When The Lake Calls

Chapter Nine: In The Shadows

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The police blocked Black Hill off to everyone. Any news sites and radio stations had to call in ahead of filming time to be approved. It felt like living in a prison. I'd seen people making memes of the town, as well as dumb blog posts about my friends.

I threw my phone onto my pillow and flopped onto my bed. Mum was due back in another fourteen hours. I'd hardly slept, even when stuck at home all day. My mind kept wandering to Oliver. I didn't trust Heather, and Arthur's sister had always hated me. I stopped trying to apologize for accidentally spilling my lunch all over her at school ages ago. 

I sent a quick prayer to God for Oliver and put him from my mind. I had something I could do that would help. Underneath my bed, I'd stuffed my old coat and a few taped stacks of polaroid pictures. Papa used to take some of me, Oliver and Mum. They were the only things I'd kept from him, apart from my bike. They were well-worn and fraying at the edges. I forced myself to move them aside and reached for my coat pocket, wincing as the edge of the bed dug into the tender, fleshy cut on my hip.

Maybe it was time to check it. I read online somewhere that infected cuts end up with gangrene, but when I wore shorts to bed the green hadn't mottled my legs. It was only that specific area.

And when I ran my fingers over the cut, it felt like the indent of sharp canines. What type of fish could've done that?

Grabbing the red book from my coat pocket, I swung back up and stared at it. Maybe it was the key to finally figuring out what was going on. Everybody gave half-assed answers and told me my own friends were - what? Devil worshippers? Cultists?

I snorted to myself. Obviously, there was a logical reason for all of this.

I tried to open the book, tugging at the sharp corners until my palm stung. I licked the blood away, ignoring the tufts of flesh that hung down. Trying, again and again, I pushed my curls out of my face and looked up at the ceiling. There was a long, spidery crack that ran down the length of it. 

Something was off about this. All of it. 

The roar of the lake in the back of my mind stilled. Everything felt silent. Like when the wind died and left a vacuum in its place.

The overwhelming urge to rip and tear and open slammed into me like a freight train. My head snapped down so fast I wondered how I didn't break my neck. My limbs weren't my own. They felt fluid and moved like a river. My teeth were sharpened blades. They glinted in the warm afternoon light that spilled through my gauzy curtains. My hands snatched the red book. I shook my head and tried to pry my fingers open to drop it. The metal parts were hurting me. Burning, stinging and sizzling the hairs in my nose.

I opened my mouth to scream. Nothing came out. Only the bright, blinding pain surged, and when I thought my flesh would cook and blacken, my hands let go of the book.