Tamed by the Creature from the Lagoon

by Clea Kinderton

  Dad raised you better. If he were here right now, he’d be saying: “What did I tell you? Respect nature because it sure as hell doesn’t respect you.”

  I felt naked standing in the middle of the lagoon in my bikini. I might as well have been naked. I didn’t have any way to get back to shore; I didn’t even have my cellphone. I was stuck. I was just going to have to wait until whatever it was that had come around to investigate was gone and then swim like the dickens. With the proper motivation, I figured I could make it to the sandbar in about three or four minutes.

  But how the hell was I supposed to know when the gator — or whatever it was — was gone? If it was under the dock, I wouldn’t be able to see it. If I had something to dangle in the water I could at least see if anything snapped at it, but I didn’t have anything to dangle. I sure as hell wasn’t about to dip my foot or my hand in the water. I scanned the marsh grass growing closest to the dock along the sandbar but I couldn’t see anything at that distance.

  Maybe I imagined it? I thought hopefully. I was asleep when I heard it, so maybe I never really heard anything at all? Maybe it was part of my dream?

  This seemed like a real possibility, but I wasn’t sure I was willing to gamble my life on it.

  The more I thought about my situation, the worse it started to seem. I really was up shit creek without a paddle. I knew gators were patient; if it was a gator, it might hang around for hours waiting for me to get back in the water. I had no idea where it was, and no way of knowing if it was coming or going, so it could even go away and come back and I’d be none the wiser and miss my chance to escape. I couldn’t stay on the dock forever. At some point, I was going to start feeling dehydrated, and the water in the lagoon was too salty to drink. Worse still, if the gator got impatient, it might just decide to try to get up on the dock. If that happened, I didn’t know what I’d do. I’d have to make a break for it, but I knew my odds of outswimming a gator were slim to none.

  Fuck fuck fuck. Dammit, Kate! You’re an idiot! What were you thinking?!

  I was just so happy to be back at my dad’s that I’d lost all my sense.

  By now it had been several minutes since I’d heard the knock on the drum and I was beginning to think that maybe I had dreamed it. My imagination was probably just all fired up by the conversation I’d had with Courtney in the diner. Now that I thought about it, my fear seemed silly. Even if I had heard the knock, it had probably just been a fish.

  Like that branch breaking outside my window last night.

  I was taking ordinary, perfectly harmless sounds and blowing them out of all proportion.

  I was just about ready to jump in the water and head for shore when I heard a splash behind me. I gasped and turned with a start, staggering backward several paces. My heart was pounding in my chest like a fist on a drum. The platform rocked slightly under my feet and a large ripple spread out from the edge of the dock.

  I looked down and saw what might have been a large, dark shadow sliding under the dock.

  Sick with terror, I dropped to my hands and knees, trying once again to look through the cracks between the boards, hardly daring to breathe. My brain conjured up an image of Courtney’s Fish-Man, complete with wide staring eyes and long pointy teeth, staring up from below. I felt ice congealing in my veins.

  If it catches me out here..., I thought in a panic.

  But there was nothing. Just inky dark water.

  I shook my head.

  Get a hold of yourself, Kate. The Fish-Man’s not real.

  But whatever was in the water was real.

  I pushed myself back to my feet, straining my ears for any sound. I needed to be ready to move when whatever it was that was stalking me tried to get on the dock. I was really beginning to hate Chet for making me talk to Courtney.

  There was another knock against one of the drums, a hollow thunk that made the platform wobble. I felt like I was going to be sick.

  Then I heard a sound that made me turn abruptly toward shore. I almost shouted for joy: it was the rumbling sound of an engine. I scanned the lane, squinting, and saw the Dan’s General Store van pulling up to the cabin. I wasn’t expecting anyone — I wasn’t supposed to get supplies until tomorrow — but I wasn’t going to complain.

  I jumped up and down, waving my hands over my head and shouting. The van slowed and then braked and Chet’s dad Dan climbed out of the driver’s seat. I’d been expecting Chet, but I was happy to see anyone. Chet’s dad was too far away for me to see his expression, but he paused and watched me as I hopped up and down, trying to figure out what the commotion was.

  “There’s something in the water!” I yelled, pointing down.

  Dan walked over to the edge of the lagoon and peered in, but I knew he wouldn’t see anything from that distance.

  “Bring the boat!” I shouted, pointing.

  He nodded and scrambled up the slope to the van. For a moment I thought he’d misheard me, but he opened the back door and pulled out a hunting rifle. Ordinarily, the sight of a gun would have met with disapproval from me, but for once I was glad to see one.

  He dragged the row boat from the bank into the water and hopped in, leaning the gun against the bench beside him. The boat was just for the lagoon, and it didn’t have a motor, so he had to row. He rowed slowly, taking care of his heart, keeping his eye on the water.

  I got down on my hands and knees and peered through the slats. It was too dark to see anything clearly, but I thought I could just make out a shadowy figure, perhaps six or seven feet in length. It seemed to have grown still. But maybe it was just a trick of the light?

  “What do we got?” said Dan, bumping the boat against the side of the dock. He was staring into the water with a frown, hand wrapped around the gunstock.

  “I’m not sure,” I said, smiling apologetically. I looked back down through the slats, but the shadow was gone. I scrambled to the edge of the dock, scanning the water, but there was no sign of a creature anywhere. “I don’t know where it went. I didn’t get a good look at it.”

  “Think it’s a gator?” said Dan, holding out his hand.

  I took his hand and stepped down into the boat. “No. I don’t know. A snapper, maybe. Whatever it was, it was big. I just saw the shadow under the dock.”

  He leaned over the side of the boat, hunching down, almost dunking his head in the water as he tried to see under the dock. “I don’t see anything,” he said. “Might be a catfish. Quite a few of them around here. Some of them are as long as you are tall.”

  “Maybe,” I said, uncertain. “In any case, I think it’s gone now.”

  Dan leaned back and sat on the bench across from me, making the boat rock. He laid the rifle down across the bottom of the boat and picked up the oars.

  “Thanks for picking me up,” I said, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. Dan had been friends with my dad for forty years. He’d watched me transform from a little girl into a grown woman. But it had been years since I’d seen him. I felt awkward sitting across from him in my bikini. He was looking at me surreptitiously, doing his best not to let on that he was uncomfortably aware of my now womanly curves.

  “Don’t mention it,” he said, puffing out his cheeks as he rowed. His red face and the strands of white hair combed over his bald spot made me realize how old he had gotten. I wanted to take over the rowing, fearful of his heart, but I knew he was a proud, old-fashioned Southern gentleman, and I didn’t want to bruise his pride.

  When we got to shore, I hopped out of the boat and helped him drag it onto the beach. The moment my feet hit the sand I felt a hundred times better.

  “Do you want to stay for a beer?” I said, eager to show my appreciation.

  Dan wiped his brow and shook his head. “I’d love to, hon, but I got a few more stops to make. I had a ton of orders come down, on account of the fish-off, so I had to bump your delivery up a day. Hope that’s okay. I tried to call, but you didn’t pick up.”

  “Of course. It’s fine, D
an. But where’s Chet? Doesn’t he normally do the deliveries?”

  Dan nodded. “He’s not feeling well. Says he got food poisoning at Ollie’s.” Dan started to chuckle. “Nothin’ hair of the dog won’t cure, I reckon.”

  I held my tongue and followed Dan to the van. He slid open the side door and started rooting around inside.

  “Anyway, here’s your supplies. I think I got everything. Let me know if I missed something.”

  I took the large, brown-paper bag from him and watched as he unloaded a cardboard box full of cans. I walked him to the porch and up the stairs and opened the door of the cabin. He followed me inside, setting down the box on the island. His face was red.

  “Are you okay?” I said, suddenly worried.

  “Yeah, I’m just peachy,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “You don’t need to worry about me, Katie. That’s what the wife’s for. Soon as I’m done here, I’m taking the night off. Tomorrow, me and the missus are goin’ fishin’. You’re welcome to come along.”

  “I’d love to, Dan, but I’ve got a ... project I need to work on. I’ve put it off for too long already.”

  The older man nodded. “Suit yourself. Give us a call if you change your mind.”

  Dan walked back out onto the porch and down the steps. I watched from the doorway as he climbed back into the van, started the engine, and backed down the lane. It wasn’t until after he left that I realized he’d forgotten his rifle.

  I ran down to the edge of the lagoon and fished it out of the boat. A wet plopping sound made me jump back from the water’s edge with a start, but there was only a faint rippling on the surface. Probably just a fish.

  I held the rifle carefully, as if it might go off any second, and hurried back inside, shutting and locking the door behind me. I was breathing hard.

  Stop being such a girl, Kate.

  When I’d caught my breath, I put the rifle in the closet and went about putting away my groceries. I’d call Dan in a bit to let him know he’d forgotten it, if he didn’t drive back for it first.

  For some reason, I found myself avoiding looking out the window at the lagoon.

  Chapter Seven

  I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening planning my project.

  I was working on the assumption that whatever had been in the lagoon with me had been a perfectly ordinary animal and would be long gone by the time I began my explorations. I’d already decided to ask Dan if I could borrow his rifle during my vacation, but that wouldn’t do me any good underwater.

  Which is why I’d brought my speargun.

  I looked over at the black nylon bag leaning against the wall. It looked innocuous enough — not unlike a short ski bag — but it contained a pneumatic speargun that fired with enough pressure to force a spear tip through an alligator’s skull.

  I wasn’t entirely sure why I’d brought the speargun with me. Buying the speargun had been Henry’s idea. I hadn’t wanted one at all, but he’d forced me to buy it. I hadn’t used it in years — I’d never even fired it, except during practice — but something had twigged in the back of my brain when I’d looked at it in the storage room where I kept my diving equipment. On an impulse, I’d thrown it on top of the pile of gear I was bringing with me, and now that I was here, I was glad that I’d done so. I’d feel much safer swimming around in the lagoon armed with a lethal weapon. If all else failed, I had my diving knife: a four inch, pointed titanium blade with a molded rubber grip. Not quite as good as a mouth full of teeth and jaws strong enough to break arm bones, but deadly all the same.

  At eleven in the evening I realized that I was too tired to keep my eyes open. I didn’t ordinarily go to bed before midnight, but I hadn’t had much sleep the night before and thought it best to call it a night.

  Bringing my diving knife with me for security, I went to the bedroom, turned on the light, and locked myself in. I closed the shutters to protect myself from prying eyes and got undressed and sat naked on the bed in front of the fan with one of my dad’s old adventure novels, The Land that Time Forgot, by Edgar Rice Burroughs. I’d read all of my dad’s adventure books several times as a kid, and everything rushed back to me as I pored over the yellowing pages. Inevitably, my eyelids began to droop and I laid down on the bed, holding my place in the book with my finger.

  Then I must have fallen asleep.

  I found myself on my desert island again, dressed in rags, still trying to knock a hole in my coconut. I looked up at the ocean, expecting to see my lover appear from the waves, but the horizon was clear and calm. After a time, I heard an unusual sound.

  Are those ... drums? I wondered, raising my head and straining my ears.

  The sound faded and I resumed whacking away at the tough, fibrous shell of the coconut. I broke through and cheered with delight, pouring the cool, musky milk into my open mouth.

  Then I heard the sound again. It was unmistakable now. The rhythmic pong-pong-ponging of hide drums echoing through the air, rising above the sound of the surf. I watched the horizon with increasing anxiety. The drums were getting louder, and soon I could see several specks on the horizon, approaching from the direction of a distant island.

  I got to my feet, shading my eyes against the bright sunlight to get a better view. A number of outrigger canoes, each containing six men, were approaching at a rapid pace.

  My heart began to beat faster as I looked around for some place to conceal myself. The island was small, with only a single copse of coconut and bamboo trees surrounded by smaller bushes. I made for the thickest patch of vegetation and began to work my way through the tangle of vines and branches. I hid myself beneath a heavy blanket of thick ferns, crouched on my hands and knees, peering through the tiny gaps between the leaves. The canoes pulled up to the beach, five in total, and the men clambered out, splashing through the foamy water and shouting to one another as they dragged the canoes onto the sand. The men were tall, lean, and athletic, with deeply bronzed skin and broad, muscular shoulders and thick arms. They were dressed in hide loin cloths, with grass armbands, legbands, and headbands, and carried flat wooden clubs embedded with deadly rows of shark teeth. They spoke quickly in loud voices in a language I didn’t recognize. One of the men from each of the boats gesticulated to the other men who had accompanied them, shouting orders. The leaders of each boat then set off with four men apiece, leaving one man beside each boat to guard it. The various groups began heading to different parts of the island.

  One of the groups was walking directly toward me. I made myself as small as possible, hardly daring to breathe. My heart was beating in my chest like a trapped animal desperately trying to break free. Their voices got louder as they approached, and their bare feet crunched through the fallen palm leaves and over the roots. I thought for sure they were going to discover me, but they passed me by, barely even beating the leaves over my head as they went.

  When they’d moved some distance away, I raised my head and studied the beach. The men guarding the boats had converged into a single group, talking and leaning on their weapons, evidently bored with their assignment. Could I steal one of their boats? Even assuming I could reach one of the boats without being captured, there was no way I could drag it back into the water by myself, or outpaddle them. It seemed like my only option was to remain hidden and hope that—

  I gasped. A pair of strong hands had closed around my ankles.

  I yelped and scrambled, but the hands yanked me back. I heard laughter. Seizing the branches of a shrub, I momentarily resisted the pull, but the branches snapped off in my hands. There was more laughter and then a barking command. Another pair of strong hands took hold of my waist and hauled me up out of the bushes. I squealed, flailing my arms and kicking my legs. Two more men took hold of my armpits and I felt myself being hoisted to a standing position. The throng of men pressed close around me, holding me securely in place, and then let out a loud cheer, accompanied by hoots and whistles to notify the other men that the hunt was over. They’d apprehe
nded their prey.

  Growling with frustration, I tried to wrestle free, but I was no match for five big, strong men. One man taking hold of each arm and leg, they carried me kicking and screaming out of the thicket onto the beach, the leader shouting triumphantly.

  The other four groups soon joined us, talking animatedly and smiling and laughing at their good fortune. They laid me down on the soft sand on my stomach and held me tight as they stripped me naked, tossing the rags aside contemptuously. They tied my wrists and ankles together with some kind of rough rope made of vines and then picked me back up off the beach like a trussed pig. The boats were pushed back out into the water and I was carried by two men and placed in the middle of one of the canoes. The leader of my boat sat behind me, holding me firmly by one arm as he shouted directions to the others.

  The last man on each boat picked up a small drum and began to rhythmically beat it. The remaining men picked up their paddles and began to vigorously stroke the water in time with the drumming, their muscular, reddish-brown torsos gleaming in the sunlight.

  The emerald waters of the beach gave way to blue ocean, and soon we were traveling at a steady pace toward the distant island, the canoe rising and falling in steady, undulating lurches. The splashing water stirred up by the paddles sparkled briefly in the air before beading on my skin as a fine spray. The leader tightened his grip on my arm and jerked me to attention, speaking in a loud, firm voice. He looked down at my breasts and cupped one with one of his large, rough hands and gave it a firm squeeze. He smiled, nodding with approval, and began speaking again, this time in a slower, more patient tone. He seemed to be trying to explain something to me, squeezing my breast at key points for emphasis, but I couldn’t understand a word that he was saying. I stared at him with a blank face, completely terrified.

  What do they want? What are they going to do with me?

  It was an academic question. I knew very well what they were going to do to me.

  The man let go of my breast and pointed at the island, smiling with pleasure as he gestured first to the volcanic peak, then to the water, then to me, and then back to the peak.