Something horrible lives on the edge of the lake.

“Dad wake up. I heard a noise upstairs”

The child was gripping his father by the shoulders, straining to shake him awake. The man was lying spread out on his double mattress, under soft cotton sheets, and was snoring gently. He awoke with a cough that startled the boy and then opened his eyes wide in the midnight of the room.

“What’s the matter lad?” he whispered apprehensively.

“I heard a noise above my room. It was like creaking or groaning or something.” The boy’s whispering was loud, and his breathing rapid.

“Oh, that.” The father replied, flicking the bedside light on. “Here jump into the bed with me.”

Squinting and frowning in the new light, the boy hopped in, asking “But dad, what is it?”

His father smirked in thought for a moment. “Never mind that now. But let me tell you a story.”

***

Curled up in a ball, softly breathing through his nose, sitting in the dark, Arthur waited. Shivers ran through him as he grinned ear to ear. This was one of his best spots yet. During yesterday’s lunch break, he had scouted out the perfect place to hide from the skylight window.

Suddenly breaking the silence, the room erupted in the noise of chatting and laughing teachers. Still little Arthur did not move a muscle, barely daring to breathe. Especially when Mr Ackworth and another teacher walked over, chatting, standing next to his cozy cabinet.

Minutes passed as Arthur eagerly listened to stories and greedily peeked through the cabinet door for a glimpse of the lower halves of all his favourite teachers. But then, a teacher whose voice he did not recognise began chatting with Mr Ackworth, it was the hushed nature of this unknown teacher that caused Arthur to focus on him.

“So, I decided to take the raft out onto the water last night to see if I could catch a glimpse of it.” His voice sounded like gravel underfoot. “Waiting in the dark, the hours passed by in silence.” Mr Ackworth leaned in, patiently waiting to hear the whole story. “After spending hours scanning the lake bank, the shadows of the brambles and trees started to form wicked shapes. Every gust of wind looked like the movement of a monster to me.” Inside the cabinet Arthur pressed his ear up to try and make out the words that had become so secretive.

“Just as the air chilled further and I was considering paddling back to village shore, it was a sudden snapping noise that made me jump my attention to the bank. Before I knew it there were twigs breaking, branches snapping, a hurried rushing somewhere on the east bank. I strained my eyes to see across the darkened water but saw nothing. Until I heard it drinking. Slurping. Gulping. It was a greedy and sickening noise. It was splashing around in the water as it drunk. But alas I could not see it’s figure or outline as there was some distance between it and I and it was a dark night with clouded sky. Only when it looked up did I see clearly, it’s eyes. It’s dead eyes. White and empty of life, staring into mine. But then it fled away, crashing away through the foliage as it went. Its silhouette revealed that it was bigger than twice the size of the biggest dog. But listen, I am almost certain although I cannot be sure, it fled on two legs not four. Make no mistake, something horrible lives on the edge of the lake.”

Arthur gasped and immediately threw his hand to his mouth to silence the noise. Was it true? He had swum in the lake every summer for has long as he had known, innocent to any dangers or creatures. The thought he might have been so close to something so scary made him shudder. What could this strange man have wanted to try to spot a thing like that? Arthur held his breath to hear Mr Ackworth respond.

“Goodness, it is true then. I remember back when I was a boy growing up here in the village 60 years ago, the older children would tell stories of the thing living across lake. Goodness gracious it is so hard to remember those stories now.” Ackworth was the oldest teacher in the school, and maybe even one of the oldest of the village. Arthur especially favoured Mr Ackworth as he would never get angry at him for misbehaving, although the thought of disappointing him normally meant that Arthur would always try his best in Ackworth’s classes. “Yes, I remember now! The old story. It was said to live deep inside a cave. It was said that it had been living there since the time of when the first settlers built the village, and deep in the lowest crevasses of the cave is the secret to how the creature has been living for so long.”

By the time all the teachers had cleared out, and Arthur had counted to 10 to make sure it was absolutely safe to leave the cabinet, his joints were aching terribly and his stomach rumbled with a vengeance.

***

The door opened to a woman standing over a bubbling pot. Her bones protruded from her thin skin, and she wore loose grey-brown rags for clothes. Her eyes, glazed and dim, stared ahead at nothing, but the noise of the boy at the door startled life back into them.

“Mother! Go lie back down on the bed, you shouldn’t be up working in your condition.”

“Do not be so silly, I can still make your food every day, always have done.” She wobbled slightly on her feet, but the boy rushed to her sensing the imminent danger. After making sure she had her balance he grabbed a chipped wooden stool and told her to sit, which she did without objection. He frowned, looking around to see what else he could do for her. There single-roomed cottage was looking more unkept than usual. The bed they shared was stained and unmade and there were dirty rags scattered around the floor.

“Leave me now, unpack your things and tell me about school. I am fine. Promise.” Her voice was hoarse but strong.

He smiled uneasily but then did as she said. Taking off his worn jacket and dusty shoes. “Today was normal.”

“Nonetheless I want to know.”

“Oh there was one thing. I spied on the teachers today at lunch. It was great, they had no idea where I was hiding the whole time.” Upon remembering his midday adventure, he began telling her, speaking quickly and loudly, trying to tell his mother everything so she could see how brave he was. She cut in.

“Very clever Arthur but how many times must we go over this? You have to stop breaking the rules.”

Arthur kept pressing wanting to fully win her over “But mother there is no rule against hiding. Plus, it didn’t hurt anyone, so I don’t see the problem with it.”

As she tried to respond his mother stood up to fetch the potatoes from the corner of the room, but no words came out. The exertion of standing had been enough to push her body over her limit, and she collapsed onto the boiling pot of soup, spilling it up into the air and onto her ragged clothing and skin.

She screamed in agony and her son screamed in fear. He helped rip her clothes off as she writhed around on the floor. She kicked and flung her arms around herself attempting to shake off the pain, but suddenly stopped moving altogether, and the noise stopped too.

Arthur tried to shake his mother awake for a full minute, begging her to wake up. After that he decided to run for the village doctor across the other side of the village.

***

He sat alone in the centre of the room where only hours before he had witnessed her collapse. As day became night his wet face began to dry and his sobs began to ease. And then silently he stood up and began to get dressed. After putting on his coat, a thick oversized one, and his boots, also oversized, he took the single lamp in the cottage and left.

As he walked to the edge of the village the air seemed colder, and the people seemed more distant. It felt as if there was a hole in his stomach, and with each step the hole grew deeper, until by the end of the walk the hole had consumed him and leaving him empty. He smelt the damp soil and listened to the lapping of soft waves as he looked out across the dark water.

He knew where the rafts were kept. And in a village as small as this, no one would be keeping an eye on them. So, untying one, grabbing an oar, and pushing it out onto the lake was easy. But adrift and slowly gliding deeper into the centre of the lake, was when the first seeds of doubt began to form.

The village shore was the only section of the lake shore that was not surrounded by dense forest that towered high. And the massive expanse of the lake was more than triple the size of the village wheat fields. So, in the centre of the lake, which is where Arthur soon found himself, all that could be seen was fog and the silhouette of the giant trees all around. Wind blew against his face, turning his ears and nose red. He thought of his mother and allowed the hole that had been created inside him to be filled with courage, paddling the raft forward into the mist and towards what he thought was the east bank.

He paddled deeper into the mist, the moisture clinging at his skin. The smell of rotting flesh began to tickle at his nose. Each gentle splash of the paddle against the water, brought the rancid smell closer. Then the east bank was in sight, and Arthur carefully unwrapped his lamp from the rags he had used to keep it dry. He lit the lap with his matches and held it with his left hand high over his head. Using the new light he scanned methodically the east bank, desperate to find the entrance to the cave he had heard his teacher talk about, desperate for the story to be true. But if it is true. Then it would be true. His left arm holding the lamp began shaking and it took all Arthur’s might to try and stop it.

He could not see any entrance to the cave, so decided instead to follow his nose. Arthur paddled in reluctance towards the odour of decay. Before long, the smell had become overwhelming, and this is when Arthur noticed the amber light from the lamp reflect off a large outcropping of stone. And in the dim flickering Arthur made out the cave’s mouth and the pitch blackness inside. The cave was enterable by his raft, and it looked as if he would have to paddle in.

The boy took a deep breath, as if about to go underwater, and then he made a large stroke with his oar, and pushed himself through the mouth of the cave, into the darkness inside. It was silent but for the echoing of dripping and the soft crackling of the lamp. He sucked in a breath, gagging on the rancid air that drenched the place. Suddenly he was thrown from the raft as it was brought to an immediate stop. His body slammed flat against something hard and wet, and the lamp was sent crashing out of his hand. The smash echoed in the now complete darkness, ringing against the walls and down into the cave.

Curled up in a ball, barely breathing, he waited in the dark. He clamped his hand over his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. Arthur stayed that way, listening to the dripping in the dark for what seemed like hours. Gradually he uncurled. Squinting, he saw that the raft had hit the rock ground he was now on, and just behind him, a shadowy passageway descended down into the floor. Mr Ackworth said what I needed to help mother was in the deepest part of the cave. Arthur held his arms out in front of him and stumbled forward, stepping down into the passageway. It wasn’t long before he couldn’t even see his own hands in front of himself, but he continued down one step at a time.

Arthur stepped forward into something squishy and felt his feet become wet and cold. The thing he had stepped on let out a sloppy crunch. He squealed and soon his face was warm with tears. As he went on there were more crunches underfoot, causing him to slip on the mushy ground. The boy’s fingers found the smooth stone wall enclosing the passage, and he used it to keep his balance as he descended. But then he felt something unexpected on the wall that made him gasp.

It felt like rope. Course and knotted thickly but he was certain of the feel. Gripping the rope out of instinct he held tightly to it for safety. He followed the rope, that was suspended somehow against the wall, down further through the stone passageway. Without noticing, the floor Arthur was walking on had changed from stone to something soft and unnatural. He was now walking on, dirt, or straw, or grass. He couldn’t tell what but the desire to desperately see what he was walking on reminded him of the matches he had in his pocket. He felt embarrassed for not having remembered sooner and with great effort to control his hands, took one and lit it.

What he saw in chamber that suddenly came into view made him scream. It was a sudden and unstoppable childish scream that he instantly regretted. The floor was covered in leaves, vines, grass, and other foliage of the forest. Surrounding the edge of the circular floor were decomposed, unidentifiable remains of animals of all different sizes, the walls smeared in their blood in aggressive patterns. And right in front of Arthur, built into the stone surface which marked the dead end of the passage was a rectangular thatch door. And on the other side of the door, startled by the scream, he could hear the groaning and creaking of something big being awoken.

Paralyzed in fear Arthur could only watch as the door slowly edged open and dead white eyes gradually peeked through the gap. As the door opened more, its body was revealed in the dancing flame. Mangled and twisted, bones protruding, flesh hanging off of the bones, pale thin skin that was loose and sagging. It opened its black mouth bordered by putrid lips and spoke.

“Is anyone there?” The dry, scaly voice of the creature dripped out of its mouth. It smacked its lips together over its toothless black gums. “Do not be afraid. Speak. I know you are there.” The protruding head of the thing craned and turned, its empty eyes passing over Arthur. Blind. “Why have you come to this place? What is it you seek?” It stepped out from inside the door and the boy saw its withered foot and noticed it to be like his own. “I can hear the fear in your breath. You have nothing to fear young one.” It can hear me. Why has it not pounced?

“Please don’t hurt me. I heard there was something in this cave that could help my mother. She will die tonight if I don’t help her.” Arthur’s voice quivered but not from fear.

“Ah. So, they still tell stories of me.” The creature’s eyes kept glaring back and forth, in great sweeping arcs across the room as its knotted neck twisted gruesomely. “Yes, I may be able to help. Come to me and I will show you what you seek is behind this door.” Its bony hand curled around the door, fingers snapping into place.

“What are you? How can I trust you?” Arthur was surprised at the strength of his own words.

“I was once a boy like yourself. But I have withered with age and have been reduced to this.” A coughing fit racked through the thing standing in the door and Athur saw a human ribcage beneath the layers of loose flesh. “What I have to offer you may help. But make no mistake, its power is a twisted one.”

***

“So how does the story end dad?”

His father grinned, reaching out to the bedside table and grabbing his phone. The screen showed 02:00. “Maybe I will tell you the ending another day, it is late now, you need to sleep. No more talk of being afraid of noises.”

“But Dad, what is up there?” The boy’s voice was whiny and still full of fear. His young eyes glimmered in the soft glow of the bed light.

“Why don’t you go see for yourself, you know where the attic stairs are.”

Holding his father’s hand the boy walked up to the stairs. He ascended each one with great delay. “It’s not locked” His father said. Wincing, the boy twisted the handle. The door let out a loud creak as it swung on its hinges. Through all the dust, cobwebs and shadowy darkness of the attic the boy could made out two things.

A large brown rope tied around the various objects in the room, connecting them all together. And at the back, deepest in the attic, a rectangular thatch door.