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Adrift

A short horror story.

By A. L. MeadePublished 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 10 min read
1

It had been seven years since Steven went fishing. He didn't really know why he hadn't gone in so long, he just hadn't. It struck him one day as he was cleaning out his garage and found his old fishing pole swaddled in cobwebs. He cleaned it off, admiring it, and that's when he realized it's been seven years. His house wasn't very far from Lake Profonde, he often walked out there in the mornings to sit near the shore and watch the birds. It was always so quiet and serene out there. The arthritis in his knees was getting worse as he got older but the walks seemed to help. Steven always enjoyed fishing so he decided this weekend he would rent a canoe, buy a big can of worms and head out on to the Profonde. He had never been on Lake Profonde, always enjoying it from land, he was looking forward to this. Steven wished his wife, Elaine, was still here to go with him. She died almost seven years ago to the day. Seven years.

The weekend came fast. Steven packed himself a small lunch in a brown paper bag, locked his house and got into his truck. The only boat rental was in a small town over, about twenty-five minutes away. He listened to AM radio and enjoyed the beautiful sunny morning as he drove. When he arrived at the boat rental place a younger man in a flannel cut off shirt was stacking logs in front of the small cabin which served as the store. A neon "Bait" sign hung in the window. He had hoped for that.

"Mornin', sir." the younger man called out, brushing his hand across the beads of sweat on his forehead.

"Good morning." Steven smiled warmly. "I called the other day about the canoe rental."

"Ah, yep. Come on in, we'll get you set up." He pointed to the cabin and headed inside, Steven followed behind. "You'll just have to sign a waiver and pay and you can load her up."

"Sounds great. I'd like to buy some bait as well." Steven said as he walked into the cabin. There was a glistening wood counter littered with papers and a white, dirty fridge in the corner.

"Bait's in the fridge, you can pick that out and I'll get everything ready over here." He said, stepping behind the counter.

As he opened the fridge, a putrid smell creeped out at Steven and he almost gagged. Dead worms and big chunks of black dirt covered the bottom of the fridge. He was hesitant to reach in, but he did and grabbed the first styrofoam container that read 'night crawlers $3' in sloppy black permanent marker. He shut the fridge quickly, slamming it a little on accident.

"Where you headin' today?" The younger man asked as he slid a paper and pen across the counter to Steven as he approached.

"Lake Profonde." Steven smiled, regaining his composure and smiling. He slid the styrofoam container to his left and grabbed the pen as he started skimming through the paragraphs.

"Lake, uh- what?" The younger man asked, laughing a little.

"Lake Profonde. Twenty miles west of here. You haven't heard of it?" Steven looked up at him, surprised.

"Don't get out west much, I suppose. We usually stick around here." He nods his head towards the back window and a glistening, beautiful body of water shone bright in the morning sun.

"Lake Moss." Steven smiled in response.

"That's right." The younger man smiled as he took the paper Steven signed and handed back to him. "I'll help you get loaded up."

Forty-five minutes later Steven was sliding the canoe partway into Lake Profonde. He had loaded up his lunch, a small radio, his fishing pole and his container of worms. He had put his wallet and cell phone in the trucks glove box, locked the truck and shoved the keys into his jeans pocket. He looked back at the truck as he walked away, he thought maybe he should bring his phone in case someone called. But who would really need to get ahold of him? His luck, he'd drop the phone straight into the lake, kerplunk, goodbye. He walked to the canoe and didn't look back.

The crisp morning air blew softly through Steven's wispy hair as he paddled out. There were a few tendrils of fog scattered along the waters surface. The sun was warm and there wasn't a cloud in sight. Steven held his oar over the water as the canoe glided along. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. What a beautiful day. He was so grateful he found his fishing pole in the garage. The canoe slowed and eventually came to a halt. Steven gazed around at the shore that was miles behind him now. He figured he was about in the middle of the lake now. He grabbed his fishing pole, impaled a fat, wiggling worm on the hook and he fished.

By noon Steven had caught three catfish, a bluegill, a few crappies- he had lost count of those, and a great northern Pike that had to have been at least two and a half feet long. He wished he had his phone solely to take a picture of that fish. He cursed himself as he threw the northern back into the water and as he did this he realized just how dark the water was. He peered into it and only saw the fish swim down about a foot before he slipped into the darkness. No one knew exactly how deep Lake Profonde was. At that moment Steven realized how strange that really was. How had no one ever recorded the deepest point of Lake Profonde? He became lost in the water, staring into it. When Steven finally snapped out of it he saw his gaunt reflection, staring back at him. He was starving. He ate his lunch, wishing he made himself an extra sandwich. He switched his radio on- AM, and listened to the soft voices talking and laughing as he ate. He turned his wrist and looked at his watch after he finished eating. It was somehow almost 4 o' clock already. That seemed impossible. Steven balled up his paper bag and let it drop to the canoe floor. He grabbed his oar and began to paddle back.

A few clouds started creeping into the sky and the breeze picked up a little. Steven rowed. It didn't really seem like he was getting closer to the shore though, and he began to sweat. He rowed faster, nervously. The shore remained in the distance, unmoving. Impossible. The air grew colder but Steven grew hot, panicked. What was happening? The shore seemed almost further away, if that was even possible. Steven balanced the oar on his legs for a moment to catch his breath, he grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped the sweat from his face. He tried to make out his truck in the distance but he couldn't even see it. He could see it when he first got out here. And he had come from that direction. He turned and looked behind him. The shore was so far. Steven was confused. This wasn't possible. And where was his truck? He rowed twice as hard to get back now than he did to get out here, he should be close to shore by now. Why wasn't he moving? Did he forget to take his blood pressure medication this morning? He wondered to himself, even though he knew this wasn't true. High blood pressure can cause confusion sometimes, he thought, even though he knew his high blood pressure had never made him feel confused before.

He paddled. His canoe was moving but it wasn't going anywhere. This was crazy. Steven panted softly, unbelievingly. He paddled. The shore remained unmoved and so far away. He paddled, using his arm to occasionally wipe the sweat that trailed down his brow. The shore did not move. He paddled.

"NO!" Steven abruptly yelled out. He began to shake, angrily- confused. He was still right in the middle of Lake Profonde. He gripped his oar in his hands, threatening to himself to throw it into the lake. He closed his eyes. He was gripping the oar so hard his fingers ached deeply. He released the oar. It fell softly on his lap and Steven buried his face into his palms. When I open my eyes, he thought, I will be at the shore. I have to be at the shore. His arms ached from rowing, his chest heaved and tightened. He opened his eyes. Tears threatened to fall but he rolled his eyes up to the sky, refusing them. The shore was so far away still. This couldn't be happening. He had worked so hard to get back and he had gotten no where. No where. Steven screamed and the reverberation startled himself. His oar had bounced up off his leg, and flipped instantly out of the canoe. He snatched for it, but it slid into the water, right out of his reach.

"No, no, no, no, no!" Steven said breathlessly as he got on his knees in the canoe, hands on the side, watching over the edge unbelievingly. He couldn't see the oar anymore but he watched the water. He willed the oar to come back up to him. "Come back up here so I can go HOME!" He shouted, shaking the canoe as he gripped the edge. Spittle showered onto the lake's surface. Steven's vision grew blurry as his tears finally slipped down his face. He looked back up to the shore. The shore that was still so very far away despite all his effort. And now his oar was gone. What was he to do now?

"HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME!" He screamed out as loud as he could, his voice shaking. He wept. He didn't know what to do, he had never felt this helpless before in his life. "I've fallen asleep. I'm dreaming." He murmured to himself. He dipped a finger into the water. It was cold, but not unbearable. He would have to swim. The sun was starting to go down, he couldn't wait around all night out here and no one would see him after dark. He breathed deeply, staring into the dark, dark water and at that moment he swore he saw the pike he had caught earlier swim up towards him. It twirled in the water and- It was... smiling? Steven shut his eyes hard and when he opened them again the fish was gone. He patted his pocket to make sure his keys were still in there and before he could think more about it he dove into the water.

The cold of the water shocked Steven but he began to swim immediately. He gasped as he breathed, kicking harder than he needed to. He had to remind himself to take it easy otherwise he'd never make it all the way back. He slowed his pace slightly and tried to control his breathing as he went. He watched the shore as he swam. Unmoving. It remained in the distance, unmoving. Steven stopped swimming and waded for a moment, kicking his legs lightly under the water to keep himself afloat. He turned back to look for the canoe and it was gone. He frantically scanned all around him, the canoe was gone. Steven laughed in disbelieving shock and began swimming again, hard. The arthritis in his knees screamed at him, his arms began to feel almost numb with exertion, his lungs burned and his skin felt as if it was being pricked with millions of needles. Tears mixed with the water on Steven's face as he gazed up. He had stopped swimming again, his knees were hurting him so badly. He waded, he just needed to think. He couldn't seem to think anymore. He was so cold. He hadn't gotten anywhere but his body was so tired. He had swam so far but had gotten nowhere. The helplessness was becoming unbearable and suddenly Steven felt something brush his leg under water. He shrieked, pulling his leg up close to him and that's when his knee gave out. The pain was unbearable, he tried instinctively to grab for it, partially submerging his face in the water. He gasped, searching frantically for something to hold on to even though there was nothing but water. His body was desperate to rest. He thrashed, panicking, flailing his arms in the water, screaming, sputtering and spitting. It was dark now. It must be close to ten o' clock, Steven thought as he grew still. He was so tired. His body was so tense, so exhausted, and he just could not move anymore. He was so tired.

Steven uttered a small, weary cry, and let himself slip down into the middle of Lake Profonde.

halloween
1

About the Creator

A. L. Meade

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