Jim Napier is a retired naval officer who plans a fishing trip to Platoon Lake with his grandson Reece, an amateur paranormal investigator. After encountering strange events on the way there, Reece begins to research the area and finds that hundreds...
An unearthly silence befell the Platoon Lake. A few bubbles reached the surface after the satisfied grumble of a full stomach sated the monstrous appetite filled with flesh and blood. The Q'thahkral however, slipped back into the dark corners of local lore and myth. David arrived at the scene of the fallen tree with the two officers following in one car.
He hopped out, looking around for traces of Jim's truck, and noticed bits of glass and the side mirrors on the ground. Daylight was slowly approaching and the light of the sun would soon reveal the lake's dangerous and dark secrets.
The police ran towards the lakeshore with flashlights in hand, one stopping to see the condition of Jim's truck.
"Anyone in there?" Officer Jordan asked.
"No, but-," Officer Miller started when his hand slid across the red slime smeared across the hood of the car. "What the hell is this?"
Officer Jordan put the light on Miller who was holding up his hand with a frown. David slid down the hill yelling for Heath and was answered by the echo of his own voice. Miller flicked the goo off his hands, wiping his palms against the asphalt.
David ran towards the lakeshore only seeing the long tracks left by the monster.
"Hey, fall back a moment," Jordan said.
"Why? I need to find Heath."
"Because if this a crime scene, I need it as clean as possible to ensure we can figure out what happened," he replied.
The thought of Heath's death dropped an anvil upon his spirit, and his heart sped up a bit as the visions of the smashed car and red liquid painting the small parking lot, weaved together a story he wished he'd never read. He stepped back with hesitation, flinching as a cool wind hit the back of his neck.
He turned towards the lake, being drawn into the darkness of the expansive water world that stretched as far as he could see. The water was unnaturally still, even against the wind. The officers began inspecting the tracks and trying to piece together the happenings on the sand.
Footprints, pieces of clothing, and shell casings were enough to convince Jordan of foul play and he called it in. David continued to watch the lake when he noticed a man standing on the other side. The man slipped into the tree line before David had the chance to call out to him.
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Jordan placed a hand on David's shoulder, and he quickly turned with a startled look on his face.
"What's wrong?"
"I thought I saw someone across the way," he pointed.
"We'll take a look when we start canvassing."
"Canvassing?"
Jordan nodded. "There's some blood and shell casings a few yards away. We need to mark it off and start tracing their footprints to see if it leads anywhere. So, we'll need to ask you some questions on the record," Jordan said.
David was escorted beyond the lakeshore area where Jordan grabbed his recorder and notepad and began taking David's story. About an hour into the interview, other officers arrived and began taping off the area. Miller provided the overseeing detectives with a summary of events as they began delegating duties.
David reached for his phone to call their mother, but he had no signal. His tongue was dry, and his words had abandoned him. Grief had already set in. Jordan saw him struggling to swallow and gave him a bottle of water. His fingers tingled with weakness as he tried to crack the cap open.
He lifted the bottle to his lips, and his tongue thanked him for the watery blessing. He gulped the water down as his eyes drifted to the right. There was a man, dressed in a red plaid shirt and jeans, and a faded trucker hat. David stood up, dropping the bottle as the man turned and went into the woods.
The cops were busy amongst themselves, paying him no attention. He ran after the man in silence, to keep the cops away from him. The man hadn't gone far when David scaled out to him.
"Hey! Excuse me!"
The man stopped but didn't turn to face him. His hands were in his pocket, and from the long white braid hanging down his back, David could tell he was one of the Natives.
"I know what happened to your brother," he said.
David approached him, gulping hard as he tilted his head, waiting for the rest of the sentence.
"Where is he?"
"In the dark lands, the lands of the Q'thahkral."
"Sir, I can't deal with this Q'thahkral bullshit. My brother is missing!"
"For a long time, our people believed that the monster takes people—for food. It doesn't eat them. It drags them into a realm without light, a real that birthed the evil of men's imaginations. He is not dead, yet, and I will be happy to help you bring him back."
"How do you know all of this?" David asked.
"I know because I was eaten twohundred years ago and escaped."
