ReadFin Literary Journal (Winter 2018)

Still Lake
Chelsea McPherson
You stop at the edge of the lake. A cool wind blows from the north,
caressing your bare shoulders. Goosebumps prick your flesh and
you hug yourself just a little bit closer.
They told you to meet them here, at the Still Lake, at ten minutes
past midnight. And you are here, and there is nothing else. Just
the Still Lake and its serene, mirror-flat waters. The moon is full
and reflects off the lake’s very centre. Yet you can’t help but notice
there’s no stars reflecting. It is unnerving but you quash the urge
to run and never come back. You shouldn’t have listened. But you
did and now you’re here and now you can’t return to normalcy.
Something ripples in the lake’s centre, disturbing the moon’s
reflection. You blink; did you see that correctly? You shake your
head after nothing else happens. Surely, surely you were just
seeing things.
You turn your back to walk away, no longer frightened, just angry
and upset. You were fooled, led to believe someone or something
would be here…
Something cold and wet and long wraps around your throat and
you choke out what was supposed to be a scream. It squeezes and
pulls you back. You thrash and scrabble and claw at the shape
but it’s no use, you can’t break free. You feel the water soaking
through your shoes, seeping up your jeans, spreading up your
shirt. It rushes into your lungs and fills your vision and you begin
to flail, sobbing, breathing in more water. A low rumble resonates
through you, the grip around your throat tightens, and the pressure
on your body intensifies as the surface and the moon drift
further and further away.
It’s strange. Your body ripples with the water. Breathing has
become easier. And there is nothing but darkness around you. A
warm darkness, safe and comforting. And you can see the surface,
the sun shining through, despite being so far down. Voices fill
your eyes, and splashes vibrate against your body. You growl and
swim closer, hungry, saliva filling your mouth as you imagine
what it would be like to taste fresh meat.
Take them, a voice whispers in your mind as you see gently kicking
ankles. Hands break the surface every so often and laughter
makes you snarl. That voice, that sweet laugh with a condescending
undertone is familiar to you. Familiar makes rage rear its ugly
head in your heart.
You haven’t felt such a strong emotion since you abandoned your
human form. Or, well, since your human form was taken from you
and scattered to the silt at the bottom of Still Lake. And you want
someone to feel the same fear you did. You want them to hurt like
you did. But they won’t get the satisfaction of having your fate,
oh no. Because you like the strength. You like the power to take
revenge.
And as your jaws snap shut around the paddling ankle, you accept
the mantle of the Monster of Still Lake, and the blood tastes sickly
sweet on your tongue.
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ReadFin Literary Journal