Issue #77 : In Deep

Tyson doused the lantern hanging over his boat and looked out over the darkness of the lake. Other than the sliver of the moon and the headlights from the occasional car passing over on the bridge, there was no unnatural light anywhere. He eased back into his seat and waved his pole from side to side, dragging the bait through the water and trying to entice a bite. He would have to remember to tear Ricky a new one the next time he saw him for recommending this new model of lure. One fish in the bucket was not his definition of success.

Still, even if he was going to be headed for home with almost no fish, it was still peaceful to be out here. It centered him, sitting out here under the nighttime illumination. The lake was like a shimmering void that he floated across, taken only where the current and the wind took him.

As his his mind was wandering, he didn’t register the sound at first but when he heard it five minutes later, it made him sit up and take notice.

Something was scratching at the bottom of the boat.

It didn’t make any sense. He was too far away from shore for there to be any undergrowth down there. He fished these waters enough to know almost down to the foot how deep the water was underneath him. Someone must have dumped something into the lake that was now floating just underneath the boat. Idiot kids pitching God knew what out of the windows of their cars as they passed over.

Whatever it was, the sound ceased as the boat passed over it. Tyson picked up another can of beer and cracked it open, savoring the popping of the air being released and the smell that wafted up over him. He let his attention drift back to his line again and tried to let go of speculating about what could have been underneath his feet.

Movement along the shoreline caught his attention and he looked to see that a small pack of wolves had come up to the water’s edge and were stalking back and forth, staring out at him with eyes that glared in the moonlight and moving with what looked like a frantic, nervous energy. In his entire life he had never seen a single wolf around here, let alone a pack like this that looked like they were itching to bolt away from some unseen threat. Even out here on the water, he could hear their ragged breathing, see the mania in their eyes and for the first time in longer than he could remember, he found himself contemplating the rifle he kept stowed underneath the bench. Before he had the chance to start reaching for it, one of the wolves yelped, as if in pain, and the pack ran off together, in unison.

Thunder crashed overhead and he flinched at the sound. He had checked the radar before coming out here and had confirmed the beautiful weather that had been predicted. Nothing but clear skies and typical summer heat for the entire night. Another peel of thunder was closely followed by a streak of lightning across the sky and then silence.

Tyson lifted the can again and took a long drink. He noticed that his hand was shaking slightly and clenched his fist to keep himself from having to look at it. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to simply drop the line and make for land, to turn the light back on and call it a night. His pride was keeping him from doing any of that.

He shivered as a cold breeze came in over the boat, raising the skin on his arms. It was like a breath of air spilling over him, while something else was watching him, peering over his shoulder. The silence was broken by the sound of an animal shrieking, likely meeting its end out there somewhere. Needing a distraction, he reached down and twisted the knob on his prehistoric radio set. The tinny sound of big band jazz came filtering through the tiny little speaker. At least it gave him something to focus on, something else to think about.

Something, that was, other than the sensation that the boat was being pulled out, pushed away from the shore. It was just the natural currents, he told himself. He said this, even though he had never seen currents this strong. There was a thin line of wake left behind as the boat cut through the water and even though he wanted to tell himself that he had just caught another fish, he soon realized that the boat was being pulled in a direction opposite from where his pole was aimed.

The water around the boat began to roil and steam. The boat started to roll gently along with the newly increasing wake and before long, he was being rocked from side to side, having to brace himself against the sides of the boat to keep from falling off the bench.

The boat rolled, flipping him over with it and in a heartbeat was upside down, with him holding on to the bench, trying to keep his head up above water in the tiny pocket of air that had formed underneath. He looked down into the darkness of the water and saw them for the first time.

He saw legs.

They looked like elongated spider legs, rising up from the depth. They reached up for him and far beyond, still rising up from the murky water below, he could make out a pair of twin, glowing red eyes moving towards him. Before he could react, the legs shot up out of the water, took hold of him and pulled him down.

His lungs were already starting to burn and the water stung his eyes as he opened them, the full moon providing just enough illumination that he could make out the thing hovering in the water in front of him. It looked like it was the size of the cab of a pickup truck. The dark skin undulated in the water with the dozen or so legs protruding from the spherical body. Scaly legs gripped his head and began to force his mouth open. He resisted for as long as he could before lake water was rushing in and he felt the pain of multiple puncture wounds all up his arms and legs.

He had read about drowning feeling like falling asleep and as the thing in front of him continued to ensnare him and as he saw the widening mouth of razor sharp teeth coming at him, he welcomed the sensation of ebbing weightlessness and gave in as his eyes began to slide shut.

Waking up was not something he was prepared for.

He was lying on his back on the boat, the case of beer bottles now mostly empty and rolling around his feet. Tyson shook his head and set up, admonishing himself silently for not knowing better. Once he got started with the booze, there was no stopping and the result had been passing out with one of the worst dreams he had ever had.

The moon had long since passed the point where he would have normally started for home. He scratched at his arm as he reached back to start the motor, noticing for the first time the rash that was starting to break out on his arm. The itching was getting worse. He scratched harder, only vaguely worried about breaking through the skin in the process.

As the itching grew so intense it felt like his skin was on fire he saw that a blister was actually starting to form as well. He moved to touch it and drew back as it started to swell, as if air was being pumped into it and causing it to inflate. It had grown to he size of a golf ball before he raised a hand to slap at it.

Before he could, the skin ripped down the middle, like a shirt bursting open. Tyson yelled out as pain flared up his arm and from within the blood now gushing from his arm, a dozen tiny spider like legs burst out of the wound and was followed by a rounded dark colored body, a miniaturized version of what he had just seen in his dream. He swung a hand across and knocked the thing off his arm. It hit the bottom of the boat and slid all the way to the bow.

He began to feel the burning in his left arm and already another blister was forming. Skin along the base of his neck tore open and he felt another one of the things scampering up onto his head. He swatted at it, felt the tiny body crush, followed by the feeling of its blood trickling down his neck and back.

Tyson reached up and as he felt his cheeks start to push out on their own, as if something was shoving out from the inside. His tongue had started to swell and in an instant, he tasted a burst of blood flooding into his mouth along with the clambering of legs in his mouth, crawling out through his lips, while another set began forcing its way down his throat.

He fell back off the bench and tried to scream, but his throat had started to swell, constricting any kind of vocal cord response. Thrashing from side to side, clutching at his throat, he began to feel the insect sized legs clawing forth from his ears and his nose, clawing out from underneath his fingernails. He felt his skin tearing along his arms, legs, up his stomach and across his face. From the corner of his eye he could see that the bottom of his boat was now almost completely covered with the things.

In his dwindling moments, he saw the spider-like legs emerging from the water before dropping down onto the boat, taking up the tiny versions of itself in wide swipes, carrying its children from the boat and to their rightful home deep down, below the water’s surface.

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