We’re already using it to store stool softener. There are dozens of containers stacked from floor to ceiling; it supports our strict diet. Most of our meals incorporate figs and prunes. I don’t know what the bitch’s thinking when we have no space. By the way, your nephew has yet to remove any of his belongings. He’s blessed living elsewhere. ¡Dios te bendiga hermana!

Chapter II

ASHLYNN’S JOURNAL

20 October, 7 P.M. – Journaling has proved beneficial for anger and stress management. College also serves as a temporary getaway– an escape, if you will. If you’re curious, I’m pursuing Communications at a local community college since I can’t NOT pursue higher education. It feels like High School 2.0, but part of me enjoys the air of familiarity. I can’t imagine going through the motions in this cesspool without professional help. They’ve insisted on praying the sickness away, but Esther (my girlfriend) booked a therapist appointment for me. Maybe they’re simply used to neglecting their mental health, which has certainly been the catalyst for drama. The previous tenants were my uncle, his wife, and 3 children. Let’s call them Parasites. 

                  One day, Tío Parásito fell off his rocker and became the epitome of anxiety. In a rage, he transformed what later became my room into a surveillance office. Cameras were set-up everywhere, and he’d spend most of his free-time locked inside with the lights off. Police presence prevented rising tensions, though I’d argue it put the Parasites more on edge. Honestly? I can’t blame Tío Parásito for snapping. This suite vamps your vigor, chewing on the straw which it travelled through until there’s not an ounce left in your vessel, and by extension, your soul. Get this: the lights began flickering the other day. I think we’d make bank by turning the house into a haunted attraction. Cynicism aside, Grandma cycled through various families, so she’s seen it all. The incident with my uncle didn’t seem to disturb her. Hell, she’s so jaded that I’m convinced it was reminiscent of a stereotypical telenovella plot. Nothing fazes her… besides sensationalized news with little to do with our pitiful lives.

                  My mom’s on disability leave for 3 weeks after a bad accident with her right knee, meaning frugality is our new modus operandi. Prices skyrocketed at grocery stores resulting from shoddy federal economic policies. Thus, we’ve resorted to eating out on credit. Picture Chinese takeout and greasy pizza chains. Needless to say, our diets are garbage right now. Chock-full of trans fat. We’re riding the triglyceride train into the ICU! Ugh, there’s nothing to eat here, and everyone’s too exhausted to prepare proper meals. Okay, we’re seriously in deep water. While walking down the hallway towards my room, a clothesline extends back into a door. It stays locked under all circumstances. Yes, I sleep adjacent to a sewage closet. Is this legal? I’m 90% certain mold hides behind these walls, which might explain the migraines. Speaking of which, mildew accumulates in our bathtubs at an alarmingly fast rate. Moreover, we’re prone to life-threatening floods, so tenants may not leave the house unattended if the forecast predicts thunderstorms. Therefore, we fear the rain. It occurred months ago, and my room is, without fail, the first to go once water rises from the closet. Since Fall arrived, the weather consisted of overcast skies coupled with downpours. My Grandma says we face imminent flash-flooding, and to the cataclysmic scale of Genesis’ biblical narrative. I pray that’s not hyperbolic. That her trepidation is simply overtaking rational thought. While venting frustrations helps, it doesn’t remedy the intensifying foul odor emanating from a room forbidden. Nobody except Grandma has permission to enter, the sole person Charlie places his trust in…

She spoke of the “Mano de Mono” – “Monkey’s Hand” during my youth. A household legend which camouflages itself underneath a mound of temporally distant daguerreotypes.

ESMERALDA’S NOTES APP

21 October, 8:45 P.M. – We need more stool softener but I cannot afford to be constantly spending this much. My brother is in surging credit card debt for a reason and I did not come out of bankruptcy to declare it again. This is why I bought Popeyes tonight. Ashlynn has been constipated lately and most of the stool softener has expired or been emptied. My brother was ahoarder, causing my mother to retain that awful habit of keeping trash around. She can be a sentimental old lady when she wants to. I am walking with my fiancé by a marina in SheepsheadBay for some fresh air. There is little ventilation at home, so I needed to get out. My mother recycles bottles at supermarkets for some money, but Ashlynn threw her medication in them earlier. After finding those pill bottles, I needed a break. Thank God my mom is spending 2nights at her sister’s house or else she would flip. My kid should know better about Big Pharma. It feels like anything I tell her goes out the other ear. Since we argued about her eating habits and weight, she became distant. Something is going on. I will definitely give her an egg cleansing when I get home. Not medicine, not therapy, not pills, but spiritual cleansing. It will be pivotal. 

ESMERALDA’S CLOSE FRIENDS STORY

22 October, 11:00 P.M. – igave ash the cleansing and she is alreadyfeeling better. spirits tend to latch onto my daughter.  when I see her moody, i give her stones for crystal healing. I looked inside her room and they are all gone. Instead she has pills. why would she take meds? I think our homes the problem. ash and I have been in and out during our lives. ithink, no, I feel like I finally understand why no matter what, we end up  here. ssomething has been calling us. it caled out to papa’s soul. our rescue was but onesentence in the akashic records. the universe has decided we should be here and I trust gods judgment. tjhe lord called papa here. hes an angel. 

Goodnight xoxo

ASHLYNN’S SOCIAL MEDIA STORY

22 October, 11:11 P.M. – I need help. Immediately. This girl had the worst shit of her LIFE and is currently battling the worst cramps. My chocolate starfish is burning, but there’s more. I wanted to crash on my bed after a rough commute, only to step in shallow water. My slippers are soaked—  not to mention an overwhelmingly repugnant stench. Before you tell me to wake mom up, I refuse to. You should know how I feel about her by now. Papa’s seated outside the door, meowing in a concerned tone every-so-often. The lil’ guy keeps me afloat. I’m surprised he doesn’t mind getting his paws wet. Perhaps he's ensuring my psyche remains intact? 

What should I do?

ASHLYNN’S SOCIAL MEDIA STORY (Cont’d)

22 October, 11:16 P.M. – I decided that I’m going to sleep at Esther’s place tonight. I’ll update mom tomorrow morning. Yes, I have a girlfriend now. Screw the haters who called me a femcel. 

Cheerio!