Out of Breath

Chapter 4

A heron stretches forth its blue wings and takes to flight — peace waves over me at this serene moment. On the water floats an egret. There must be fish here if the birds are sticking around. I scan the edges of my pond — no sign of a Skitler. I hope never to see one again. Just the thought tightens my nerves.

This isn't right. I have never been nervous about my special place before. In the middle of the pond floats my fishing pole. Why did I leave it? Good thing it has an inner core of floating foam.

With my clothes still on, I dive in. Mildly warm water surrounds me as I swim to my pole. I can feel the grime wash away — awe, refreshing. I should have taken my clothes off, though. They sort of drag me. Attached to the line on my pole is a dead catfish. At least that shows there are still fish in the pond. With the pole in my hand, I struggle to swim back. My head bobs under the water a couple of times. I struggle to breathe. It's hard to swim with only one hand paddling. Plants stick to me and my pole as I float, which makes it that much harder to swim. Usually, I am a pretty decent swimmer, but one-handed is challenging.

Once out, I climb to the edge and pull the moss off my pole. Brrr. I am actually cold, and not from a Skitler. It is from my wet clothes. Water drips as a puddle forms under me. At least my pole is not in too bad of shape. Thankfully, I didn't lose it. Ma would be pissed if I lost my pole. I look around. If that Skitler girl shows up again, I will take my pole with me this time. I stare at her last spot, relieved to see it empty.

I pull out a pouch of chicken gizzards. Ma finally came through on her promise. Dang! What a strong smell. Even the swim in the lake didn't wash their smell away. I have had them in my pocket all day. I dump the pond water out of the gizzard bag. Today is the day I will catch some fish! I grab a squishy heart and pierce a hook threw it. It reminds me of Nutter's hand, with its fleshy redness. My stomach stirs and doesn't feel right. How is his hand doing? I need to go to their house next week to cut the stitches out. With the chicken heart set on the hook, I am almost ready to cast out. My own heart stops when I look to the witch's spot.

There she is!

Staring at me.

Where did she come from? Why does she keep watching me?

"They are brain snatchers." Butter's words ring through my head — this time, I grab my pole and run.

I seethe with anger. Why does that blasted girl keep showing up? There is only a month left of summer, and she is getting in the way of my fishing. She wants to snatch my brain; otherwise, why does she keep coming and watching me?

It's the next day, and I am still pissed that I didn't get to fish yesterday. Stupid girl. This time, I will take the hounds with me. Surely, they will scare her off if she decides to come watch me again.

The hounds trot along my side, occasionally fighting with each other until we reach the pond. I never saw the correlation before, but they remind me of the Bumpuses -rowdy and always fighting.

No one is here. I stay alert as I scan the whole area. Is she hiding somewhere, waiting for me? Considerably out of breath, I take two hits of my inhaler. -Better. The hounds don't act like anyone is here but us. It must be safe to fish.

I lead them to my spot and sit, baiting my line. After my cast, I lean back. Tense. It's hard to relax. Her spot stays empty. If she shows up, the hounds will let me know.

I quickly remember why I don't like the dogs with me. They aren't fun to fish with because they keep walking over my line. They sit on my face. They crawl and drool all over me. They are loud and are going to scare the fish away. The line tangles in their feet. I have to loosen it. It sucks that I have to bring them. And of course, they keep getting into snarling fights with each other.