Macka Lake ✔ [short story]

MACKA LAKE | 3

It was a mass of black blob, swirling underneath the floating dock, coaxing along leisurely to the speed of my steps. Its smooth motions were marked only by occasional splashes.

Nauseous sensation climbed up my throat. White hot fear raved at my chest, clawing and clawing like a caged animal, screaming at me to get the fuck away from the water, but the other part of me, the pride and ego that was still needing to prove a point to Lorgan drove me to gulp past the knots in my windpipe. The planks and steel creaked under my feet—slow, drawn-out, tortuous screeches sent small ripples across the lake.

A bird cawed, ha-ha-ha-ha, the sound piercing through like a warning, before it, and the echo, were abruptly cut off.

An acute silence trailed behind, penetrating deep into my bone marrows.

The hair along my spine raised.

Forcing myself to continue walking, I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder just to make sure Lorgan was still there, still waiting and not abandoning me. Lorgan's truck engine rumbled at the edge of my consciousness, the low sound becoming fainter and fainter with each step I took.

I grasped the pocket knife in my pocket and pulled it out. The weapon felt awkward in my hand—too large, too clammy, the plastic grip and its crevices dug into my skin no matter how I adjusted my hold—it did nothing to stop my knees from tethering on the verge of buckling. The sun was hanging on the top of my head. The warmth stuck on my skin like a second layer of flesh, yet I was cold. I could feel someone's eyes—something's eyes—at the back of my head, the sides of my face, mirroring me. Breathing the same rhythm, moving the same way. A ghost of a sound, boot soles dragging against damp, warm wood.

The Chamber awaited, mere feet away.

Keep walking.

Don't look back.

Don't run. Don't tremble. Don't show that you're a prey.

The shushing of the reeds, the pines, the calm water surfaces slowed to a still. I didn't know why I didn't notice it—the faint disoriented sensation was my body telling me something is very wrong—when the realization finally came crashing down, I halted, knees trembling.

All the noises had been abruptly bleached out of the landscape.

It was almost like I had stepped onto another dimension.

In front of me, the dock and the Chamber were rocking, gently. Back and forth and back and forth. Out-of-sync.

My jerky gasps lapsed over itself—the loudest noise—the only noise surrounding me. I took a step back, and snapped my head to the side when something caught at the edge of my vision. A gleaming, gray tentacles flicked above water, subtle, before submerging back, slithering across the water, almost could be mistaken for a giant eel.

It was waiting. Watching. Daring.

My feet burnt numb like I had stuck them in frozen water. It hurt to breathe, to swallow. My lungs felt heavy and full, as though filled with a viscous fluid. My ankles twitched, as if anticipated a tentacle curled around it at any time and yanked me under. I dared a glance behind my back, and somehow the emptiness made my stomach sunk.