Black Ice

The Autumn air washed through the trees like the last breath of a dead man, cold and soft. Branches and leaves, yellow and thin, shuddered in the breeze. A lake sat still and patient, dotted with the orange remnants of the Summer petals. Eight quiet feet shuffled through the decaying remains of August. The little boy’s raincoat was dry. Mummy had made him wear it in case it rained, but the little boy did not share in his mother’s disdain for wet weather. He liked the rain actually. The smell of it on the dirt path, the puddles that splashed so high up his legs when he jumped in them. Rain was fun. But it had not yet rained.

He zig-zagged along the dusty path, kicking weeds in his stride while on the lookout for something to do while his family walked quickly in front of him. His brother had his eyes glued to his Gameboy and Mummy and Daddy were talking in stern voices ahead, only occasionally glancing behind at their two sons. They had jobs and money and other things to keep them busy. Things they would often speak about in front of him, but things that weren’t interesting at all. The little boy had only a balloon.

The balloon stood upon high, like a beacon, attached to the weak hand of a small child, who had fallen behind the rest of his family. The sky was growing darker and the vibrant balloon was a blinking siren in the wilderness.

A red, round balloon. It was bigger than the little boy’s head. He liked his balloon, but as much as he wanted to keep hold of it, there wasn’t much he could do with it now that he had it. He kept his eyes fixed on the path beneath his feet. He had noticed a pebble and stopped. For a moment, he considered kicking it towards his brother. Maybe he’d kick it back and join in with some sort of a game. But before he had the chance to pull back his right foot, his balloon was tugged from his hand.

It had been plucked from his grasp with such force that the little boy’s first thought was that his brother had stolen it. But his brother was still in front of him, further away now. His focus had not been drawn from the 8-bit magic unfolding on his state-of-the-art portable gaming console. Everything around him seemed motionless and distant.

The little boy knew he wasn’t supposed to wander off, but his balloon hadn’t jetted off into the clouds like he thought it would. Instead, it was sat in the air above him, tantalisingly out of reach of his short arms. If he could just jump up and grab it. The balloon began to move. Slowly. The boy felt strong clumps of grass being crushed under his shoes as he stepped. His balloon was so close. It seemed to be teasing him, but the boy wasn’t going to give up.

Then the rain finally came. The silvery clouds were swapped for a cauldron of black. The sky was starless and empty, save for a large, white moon. The little boy panted as he climbed up the mound. It was steep for his little legs. But he could almost reach it. He did not notice the end of the hill approaching, but he was just a finger away from grabbing the string. He jumped once. He missed. He jumped again. The string has brushed through his stumpy fingers. He jumped a third time.

Got it.

The ground did not return to his feet. The balloon, once colourful and light, was now black and heavy. The little boy could not see it as clearly as he could moments ago. It simply disappeared into darkness around him. The balloon struck the water first with a terrifying splash. The boy’s face was struck and it stung ice-cold. He felt his boots, his coat pockets, his trousers and his shirt all fill with water. The reflection of the moon on the lake stewarded over the little boy’s descent like the unblinking eye of a predator. The lake went still and quiet, asleep.

~

The teenagers threw their blazers onto a pile on the grass. The school emblem, which usually had to be kept pristine, could now be smudged and smeared with mud to their hearts’ content. For it was Summer at last. In thin shirts and baggy shorts, the group had finally found a decent use for their PE kits.

And the water looked perfect. It was a shiny, royal blue. The sun broke through the lake like a stained-glass window, painting the azure depths in a warm glow. It had been far too delicious, too inviting. The kids were going for a swim. The ideal way to christen the Summer holidays. No parents, no teachers, no rules. The air had been hushed and a gentle breeze had persuaded to seek blood elsewhere. As they leapt, their bodies rippled through the lake and the picture was shattered.

Five of them went into the water. It was a hot day in June and the water was just right. Not too warm, but cool enough to keep the sun from being an intrusion. They laughed as their clothes were drenched and splashed one another as they discussed how much trouble they might be in once their parents found out. One of them had even brought their phone into the shallows for a few pictures, before taking it back to the safety of their tent somewhere in the trees.

Their campsite was far from the lake. Far enough away not to be heard. Four of them had come out the water. One-by-one they trickled back onto the path, into the trees. A girl stayed in almost alone, kept company only by the red balloon that had joined her.

She called to the others to look, but there was no response. A balloon hanging over the lake. She couldn’t guess where it had come from. Perhaps her friends had brought some. It was close. The girl wondered how she hadn’t noticed it before and for how long it had been there.

She wanted to catch it, so out she swam, deeper into the lake. The water wasn’t as blue where she was going, but the captivating redness of the balloon kept her from noticing. Then the rain came. Droplets of rain pummelling against the lake like bullets on a target. It had a bitter taste and hurt as it pelted against her skin. But she could nearly reach the balloon.

It hovered above her and she struggled to keep her head above the water. Her kicking legs began to weaken and the warm water perished lifeless and cold. The sounds of the trees whirling in the wind swallowed the noise from camp. Her arms were tired, but she reached up to grab it. She missed. Mustering what was left of her strength, she kicked up and stretched. She was going to reach the string this time. She was about to grab it.

Something grabbed her.

Before she could scream, her mouth was underwater. The water, once blue and warm, was colourless and dead. She was deep in the lake. Impossibly deep. The surface towered high above her and she was surrounded by filth. The gloomy sky was a distant treat gradually being suffocated by the water which was thick with muck. The icy temperature rushed through her spine like a sudden knife in the back. She gasped and dark sludge drowned her lungs.

~

The young boy held the leash in one hand loosely, but the hand of his father in the other tight. The area had a dark reputation. People didn’t come here much anymore. For some reason, the place looked even more frightening in the Winter. Snow had fallen on the grass and the trees, but hadn’t covered enough of the path to build a snowman. Everything was still and uncomfortable.

The dog was a curious girl and pulled unintentionally at the boy’s grip. She was still a puppy, which meant that a lot of the time, her desperation to explore came at the expense of her discipline. She had often dragged the leash from her masters’ hands over nothing; a butterfly, a distant car. But this time the dog had seen something new and the leash sailed through the chilled air. It was headed towards a lake.

The dog peeked its head out from the bush. Snow had settled on its nose and its back. It was clearly non-the-wiser as to all the stories about the woods, about the lake. So curious, so unafraid. It could be so easily lured. The perfect visitor after so many hungry years.

The lake had been turned to ice. Frozen in place, a photograph in time. The dog scampered across the surface, her claws scratching against the ice. There was something she was after. She stopped in the middle and began frantically to dig. She clawed furiously at the frosty carpet beneath her feet, determined to find what she had seen.

The boy was afraid and had almost begun to cry. His father had told him about the dangers of the frozen lake. He knew never to step foot there, as the ice could break. And there his dog was, attacking the surface with its powerful nails. He pleaded with his father to bring the dog back. He threatened to do so himself if his father wouldn’t. The older man looked around helplessly, before commanding his son to stay put. Out he went onto the ice.

The rain was heavy and sudden, and the father began to understand how afraid he was. It may have been the dead of Winter and he may very well have been stood on a frozen lake, but he was as hot as ever. A warm sweat had broken out over his face and his chunky clothes were sticking to his body. One miss-step, one poor judgement, and the ice would break, sending him to his doom. He called to his dog, hearing the trepidation in his voice, but the dog had taken no notice of her master. She was scraping her nails against the ice in long strides and had her teeth pressed against the ground.

The rain had forged puddles on the surface of the lake. Land-mines scattered across no man’s land. The man placed his foot in the middle of one and applied too much pressure. He slipped backwards and landed hard with a crack that struck through his very core. His tailbone went numb after a shot of searing pain.

Wearily, he turned onto his all fours and attempted to regain his balance. But just as soon as he’d returned to his feet, he was swept off-balance. The man crashed to a landing on his left shoulder. He was now in considerable and consistent pain. What he had felt was unnatural. That time he had not slipped. He had been pushed with some force on to the ice.

Before he had even got back on to his feet again, he was pushed back down chest-first. Amidst the weakness in his muscles and the pain in his bones, the boy’s father had lost control of his body. His ribs and his hips cracked down, over and over, onto the lake like several small battering rams. And the ice had begun to crack.

The dog was paralysed with fear. The only movements she made were the involuntary rattlings of her hind legs. Her gaze was fixed beneath the lake. The ice was white with dusty cracks, which bled with water. The water spilled over her paws and burned the face of the man, who was laid, unmoving on the surface of the frozen lake. The cracks widened and the lake groaned, and the red balloon escaped into the Winter sky.