Fiction logo

The Hand in the Lake

Not all that moves lives, and not all that sits still dies.

By Sean KernanPublished 2 years ago 7 min read
5
Editorial rights purchased via iStock Photos

Robert placed his goggles over his eyes. He put an index finger on one goggle, his middle finger on the other, and held them in place as he tightened the rubber strap behind his head.

His toes curled and dug into the sand. The smell of pine trees and grass drifted in from behind him.

A brief dull howl of autumn wind came and went, sending a chill down his arm. Around him, swimmers gathered in lingering groups, shifting about nervously before the start of the race.

“You aren’t going to lose to a woman again are you?”

Hearing the deep but feminine voice of his longtime friend, Amanda, he turned around.

“If I do, I hope it’s to you,” Robert said with a smile.

They’d swam together in college twenty-five years prior. Both were accomplished and once consumed by the sport, stopping just short of sleeping with their goggles on, and each other.

Today, lake races were more about motivation to train than attempts at old glory.

Robert swung his arms in alternating circles to stretch and get the blood flowing.

His short brown hair and broad strong shoulders were all that remained of his once statuesque swimmer physique. Parenting and the suffocating pressure of a day job as an accountant had softened his abs into a glorious one-pack.

He wouldn’t be setting any records today. But he felt proud of how he’d maintained his 47-year-old “dad bod”.

Robert surveyed and admired the serene beauty of the lake. Towering pine trees formed a curtain of green around its shores.

He sighed, “I still hate these lake swims. I can never see anything. I swallow a gallon of water. Too many critters bump into me.”

“You are the critter,” Amanda said.

“Well, I hope I’m a tasty critter. Speaking of, we should get food after— ”

A whistle sounded.

“That’s my call. Wish me luck. Don’t pass me too soon.”

He half-smiled to himself as he glanced back over his shoulder at Amanda, who waved, and stood with a few women who would start the race ten minutes later.

Robert stood at the shore with a dozen other 40-something men who were broad-shouldered and husky like him.

The sun danced behind clouds overhead, painting patches of light across the wide glassy lake. Bright red buoys bobbed at varying distances, checkpoints for them to follow along the 2-mile route.

A crack of gunfire echoed across the beach. The swimmers jogged into the water.

The race began with its usual frenzy of legs, elbows, hands, and feet, chaotically chopping and flopping about. Water splashed upwards as everyone jockeyed for position.

Robert muscled through it, feeling the water flow across his horizontal torso. He still felt the initial shock of the cold water. The lake had swallowed his body in one zapping gulp. By the end of intense races, that same cold water often felt like magma.

Two minutes in, Robert felt a swimmer grab his ankle and yank him back. He kicked with his other foot, feeling it connect with the man’s shoulder in a pop, causing the hand to release.

It still surprised him that adult men, with families and jobs, routinely devolved to juvenile tactics and poor sportsmanship.

Robert focused on keeping his hands flat and wrist tight, creating as much backward-facing tension as possible. He dug into the cool lake water. He heaved each stroke. His body lurched forward. He rotated along his axis, breathing to his right with every other stroke.

Open water swims were an exercise in sensory deprivation. Tiny bubbles, darkness, and rustling water were his only cheerleaders.

Robert saw a dark circular object move below him, just at the boundary of his vision. He lifted his chin and saw another swimmer just 20 meters ahead.

A minute later, he felt a slimy object slide down his leg. This had happened before. “That felt the same as last time, right?” He asked himself.

Robert forced his mind elsewhere, managing his breathing and occasionally lifting his chin to check for the next buoy.

A hand wrapped around his ankle and yanked him back again. He kicked it off.

He paddled harder to create more distance between them.

The hand grasped again at his foot, wrapping around his arch before slipping off. He heaved another big kick that missed. Then Robert rolled onto his back, prepared to punch the guy and make a true fight of it.

He stopped.

There was nobody near him.

Robert knew he was in second place. There was a group of swimmers several hundred meters back. He spun and looked in front of him and could no longer find the leader.

Fear sent a wave of energy across his body. His stomach twisted. He immediately regretted ever entering this race.

He scissor kicked, with his feet descending into the shadows. His chin floated just above the water. A cold layer of water kissed his feet with each kick, causing his knees to recoil upwards.

He ducked his head under, darting his eyes back and forth. The brown cloudy water quickly faded into darkness in every direction. He tried holding a steady gaze, waiting for something to move. The lake was a black hole and gave him nothing.

Robert’s vision changed as adrenaline pumped through his veins. His body sensed danger and gave him no choice but to feel terror.

Five fingers brushed a warm trail across his back just as another five fingers drifted down his thigh. Robert screamed and thrashed the water and fell backward. His head thumped into a soft object, causing it to drift away.

He turned around.

In front of him was a body, face down, wearing a white dress, with long hair and arms splayed out forward. Her arms pointed towards him. Where there had once been hands, there were now only blackened stumps.

Ripping off his goggles, he spun around in the water hoping to scream for help.

The swimmers behind him were gone.

Everything had suddenly become quiet. The rippling water grew still around him, feeling more like a frozen swamp.

His heart slammed at the inside of his chest, trying to break free and flee from his body. His breath came in short heaves. He stifled the primal urge to scream.

In front of him, another object bobbed upwards.

It was a second body, this one a man, floating face up, face drained, hands missing.

Then another body breached the surface with an abrupt splash, suggesting it was released from somewhere deep below.

Another body surfaced near it. Then another.

Robert spun in place, realizing they had formed a circle around him. Each was in the same position, arms forward, hands missing, their stumps facing him.

Two hands grabbed both of his ankles and jolted him downwards. The water wrapped around his face.

He surged downward. He tore at the water, scrambling like a rat on a sinking ship.

Robert felt a hand wrap over his mouth. He bit into it with all the savagery he could muster. It didn’t move.

He felt an arm wrap around his chest from behind. A clothed body pressed up against his. A woman’s muffled laughter echoed through the waters. Her bloated, deformed, slippery lips brushed over his ear, moaning.

More hands grabbed at his swimsuit, legs, and arms. Their touch burned with a mixture of hot and cold.

He squirmed and writhed. The rippling sun at the surface shrank as he fell deeper. The water grew colder around him.

Scores of slimy hands now touched his legs, pulling at him as he sank. His ears popped under the pressure. His lungs started to burn.

Stars danced in his eyes as his back hit the floor of the lake in a puff of clouds. His body begged him for air. Suddenly, more arms wrapped around him.

They pulled him into the mud.

He inched deeper. Sand rose over his body. Patches of darkness danced in his vision as his lungs gave out.

His mouth opened. He let out a final muted scream as his air left his body. Everything went dark.

_________________________

Light sparkled in Robert’s vision. Figures appeared standing over him.

Their blurred forms coalesced into recognizable faces in the backdrop of a blue sky. It was Amanda. She stood in her swimsuit. He felt sand on his arms. He was back on the beach.

“Hey, Rob. You seem to have fainted. Why don’t you sit this race out? A medic is coming. We’ll go get something to eat later. K?”

Horror
5

About the Creator

Sean Kernan

I'm a full-time writer, living in Tampa, Florida. I'm giving this Vocal thing a try.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.