The report came in just before dawn.
A body had been found lying by the riverbank—cold, stiff, eyes wide open to a sky that hadn't yet lit with sunrise. No one had seen who placed it there. Or so it seemed.
Detective Kareem arrived just as the morning fog began to lift from the water. The river, usually a gentle hum in the background of this town's life, now felt like something else entirely—like it was waiting. Watching.
The air was thick, heavy with silence that didn't feel natural. Only the occasional murmur from onlookers and the crunch of police boots on gravel broke through. A perimeter had been set, but people always found a way to press close when death showed up in a familiar place.
Kareem adjusted his coat, took a slow breath, and crossed the police tape.
An officer, young and pale with sleep still clinging to his face, approached him.
"Sir," he said, voice hushed. "There's someone you'll want to speak to. A man claims he might have seen something—just before the body turned up."
Kareem's eyes narrowed. "Who is he?"
"A fisherman. Works this side of the river most mornings."
"Take me to him."
—
The man wasn't old—maybe mid-thirties—but his face carried the sun-worn creases of someone who'd spent his life squinting into water, searching for what floated beneath. He stood beside a worn canoe tethered loosely to the dock, his hands stuffed in the pockets of a threadbare jacket. His gaze wasn't on the detective, or the crowd, or even the corpse.
It was on the river.
Like it might answer questions no one else could.
"You called this in?" Kareem asked.
The fisherman didn't look at him. "I didn't call anything. I just stayed."
"Stayed?"
"Most folks ran when they saw the body. I waited. Figured someone would come looking for answers."
Kareem stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Did you see anything?"
The man's jaw tensed. He hesitated—like he was weighing whether the truth was worth sharing.
"I didn't see a face," he said finally. "But I saw shadows. Movement. People using this river for things it wasn't meant for. Bad things."
Kareem arched a brow. "Bad things?"
The fisherman finally turned to look him in the eye. "This ain't the first time, detective. But this time..." He shook his head. "This time felt different. Darker. Like the river wasn't just hiding something. It was feeding on it."
Kareem's skin prickled. "You're saying this might be part of something bigger?"
"I'm saying..." The fisherman stepped in closer, voice dropping to nearly a whisper. "This river knows things. Always has. And sometimes... it keeps secrets longer than people do."
Kareem studied the man. His words weren't those of someone looking for attention. There was a quiet edge in his voice—one that only came from fear. A real one. One born from experience.
"What's your name?"
"Kolapo."
"Kolapo, if this isn't the first time, then what exactly have you seen?"
The fisherman's gaze drifted back toward the water. "Once, five years ago, I found a bracelet in my net. A girl's. Real delicate. Gold lining. Had a name on it... Sade. That same night, I saw something in the river. A shape. Just under the surface. But when I reached down, it vanished."
Kareem tilted his head. "Did you report it?"
Kolapo gave a humorless laugh. "Who was I going to tell? Nobody listens when it's just fishermen seeing things in the dark. But this morning..." He paused. "This morning, I swear, I heard singing. Real faint. Like a girl's voice."
A chill crawled down Kareem's spine.
"Where?"
"Near that bend," Kolapo said, pointing. "Same place they found the girl years ago."
Kareem froze. "What girl?"
Kolapo blinked. "You don't know?"
"I want you to tell me."
But Kolapo shook his head, lips tightening. "It's better if you don't dig too deep, Detective. Some truths don't stay buried. They pull you under."
Kareem reached for his notepad. "I want to talk more. Can I meet you later today?"
Kolapo hesitated, then nodded. "I'll be here. Just after sunset."
Kareem extended a hand. Kolapo shook it—reluctantly. His palm was cold. Damp, though there was no sweat on his face.
Something felt off.
Very off.
—
But by the time Kareem returned to the dock that evening… Kolapo was gone.
Vanished.
No one had seen him leave. No messages. No calls. No signs of struggle.
His canoe still bobbed gently in the water, tied to the dock like it had been waiting for its owner to return. A half-eaten biscuit rested on the seat, ants crawling over it. His jacket still hung from the nail in the nearby tree.
And yet—Kolapo was nowhere.
Kareem stood at the edge of the dock, his thoughts a mess of frustration and something more dangerous: fear.
It was too clean. Too quiet.
"Don't release anything to the press," he told the officers. "Not until I know what's happening here."
—
Two days passed.
And then Kolapo came back.
Or rather, his body did.
Found face-down in the same shallow bend where the girl had supposedly appeared. His skin was pale, lips blue. His mouth open like he'd been screaming.
His eyes—wide.
Too wide.
The medical examiner reported he hadn't drowned.
His lungs were dry.
But his mouth had been packed with river moss. Again.
Exactly like the last victim.
Kareem stood on the riverbank, staring at the body as it was zipped into a black bag. The crowd behind him was thicker this time, word having spread despite his orders.
The river was whispering louder now.
And the town was beginning to listen.
A woman cried out—hysterical—and a child tugged on her sleeve.
That's when Kareem heard it.
A young voice, clear and shaking, cutting through the murmurs like a knife.
"Oh my God... he was killed like the girl!"
Kareem spun.
A boy stood at the edge of the crowd. Fourteen, maybe fifteen. Wide-eyed, shaking. Holding his mother's hand tightly like she was the only thing keeping him from running.
The mother tried to pull him back, but he wouldn't move.
Kareem crossed the grass quickly, crouched in front of the boy.
"What girl are you talking about?"
The boy's lips trembled. "The one from weeks ago. The one who sang."
Kareem's heart stopped for a beat.
"You saw her?"
"I heard her. Same spot. My cousin saw her too before she disappeared. No one believes us."
From behind him, voices rose.
"He's just a child!"
"He doesn't know anything!"
"Leave that boy alone!"
The crowd was reacting now. Defensive. Dismissive. Afraid.
But Kareem knew the signs. He could feel it in the way people wouldn't meet his eyes, in the way the whispers turned sharp and angry.
They weren't protecting the boy.
They were protecting themselves.
Because they knew.
Maybe not the whole truth. But enough to be afraid of it.
Kareem straightened, eyes scanning the treeline.
And for the first time since this case began, he realized something chilling:
They weren't just dealing with a killer.
They were dealing with a river that remembers.
And perhaps… a town that forgets on purpose.
As the body was driven away, Kareem glanced back at the boy—who now stood silent, pale, eyes locked on the river.
The boy didn't blink.
Kareem's hand twitched toward his badge.
This wasn't just about a girl.
Or a fisherman.
This river had seen more than anyone knew.
And it was time someone finally listened.
Next Time on Whispers by the River:
A hidden diary. A coded song. And the return of a name Kareem had buried in his past—one the river never forgot.