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Something's Not Right

What lurks in the fog may not be a friend.

By Barrett DuPerronPublished 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 6 min read
2
Something's Not Right
Photo by Kayle Kaupanger on Unsplash

It’s fall, and the fog has settled in low today. Visibility is so poor. I can’t see more than a few feet in front of me. If I don’t pay attention, I’ll walk right off the edge into the water. The lake is empty, but the water ripples like a busy summer day. All the tourists and summer workers have returned to their everyday lives far away from here.

Only a couple of us is left behind to look after the town until they return. You wouldn’t know it if you got lost and happened to end up here. Sometimes I’ll go for a couple of weeks without seeing anyone. Every store is closed down with a sign on the door that reads, “Call so and so at this number if you need anything.” The bar is the only exception, but that’s because Tony lives above it and uses any excuse to drink all night if he has company or not.

After all the excitement of the summer, this time of year is easy and mundane. No one around needing assistance, no one around being annoying, bogarting my time with the simplest tasks that a toddler could handle. I’ll show up and get the docks ready for winter, and I’m back home before lunch. Then I wait alone. Wait for the first winter storm to hit. Wait for the next season to start. Today though. There’s something about today. Something that feels different. It sounds different.

The air is filled with creaks and pings, boats gently rubbing against the dock as it shifts in the water. My attention is drawn with every splash. Every metal ting is resonating across the lake ringing over and over through my head. I jump with each pop from the expanding and contrasting wooden deck. Every sound causes my bones to ache with anxiety. I’ve heard these noises thousands and thousands of times a day, but I wish they would stop, even if just for a few minutes.

I’ve had an uneasy feeling since I rolled out of bed, my body anticipating some sort of violence or impending doom. I’m not sure why. I’m the only one on the docks, not a soul in sight, but something's not right. I can feel the nervousness pulse through my body, like an old man’s creaky knee when a storm is on the horizon. All these distractions, the noises, the nervous feelings, are causing me to lose focus.

The water goes still, and the air is entirely silent. The absence of noise is a deafening silence. Worse than the creeks and pings. I am yearning for some kind of familiarity to find comfort in. A dark figure darts across the dock in my peripheral.

“He… Hello.” No response. “Is someone there?”

Nothing. No response. No movement. Like I’m stuck in a painting. I am squinting, trying to see through the fog, scanning every inch of the dock. Who’s out here messing with me?

“Very funny, Tony.” Again nothing. “This isn’t scary.”

Tony is always trying to sneak up on everyone, but his signature wheeze gives him away every time. He'd scare anyone if his life depended on it. It wouldn’t be Tony. It’s a guarantee he’s been up all night “working” at the bar. By this time, he’s been passed out for a couple of hours. Even when he’s not drunk, he can’t get up before noon. Who else could it be? The dark figure darts down one of the fingers at the end of the dock.

“Who’s there?” I move slowly and cautiously. “It’s not safe to be out here in this fog.”

Still eerily silent. Is there anyone out there? Or is my mind messing with me? Making it all up because I’m on edge and creating these shadows and shapes for me to chase. I reach the finger and find nothing. Stupid brain. It must be exhaustion. I don’t feel tired, but it was a rough summer. A sense of relief fills my entire body.

SPLASH!

Something has entered the water behind me, breaking the silence. I turn back and move as quickly as I can in the thick fog.

SLAM!

My head bounces off the dock. I’m standing one moment, and before I can process it, my face smashes against the splintery wood. I am dazed and disoriented. My breath is stolen like a demon punched through my chest, ripping my lungs out. Gasping wildly, I try to regain composure. I’m trying to stand, but my foot is stuck. Something's wrapped around my ankle. Something stopped me dead in my tracks. The fog has settled in thicker, and the visibility is just a couple of inches now. So thick I can’t see past my waist. The adrenaline is still flowing through my veins. It’s too early to tell what my injuries are.

I force myself to stand up.

SLAM!

Face first again. The overwhelming taste of metal fills my mouth. Coughing blood on the deck as I struggle to catch my breath. Watery eyes are blurring what little visibility I had left. Whatever has a hold of me begins to drag me toward the end of the dock slowly.

“HELP!” I scream, hoping for someone I know isn’t there. “SOMEONE HELP!”

What started as a slow drag picks up pace. My free leg is kicking wildly, knocking tools and canisters into the lake as I try to slow my pace. I am swinging my arms from side to side, looking for something to grab onto, clawing at the wooden planks, desperate to hold on. A break in the wood. A crack, a tiny sliver of hope, the beautiful small opening that halts my progress. Whatever has me pulls harder. I’m struggling to hold on, using every last ounce of energy to free myself. Another harder tug this time.

“AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!”

The fingernails that don’t break clean off bend quickly and rebound, releasing any hope of staying connected to the weathered decking. Pain shoots through every part of my hands. Frantically I search for anything to stop my progress leaving behind tiny panicked, desperate, red trails. Drug to the end of the dock, I wrap my arms around the last pillar, hugging it like it’s a long-lost love and I’ve just returned from war. I’m submerged up to my waist as I cling in defiance. The water is so cold. It won’t be long until it freezes over. The tug of war continues.

“HELP!!!” My words are cracked and panicked, full of desperation and despair. “Somebody…… Please!”

Whatever has me won’t let go. I frantically kick at it trying to loosen its grip. It grabs my free leg, pulling harder and harder on both now. My arms are burning. My grip is slowly failing. Desperate to hold on as long as possible, the hug turns to fingers only locked behind the pillar. The water up to my shoulders now, the decking digging into my wrists, helping to break my grip.

“PLEASE!” Nobody is around to hear my cries. “ANYBODY, PLEASE!”

No one to help. No one to fall victim with me. I’ll be alone in death. My grip fails, and I slip below the surface of the water. My arms are thrashing around, reaching, hoping for something. Anything to stop my descent. Nothing to grab onto but water. Whatever has me is dragging me slowly to the bottom of the lake. The light from above is gradually fading. The surface goes calm, only disturbed by the air escaping my lungs, escaping without me.

fiction
2

About the Creator

Barrett DuPerron

A place to have a little taste of the image and ideas living in my mind.

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