The Boy In The Lake

I sat in the back seat of my dad's land rover, going through the creepy forest. I sat in the back, book's piled up to left of me as I leaned on the door listening to music. I hate this place. I don't know why, it just gives  me the chills.

I mean, it's boring of course, but it's also creeps me out and scares the hell out of me. My parent's have made this trip every single summer since I could remember, staying in the cabin in the middle of the woods, what seven-teen year old would want that?

They wouldn't let me stay home, and they dragged me to this place that went on and on with trees and wild animals that wouldn't hesitate to rip you apart. I smirked at that, I know, your probably wondering why i'm smirking at that?

Well, that's because my friends, I am a queer child. I find myself having fascinations about almost anything that includes, legends, myths, mythical creatures, animals, stone's, history and such. See, i'm quite normal? That was sarcasm by the way.

I have a photographic memory, which comes in handy in school because I don't actually care for the subject and I read the sheet once and, BAM! I get an A in the next test. I sat in the back seat moping, since I am a teenager with an actual life, believe it or not.

I hate the stupid cabin. I  mean, what's there to do besides the lake, the lake, oh, and the lake. Aparently my father was getting wi-fi there though, so that should be okay I guess. I stared emotion-less out of the window as my mind went blank.

I hate the cabin. It's scary there, I know, i'm a wimp. But it's the truth. The cabin is gloomy and seems to be empty. It over look's the lake that is a ten minute walk from the front porch, since last summer.

I had gotten extremely bored and timed it and everything. Seven hundred and eighty three steps until you would reach the pier. I huffed, i'm already bored and I haven't even arrived to this place yet. Funny, all I ran recount in my memory is the lake.

The lake. The lake, something about the lake sends chills up my spine, it could be it's dark black rippling water, the un-known inside of it or the creatures hidden away in the bottom of it. Or, it could simply be that I do not like lakes.

I distincly remember drowning that lake. I was six years old and scared. I remember trying to make it to the surface, but my throat burned as I breathed in the water, my lung's had filled with water and I had slowly sunk to the bottom.

Then that was it. My memory just has this massive blank, the next thing I knew was I had woken up on shore, my mother had run out of the house screaming my name, apparently I had been gone eight hours and she didn't notice... what kind and thoughtful parent's I have.

They had forgotten my existence when I was drowning in the lake, I wonder if they even knew I had drowned. Oh wait, dad had to do CPR on me so I would breath again. So, maybe they did remember? Then why in the world are we going there?

Since I was six, I haven't stepped foot in that lake. I heard my parent's mumble and I looked up to see my mother looking at me. I turned my music down "Laura, come on, don't be a stick in the mud" I just stared at her. Then I turned my music up and stared out of the window ignoring her. Yep, i'm that childish i'm giving my parent's the silent treatment.

I could hear my mother sigh loudly, and I reacted by turning my music up  more. I started to get tired and I leaned against the cold window. I quickly fell asleep listening to some rock music.

~

I was being shaken. I opened my eyes and stared at my dad. He removed the ear buds and smiled at me "We're here" he said proudly, why would he be proud to drag his daughter half way across the country to a deserted cabin in the wood's?

I nodded and got out of the car and stretched. I eyed the three story house in front of me. It seemed to look down at you, and it was like a scene out of a horror film. I shrugged and walked around to the back and opened the trunk. I grabbed my two bag's and slung them over my shoulder.

I then grabbed another three bag's, along with my laptop bag and I walked up to the house. I walked up the old stair's onto the porch and waited for my father to stop fumbling with the old key's and to un-lock the stupid door.

He did, and he and my mother walked into the house,  already walking into the kitchen. That was always what they did, go into the kitchen. I sighed and walked into the freezing cold house. I studied the front entrance, still the same boring house.

I walked up the stair's and into the familiar door. I dropped my bag's and fell onto my bed, making dust fly up into the air. I coughed but ignored the dust. Home sweet home I thought sarcastically.