Writing

Wow, when I first reread this at the end of June, it just blew me away! I’d forgotten about this story, but once I began reading it—not unlike the character in the story—I began remembering things… creepy, unsettling things. Well, about the story. But not all of it! I was thinking about placing this in November… then, when I finished reading it, I just had to place it sooner.

I love these kinds of stories!

I think you’ll see what I mean once you get into it—and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! There are several instances in this story that are taken from real life: the scene where the character remembers a childhood moment about getting out in the rain to use a restroom and that talk about lights on the pavement—I still remember that moment as a kid as I was the one doing it…remember the lights sparkling on the late-night/early morning pavement; the talk about Dr Pepper…yup remember that day; the time my dad and us went camping on a small island—also true. I also remember at least one—maybe two?—times we went to a KOA.

And the van. Well, that’s taken from a time when I was a kid returning from swimming at the lake across from our house and a van pulled up before me…”asking for directions.” A guy opened the rear sliding door and leaned out to me in a really creepy mode and I suddenly felt quite uncomfortable. You have to understand that where we lived we got stopped many times during the summer and were asked for directions, mainly from Canadians, but never had I ever felt uncomfortable. This time I did. And there were three guys in the van. Right about then, my dad comes purposefully striding down our crushed-stone driveway with a mattock in one hand. “Can I help you boys with something?” my dad calls out from across the road.

They suddenly forgot their question. Sped off.

Years later I asked my dad about that situation and he said he’d asked his State Trooper buddies and they told him they’d found that van down the road a way, abandoned. That it had been stolen.

This story has never been published.

 

What Dreams Are Made Of

© F. P. Dorchak, 1994

 

Wake up, Harry, time to go!

Words that were more than a distant echo, they were pain. I tossed about, caught in blankets that refused release. It seemed an eternity before I finally broke free. It was so comfortable, the warmth of my bed. So unyielding.

Let’s go, Harry—

The words again. Do I know the speaker? I feel I should. Where am I? What time is it?

Summer. That’s right—summer. The first day of summer vacation. I’m home from my first year at Syracuse. Damn, but how those finals twisted your thinking around, getting you to believe there’s nothing outside of school. Nichts. Professors’d have you believe there’s only English Lit, Physics I (and lab), German for Beginners, and any of a number of other courses you’d rather forget. I’ve got big plans, so I bulked up this year. Twenty-one credits. It nearly killed me.

Where am I?

I open my eyes to find it dark, and feel movement. We’re in a car…but I just thought I was at home—the bed, the blankets—

It’s raining outside, a constant, soaking rain. A comforting sound if you’ve ever just listened to it.

I’m so tired!

The voice stops calling me, but reminds me of a time when I was a kid, about thirteen, I think. My dad and us would all pile into that red station wagon of ours at one in the morning. Our big vacation down into Pennsylvania. Amish country. We’d drive straight through, stopping only for potty breaks. Once we stopped at a gas station early one morning. It was also dark and raining. Dad had stopped and Mom had asked us (there were four of us) if we’d needed to use the rest rooms. My sister and I had, and we’d sprinted through the rain until we made shelter, did our business, then sprinted back. I thought how neat it had looked, lights sprinkled across the damp, rain-pockmarked pavement. The fact that it was maybe three in the morning, and the rest of the world was still snuggled away in bed. It was so peaceful, so mystical.

But now I’m traveling down an unknown road with my dad behind the wheel, and Mom, no doubt (because I haven’t actually gotten around to poking up my head yet), sitting against him, eyes closed; drinking in the steady hum and rock of the station wagon, as was I.

But I need to get my act together.

When did I get here? I remember how we’d talked about taking a trip when I got back from college, all of us, but I also remember something else, just outside the memories. I wasn’t coming straight back after school. I was going somewhere else first…a party. Yes, that’s what it was. There had been this party someone I knew was throwing, or maybe not someone I knew…but there was this party I was to go to. Only then was I going to begin my trip north…hitchhiking…to my home at Dead Bog Lake. Despite its name, a beautiful, deep lake that we lived directly across from, complete with boathouse and lakefront property. Dark waters. My dad’s a Forest Ranger. Mom works as an Administrative Assistant down at Land’s End, a rich folk’s estate. But something doesn’t feel right…isn’t complete…like I’m missing a crucial part to some puzzle.

Have I remembered something wrong?

The car’s slowing. We’re coming to a stop. Potty break. Not for me; I don’t have to go this time.

It’s still raining.

 

We’ve been going for several hours now, and I lift my head. Dad’s driving, his right arm around Mom, who’s fast asleep. He and Mom are all wet, as I notice, I am too. The car pleasantly smells of Borkum Riff pipe tobacco, the only brand my dad used. Smoking’s supposed to be bad for you, but I love that smell, especially that brand. Besides, he’s my dad; he’ll live forever.

“Almost there, Son,” my dad calls back. His voice brings out such deep emotional tones from me. I wonder where the rest of us are: Stephen, John—Lindsey. Is it just me on this trip? I guess they all had other commitments. It’s been a while since I’ve seen my folks—about a year. Christmas vacation I had to spend at an apprenticeship downstate. I didn’t mind—I knew I’d see everybody soon enough, and this was school—my first year, as I’ve already said. My first year as—

(how could I have forgotten?)

The car again slows. Mom’s up. She turns around to look at me, strands of hair matted against her face. She looks as if she’s been crying, but her voice betrays no such emotion. “Hello, dear,” she says, “did you have a good nap?”

“Sure did, Ma,” I say, pleasantly. Her voice also makes me feel warm. I’m happy to be home again. Feels like I haven’t been this warm in a while. After all, don’t know the next time we’ll be together. Like I’ve said before, I’ve got big plans for yours truly….

“Well,” continues Mom, turning back to the front, “we’re here.”

“That’s right,” Dad agrees.

God, I love that tobacco. Cancer or no cancer, it’s a comfortable smell. Brings back warm, cathartic memories: fireplaces, Dad-talks and walks. Fishing. Lord, how it’s so easy to get wrapped up in

(blankets)

studies. School. Fucking finals just throw your life all to hell. But that’s past. We’re on vacation now. Just the three

(where are the others?)

of us.

 

We unload the wagon. Still, it’s raining. Heavily clouded—like we’re going to get squashed between heaven and earth—

It’s a beautiful day.

There’s no one else around. That’s fine, we’re not here to see others. It’s funny that there was only this one old man at the KOA entrance. No one anywhere else. The man had no teeth, it looked like, but a big fat grin. Pulpy face. “Thirty bucks,” he’d grunted. Dad gave him the cash and we found a spot.

“Hey, young man,” my dad shouts out over the top of the car as I reach over to unload, “you sit your butt down. This is your vacation. Let your mother and I do the work. You’ve done quite enough already!”

For some unnerving reason, I don’t quite know how to take that, but okay, I say, and pick out a stump. I almost fall down. My feet are tangled in that damned blanket again. Christ. But the blanket reminds me of the time we went down to Gettysburg, Pee-Aee. We’d stopped along the road one sunny day at a rather large rest area. Mom had pulled out a blanket—probably this very same one—and spread it out over the grass. We sat under a large shade tree. Dad had gone to the soda machine and spent his change getting all six of us sodas.

Dr Pepper. I love Dr Pepper.

Ah, vacations. I wonder how many more I’ll get to go on before I’ve become part of The Working Class. Before—if and when—I ever have a family of my own.

Now there’s a thought.

 

The tent’s all set up and the rain pummels us harder. Dad started a fire that managed to keep itself going despite the downpour, and Mom was busy cooking fish we’d caught after making camp. I love the smell of roasting trout.

“You couldn’t have picked a nicer day, dear,” Mom said, beaming to Dad. Thunder rumbled its throaty growl across a fractured, purple sky.

“Yep, well, I try to get God to bend an ear every now and then.”

They laugh, and Mom curiously eyes Dad. I didn’t for some reason; something still nags at me. It had to do with that party, I think. I’m not really sure, and that bugs me. What went on there? Where was it? Did I even make it? Why is everything so damned hazy? I need to sort things out.

“Mom; Dad; I need to take a walk.”

They both look at me like I’d slashed my wrists or something.

“Honey,” Mom suggests, her voice quivering, “how about we go with you? I mean…how often do we get to see you? You know? You’re away in college; probably take another apprenticeship—who knows?”

I reconsider. She has a point. Anyway, I guess I really wouldn’t mind the company, but I shiver. “Okay.”

Mom and Dad are back to smiles.

“It’s a beautiful evening for a stroll, anyway!” my dad boasts, large drops of water still raging down from an angry sky.

 

We walk. Mom and Dad are in front of me some. I hold back. They’re like lovers rediscovering romance. That’s cool. I don’t have a girlfriend. A couple girls I boinked back in school, but that’s about it. Lookers, too. Well, one was more homely-looking than the others, but, boy, the largest set of knockers. She had this red hair and cute freckles. I met her while working the information booth at the student union. Her name was Anna, and she was also new, looking for some information about movies and stuff. One thing led to another, and we ended up doing the nasty. She had the largest, deepest brown eyes. So understanding and open. God, how I suddenly miss them. I couldn’t loved her. I can’t wait to get back to her. But summer came, and she went to her home in the Catskills and I headed north to the Adirondacks.

North.

To that party.

I’d hitchhiked. Didn’t tell my folks, they wouldn’t have approved. Shit, my dad’s a Forest Ranger, next best thing to a cop up there; a gun, cuffs, and everything. Ranger of the woods. They didn’t always carry ’em, the guns and handcuffs. I can remember when he told me how scary—my word, not his; I don’t remember what he used—it was to him that they were told they had to. Was a big change for The Department. That and all those Coll-edge boys. They’re taking over the place, he complained. Don’t know a damned thing about the woods, but sure are makin policy.

So I get this ride north. Actually more than one, it’s a bit of a ride by the speed limit—which is about all you can do with all those damned troopers out there. They just keep spilling out of the State Police Academy. Thicker’n gnats on a hot summer’s evening, Dad says. Uckers—

That’s when I fall. Now, I mean, following my folks. I tripped over a log I wasn’t paying attention to.

(what’s so important about the log?)

Mom and Dad hear me tumble and turn to me in wide-eyed horror. Rush to my side.

“You okay, Son?” Dad asks, hastily checking me over. Mom’s examining my face, wrists, and ankles. She used to be a nurse.

“You look okay. How do you feel?” she asks.

I start laughing. “I’m fine, Mom! I just wasn’t watching where I was going, that’s all.”

“Well you should know better than that, young man, or there won’t be a next time,” Dad spit. His face was set. Puffed and angered.

“Now, Lloyd, there’s no need to get all out of sorts. It was a simple mistake. You can’t fault him for lack of judgment. He’s young—still learning.”

“Just think what could’ve happened!” he insists.

“But nothing did…here,” Mom said. She brought a hand to his face, trying to calm him down.

“Dad—I’m all right, really. Remember that time I put my hand through that door window—the facial cuts looked worse than they w—”

“These ain’t no facial cuts, dammit.”

“Okay, okay,” I say, “I’ll be more careful next time, all right?” I pick myself up and brush off the mud. After all, it’s still raining, though more of a drizzle now. Mom pulls Dad away. I see the fire in his eyes. Why all the fuss? All I did was trip. Over a

(familiar)

log

Sheesh.

 

We complete our walk and return to our camp. Water has already started to build up around it. It’s late now, so we hit the sack, but I don’t sleep well. I feel this constriction around my neck, but each time I reach to loosen it, there’s nothing there. I lay on my stomach to look out our tent, into the night, and wonder what’s out there. I listen to that pleasant pitter-patter of rain and watch the drops splash in the water about the tent. Don’t touch the sides of the tent, my Dad used to say, it’ll kill the waterproof. I don’t. It’s so quiet. So peaceful. The smell of wet things and rain. I feel at home. How strange, I’ve never been here before—or have I? Doesn’t really matter does it? I mean, vacation is vacation, whether or not you’ve been there before. I like it here. We’re by ourselves.

What more could you ask for?

 

I must have finally dozed off last night, because I’m the last to get up. The rain has let up some, and is now only a misty drizzle, but water is everywhere…like an enormous wading pool. I pushed myself up out of it and exit the tent.

“Good morning, hon!” Mom greets. She’s already getting a start on the day, clad in a swim suit on a reclining lawn chair. She’s holding a sun reflector under her chin. I notice how the water mists on the reflector under her neck and get that eerie feeling again.

“Good morning, Son,” Dad says. He’s cooking up fish and bacon, but it smells funny. The day feels thick and I feel sluggish. Just a little weak. I look down to my feet before I walk any farther and see that damned blanket again wrapped around my ankles. I caught it this time so I don’t fall. Dad ought to like that.

“What would you like to do today, honey?” Mom asks.

“Gee, I really haven’t given it much thought, Mom.”

“Well, you better start giving it some thought, mister, or your vacation’ll be over before you know it. Do you want that?” Dad asks.

Do you really want that?

Suddenly I’m no longer hungry. All I want is a Dr Pepper.

“There’s one in the cooler, dear,” Mom says. I get it. It’s in a bottle. An old, crusty one with dirt encrusted under the cap’s lip.

“I didn’t know they made these in bottles anymore,” I say.

Mom looks up at me, kind of queerly, and says, “oh, they don’t.” She says it just like I should have known better. Sitting down on a large log by the campfire, I

(logs)

watch Dad.

“Be careful not to fall over that thing,” he says severely, looking over a shoulder and shuttling the fire.

“Oh, Lloyd, take it easy on the boy,” Mom counters, and he mumbles something under his breath. Dad’s only toying with the fish now.

“Dad, uh, are you going to eat that?” I ask.

“No, at least I hadn’t planned on it.”

“What’s that with it? Bacon?”

“No.”

“What is it?”

“It’s…it’s seaweed, okay? Kelp.”

(seaweed)

“It adds…flavor…to the fish. It’s something I learned in the Navy.”

Oh, I nod. Some things are better left unasked.

 

After not eating breakfast, we go off for our hike into the rain-soaked woods. Mom and Dad, instead of being close to each other, this time are very much apart. Carrying on a discussion that they tried not to let me in on, but I still catch in pieces.

“…but it’s a vacation, dear,” she whisper’s. “Who cares?” Dad says, “it’s only going to end—then we’ll all have to go back home. Go back to the way things are.” “So?” Mom says, “what’s the difference? What’s done is done. We’ll have next year.” “Sure,” Dad says, but then I lose track of what they’re saying and remember another trip we’d taken. A canoe trip. Just Dad and us kids. Fish Creek I think? We’d canoed out to a small island and set up camp. All the essentials taken care of, we set out swimming around the island. Well, more like snorkeling. Dad was right there in the water with us. It was a dark, sandy shore. Smooth, silky, water.

(feels so familiar)

It felt great. We just drifted. Became one with the water.

(why do I feel so uncomfortable?)

Later in the day we hung out in the tent, and the sky began to howl rain down upon us in sheets. We were situated under trees, but the force of the rain was incredible. It shook our tent, sent little tributaries of water inside the fabric along the seams. Water rushed down on all sides of our little shelter and we got scared. Dad asked us if we wanted to stay. We chickened out. The rain let up and we broke camp and hightailed it back to the truck across rough open water before it again opened up on us.

Rain.

(rain rain go away come again another)

Party.

Water.

I shake with a sudden, tremendous awareness.

I remember my hitchhike now.

I remember two men—and a woman. A van. A ragged, rusty-looking thing that seemed to have weeds or

(kelp)

hanging from it. Had I known it was so ragged looking I wouldn’t have stuck out my thumb, but it was getting dark that day and I was almost home. Hell, I thought, one more try. They’d stopped, and the guy in the back slid open the side door. There was a strange look to his eyes. I felt

(like I do now)

uncomfortable. But I was already there, know what I mean? No turning back. Tough guy…can handle myself. That’s when I hear this female behind him telling him to either let me in or to close the fucking door. I get in. Mistake number one. I smell incense. I’ve always hated the smell of the stuff. She’s in the back, in a dark corner, and when she sees me, comes out. She liked me. Thought I was cute. As we drive, I tell them about this party I’d gone to. They tell me about another.

Where? I ask.

Dead Bog, they tell me.

Really? You from there?

From around there, they say. Wanna come?

I-I don’t know, I stammer. I really should just get home.

You nervous? the girl asks. She’s pretty fine looking under those haggard eyes and ratty hair and clothes. I notice what looks like an old, deteriorated cameo choker of some kind around her throat. Her breasts float out from under her blouse as she leans over to me. I swallow hard. I mean hard. No, I reply.

Well, good, we wouldn’t want that, now, would we? she says.

Just then the guy in the back with us whispers into her ear. She smiles, one of her hands caressing a nipple. I look away. I definitely feel like I got myself into something I shouldn’t have. Hey, I say, you can let me off anywhere you want, you know. I wouldn’t want to be a bother. It’s not much farther, and—

The girl comes over and puts an arm around me. Her body brushes up against mine. We have something we’d really like to show you, she says. At first I swear she’s cold, a friggin damp cold, but that quickly passed as I saw more dark nipple. Her breath smelled of something I couldn’t quite put a finger on, but was, it turned out, alarmingly arousing. Her eyes were dark slits of seduction.

No bother, Harry, they say, we’re your friends. Don’t you like us?

Ah, sure, I say. Sure.

We can be pretty friendly, she says.

Sure.

I want her. There’s something incredibly erotic about the way she moves. Breathes.

Now just relax, and we’ll all have a good time at this party of ours. I’m just going to change, she says. No prob’lem, I say, but before I realize it, she’s stripping down before me, keeping her eyes on me. She lifts a finger to her lips, lips I suddenly feel very much like eating…biting right out of her mouth. I watch as her lips part and she places the finger between them, hooking her lower teeth. I become her finger and feel her lips wrap around me. Watch and feel their moisture as she sucks, closes her eyes. I want her so much it hurts, but remember the guy who’s in back with us. I think back to my family and wonder how I got into this mess. I feel hopelessly distanced from my life. My mom and dad, brothers and sister. None of this feels right. None of it. But I’m aroused, painfully aroused, and need more. She’s naked, now, openly flirting with me. I know the guy’s watching, but I can’t help myself. Her body is smooth and available and I want her in the most evil of ways and I no longer care if he’s there. I need those lips. For real. Those breasts. I want whatever it is she has, and I’ll pay whatever price she demands.

She leans back, knees teasing back and forth, breasts falling comfortably to their places. She stares at me. Begins to run her finger about her body. Inside and outside of places. Her scent is heady. I think of Mom. Would she approve of what I’m about to do? Would Dad take me outside and slap me on the back and say, “Hey, way to go, stud!“?

You sure you don’t want some? the girl teases. She doesn’t have to read my mind. I no longer mind the incense. Before I know it, she’s brushing her finger under my lips. Around them. I shut my eyes, drugged by her touch.

Fuck, I’d kill for her.

Gently she presses her finger between my lips and wedges it in…again forming that hook. I’m so drunk with her I can’t see straight. I grab hold of her and try to force myself upon her, but she holds me back. Slowly, she says, but I don’t want slowly.

I seem to have lost consciousness as my heart pounds up into my throat. I feel like I’m suffocating and suddenly find the girl atop me, her hair flying wildly about her, almost floating. She moans; gyrates. Claws at me. Then she explodes…and I explode with her….

 

I am jolted back to my walk. Dad and Mom are sitting on a stump holding hands and looking at me. Really looking at me. I feel guilty, like they know my thoughts. Had I really done that? Had I really—and do they know?

They get up and walk away. I feel like shit.

God, it’s all coming back to me. Those people. That van. That party; a party I should never have gone to. I stand up shakily. I don’t feel right. I raise a hand to my face and wipe away the water that runs down it. I trace my face and neck and flinch. There’s a painful, ringed area around my throat. I can’t see it, of course, but I do feel it. That girl…raped me. Those people…I was seduced. They—

Aren’t human. Something about them was…is…will always be…wrong.

I looked around for my parents, but they already head back for camp; Dad with his head down, Mom casting me a backward glance. She pulls Dad into her and cradles his head against her.

What’s wrong? I wonder. What did I do?

I sit there for some time before heading back. The rain’s stronger and colder. Like little knives raining down from the sky. The water’s up to my knees now and I schlosh through it. My sneakers are swollen and heavy. Water is everywhere, rising higher. It’s like a shallow lake with bushes and trees sticking out from it. Me. But I need to remember more. That girl…whatever she was…is…continued to attack me—

Or had I attacked her?

Oh, how I was intoxicated with her! Her scent! I could smell her passion like a beast in heat. Even now, when I remember how her body moved, I feel an instant need to have her. Seek her out and take her as no man has ever taken anyone before. I want her—and the pain.

She taunts.

 

Finally we had gotten to Dead Bog Lake, and their party; down through a windy, shaded road. I felt strangely nostalgic as we passed my house, lights on in the kitchen. I saw a shadow at one of the windows and felt sad, like I’d never see them again…yet I had her.

That’s all I really needed.

We drove to the outskirts of town, well, actually a township—a hamlet—until just before the outlet. There’s a strong, fishy smell to the air. We pull into a driveway and there’s all sorts of vehicles, all kinds of people. And all the vehicles look as did the one I came in. Decayed and rusted. Covered in vegetation. As we stop, the others, The Three, as I came to call them, pile out of the van, and I’m left sitting in it alone, staring out into the mass of people, bonfire, and booze. The party feels odd. Smells corrupt. I try to get a good look at some of the people, but it’s difficult. It’s dark now, and the voices seem a jumble. Where is that girl—I don’t even know her name.

How had things gotten so out of control?

I stumble out of the van and lean against it for a moment. I could just keep walking…right on up that road…to home…with the golden kitchen lights and my parents waiting up for me. They think I’m still on the road.

Again the guilt.

Home was so close, yet this woman and her seduction much closer. I hear my name and spot her. She’s waving for me. This isn’t right, isn’t right at all. Things are feeling more and more absurd, more remote as moments pass. I feel a sudden urgency to run—to just get the hell out of there and as quickly as fucking possible. I feel a dark shape stalking me from the shadows. Huge, looming, and thirsty. Burrowing into my deepest, most recessed and cobwebbed of places, and find it difficult to breathe. Thunder cracks out along the darkened sky. Deep, drawn-out rumblings that seem to go on forever.

Mistake number two, I follow after this girl.

She is just as naked as when I last saw her. She moves her hips in wicked, sinful ways further igniting my lust. A man grabs her and they disappear from view. I rage! I must have her, my body screams, and I lunge after her. I will kill that man. I will rip apart his body!

But I’d lost them. My head spins.

I need her. I MUST HAVE HER!

I stumble about. Cannot see clearly. A red haze blinds me and grips my senses. All I can picture is her body, wrapped around that man.

Hear.

Her crazed desire.

I lash out, wanting to give her nothing but pure pain.

Little deaths, I laugh, I’ll give her many.

I push through the crowd, bellowing my passion and anger. I hit shapes that were supposed to be people, but feel funny and soft. Bloated. I didn’t care. I’m insane for her. My name is sung above the rising storm, above the din and clatter of the party, and I follow it down to the lake shore. To where I spot her, indeed wrapped around that man, their bodies rocking in the sand. Her screams are the only sounds I hear. My head splits with jealous furor! I shake with anticipation of tasting blood. His blood. I will slowly rend that man’s flesh from his bones.

When a sudden thought strikes me cold: what would my parents think?

God—what do I care?

But as I continue forward, I begin to slow. My head hangs heavy for my conscience is strong.

What have I become? What in God’s name have I become?

I look up and find her alone. Gyrating like Mata Hari. Teasing. Again. I try to look away, but cannot. I try to walk back to the road, the one behind me and a million miles away. But I…can’t….

Sorry, Mom.

Dad.

 

I shake the memory from my mind. I’m back at camp with my mother and father, aghast of my recollections. I can barely believe them. The water is chest level, now, and Mom and Dad are sitting by the station wagon staring at me. I go to them. Maybe I don’t need to know everything. Maybe I can still enjoy what’s left of our vacation. I mean, how often do we get together? What’s done is done, right?

“Mom; Dad,” I begin, but they just stare at me. I don’t finish what’s on my mind. Something is lost between us. They look worn out and wasted. The water continues to rise; the downpour steady and forceful.

“It’s a good day, isn’t it?” Mom finally says to Dad. Her words are flat. Two-dimensional. Dad merely nods. “Remember more,” he says to me. “Go on.” Then he hands me a plate of whole, raw fish on a bed of kelp.

I scrunch my brow together. “Why?”

“Because you’re going to anyway.”

“What’s happening?”

“Everything. Let’s go inside, dear,” Dad says to Mom, and they disappear beneath the water and enter the tent. I’m left alone.

I remember it all, all right, and I’m angry. They tricked me, just like everyone else at that party. Like they tricked—

 

I want to go home, I tell that devil-woman back at the party.

You’re not going anywhere, she hisses back.

You can’t keep me here, I say, and begin to leave—but she grabs me. I’m spun around, and no longer is she the seductress I knew, but a bloated, distended horror. I can’t even tell if it was a male or female corpse I stared into the empty eye sockets of.

We’re not done with you yet, he/she/it seethes.

I see things crawl beneath her skin. I scream. The others are upon me. I reach up to push them off, but my hands sink into bloated and stinking flesh. I am forced to the wet, muddy ground. Hands are all over me, tearing off my clothes…she—it—straddles atop me. I want to die. Please, God, just die.

What’s the matter, she gurgles, you no longer want to kill for me?

I freeze. She brings her lips down to mine—I cannot take this! Kill me! KILL me! What are you?

They laugh. We cannot tell you, they say, laughing, but we’d really like to show you—

Out from behind my vision, a large water-soaked log is dragged. A noose is fastened around my neck and attached to the log.

We can’t wait to have you in our little family—

 

I no longer want to think. I sit at the camp, the water now over my head. I’m still holding the plate of fish Dad gave me. I no longer fear the water, for now I know it’s coming back to claim me. Mom and Dad are out of the tent, plowing through the water like nothing’s going on.

“Hello, dear,” Mom says. “Would you like some dessert? Fish?”

I jump to my feet and toss away the plate in anger. My mother looks to me, saddened.

“Well, I guess that’s it, then,” she says, and she sighs and goes back to my father, who seems to be crying, but I can’t tell because of all the water. We’re a part of it now.

I feel heavy.

I try to go after my parents as they return to the van, but find I can’t. There’s a log tied to my neck. It’s heavy and I have many rope burns. I try to loosen it, but it’s impossible. All I can do is watch as my parents pack up and leave.

Didn’t we arrive in a station wagon?

I sit back down, log lashed to my throat, and watch them disappear into the murky, underwater distance. Then I see others. Three others. I grow cold. Shiver. I know them. As they get closer, they beckon. They are The Three. Reclaiming me. I get up to follow them and find I am not at the campground, but Dead Bog Lake. To where I’ve always been. It was a dream. All of it. A vacation from the bottom of its dark and cursed waters. I awaken to my place among the fish and the seaweed. Where my feet are eternally tangled.

(no blanket)

Where the log keeps me.

(no more tripping and falling)

Where my old, dirt-filled Dr Pepper bottle lies directly before my own dead and glassy eyes.

(no more coolers)

And now I know things. About this lake. About my new family and my new life. The girl and the guy in the back of the van drowned in 1807. A canoeing accident. The driver of the van drowned in 1973. Drunk, he’d driven off an embankment into the lake. And the old man at the KOA? He’d killed someone back in ’51. Robbed a man for thirty bucks, only to be tracked down and killed by the kin, then thrown into the dark, slippery waters. The party was bait, as were The Three. As I will be so used. Bait for the lake to reel in more. Set its hooks. A lake with a dark, unspeakable hunger.

And once the taste of meat is acquired, it’s a hard thing to shake.

 

Short Story Links

Links to all my posted short stories are here.