Serpentine

by Napier, Barry

  “What?” he asked with venom in his voice.

  “There’s an old snake skin in here!”

  “Great! Pick it up and wear it as a scarf for all I care!”

  Still holding his hand, Valerie sighed. “It’s okay,” she said. “She didn’t know. She didn’t mean to.”

  “Yeah, I know, but…”

  “Don’t be such a turd!” Mac screamed.

  “Mac…I’m warning you…”

  “Alright,” Valerie said, turning her attention to Mac. “Show me this snake skin.” With that, she tugged at Joe, leading him back towards the shack.

  “Don’t give in to her,” Joe said. It was meant as a joke but the words came out with an edge. All he could think about was kissing her. He didn’t care if Mac had found a live snake and was skipping rope with it…

  Valerie smiled at him and tugged him along. In a whispered voice he would hear in his head for the rest of the afternoon, she said: “We’ll get another chance. I promise.” And as Joe’s mind reeled with that information, he felt himself being led back towards the shack on legs that felt like rubber.

  SIXTEEN

  The little bass boat was at least twenty-five years old and looked even older. The engine had been replaced twice and there was a patch in the right side. It was a Weld-Craft model and was only one step up from the aluminum deals that every sucker on the lake had stored in their garage. Through its many years spent on Clarkton Lake, it had taken Wayne Crosby and Al Crabtree on nearly two hundred fishing trips.

  Neither of the men was sure who the boat belonged to. It had been swapped back and forth between countless games of poker and lost sports bets. It typically stayed anchored at the small dock behind Al’s house but had also spent a few drunken weekends anchored to a rock on the bank behind Wayne’s house.

  One week, after snooping around in George Galworth’s back yard under the cover of night, Wayne and Al loaded the boat up with their fishing supplies: two rods, a small Styrofoam container of night crawlers, an old battered tackle box, a cooler loaded down with a case of beer, and Wayne’s little handgun—something Wayne never went fishing without ever since a copperhead snake had struck at him on a bank over twenty years ago. It was a puny little Ruger .22 that fit neatly in the bottom corner of the tackle box.

  It was two in the afternoon when they headed out from Al’s dock. They had a particular destination in mind, a small cove-like dent in the lake that meandered into a stream underneath a heavy canopy of trees. It sat over two miles away from Al’s dock, giving the two old men ample time to start drinking and whining about the current state of Clarkton’s summer tourists.

  It didn’t take long for their conversation to turn to what had been their topic of choice over the last two weeks. They were still hung up on those speeding government trucks. And while a great deal of time had been spent discussing them and the odd track they had seen in the sand when they had snuck into George’s back yard, they had exhausted just about every theory. They had both come to the lackluster conclusion that it had something to do with either an environmental thing that they would never care about, or some sort of crime—a murder perhaps. But if neither of them had picked up anything from the grapevine down at The Wharf about such a thing, murder or any other sort of foul play could likely be ruled out.

  “You have any idea what George Galworth did for a living?” Wayne asked as they started to close in on their fishing spot.

  “Not really,” Al answered. “Something with the government, I think. Or maybe military. He was rarely out here, you know. From what I understand, his house on the lake was like a second home for him. I think he spent most of his time out near Alexandria or somewhere else up north.”

  “So then it might not be all that strange that government vans were sitting in front of his house,” Wayne said.

  “Or,” Al said thoughtfully, “that could make the whole thing worse.”

  Wayne shrugged and opened up his second can of beer of the afternoon. “This is going to turn out to be one of those things no one is ever going to find out about. Sort of like those military helicopters that kept flying over the lake three summers ago.”

  “Those were marijuana helicopters,” Al said.

  “The hell they were,” Wayne said. “And besides, I don’t think military choppers fly around looking for pot.”

  “What else would they have been?”

  “I don’t know. Hence no one ever finding out.”

  “I always forget that you were one of those conspiracy guys,” Al said.

  “Just because I think the government lies about everything doesn’t make me a conspiracy nut. You want a conspiracy nut, go talk to that loon on the other side of the lake—the ham radio enthusiast with Alex Jones bumper stickers all over his truck.”

  They both had a laugh at this as Al guided the little boat towards the edge of the lake. Ahead, the lake spread out ahead of them, the far banks barely visible. Some of Clarkton could be seen over that mile and a half or so of water and then there was the open lake to all sides. But instead of heading to the wide open lake out there, Wayne and Al were headed into a slight bend ahead, a curve you couldn’t see until you were right on top of it. They’d fished here several times before and knew that it was a hotbed for catfish.

  Al pulled the little boat into the cove and then carefully swung it around. The back of the boat was facing a marsh-like coupling of muddy lake water and stubborn trees that had not yet figured out that they were not resting on solid ground. The trees had a lazy sort of slant to them, leaning away from the lake and back towards the surrounding forests.

  Both men cast their lines out back towards the lake, one on either side of the boat. The plop of their weights striking the water was almost perfectly in sync. That was another of those sounds that exemplified summer for Wayne. Along with a can of beer being popped open and the clanging of a good game of horseshoes, the sound of a perfectly cast line plopping into the water was what summer was all about. Sure, as a younger man he supposed women were in there somewhere, too. But the divorce (and maybe even the marriage five years prior to the divorce) had made Wayne care nothing about women. He’d still sneak a peek at a pretty tourist here and there but even that satisfaction was a fleeting one that ended up making him angry.

  “So this is retirement, huh?” Wayne asked. “I kind of like it. What’s today? Tuesday?”

  “Tuesday indeed,” Al said.

  “Feels like a Saturday. You ever get tired of this?”

  “Of what?” Al asked.

  “Of every day feeling like a Saturday.”

  Al let out a dry laugh and shrugged. “I’ve only been retired for a year and a half,” he said. “I’m not exactly a seasoned veteran at it.”

  “Man, what were you doing with all of that spare time before I retired?”

  “Spending time with my wife,” Al said.

  “You poor man.”

  “Watch it.”

  Wayne held up his hands in mock surrender. He then took a hearty gulp from his beer and started reeling his line in.

  “All jokes aside,” Al said. “What do you plan to do now? I can’t imagine you not working.”

  “Hell if I know,” Wayne responded. His line was reeled in and he held the rod thoughtfully for a moment. “I’ve been retired for five months now and I honestly have no idea.”

  “No hobbies to keep you entertained?”

  “None.”

  “Any good books you want to read?”

  “I hate reading.”

  “Well then,” Al said. “I guess it’s just horseshoes for the foreseeable future.”

  “And there’s nothing at all wrong with that,” Wayne said with a smile.

  But there was something wrong with that, although he’d never tell Al he felt that way. It pained him to know that his life was so empty that he had no ideas on how to fill the rest of it. Without work, what the hell was he supposed to do? He wondered if the guys down at the hardware store would be able
to use an old fart for part-time help. It was a sad thought but for now, that’s all he had.

  Wayne brought his rod over his shoulder, ready to cast the line back out. He clicked the release and flicked his wrist forward for the cast. As he did, the boat seemed to shudder beneath his feet. It was so strong that he lost his footing, along with his grip on the fishing rod. It went sailing from his hands and landed in the water about ten feet in front of the boat.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  Al was holding on to the side of the boat, gripping his pole tightly. He was snickering a bit at the sight of Wayne’s pole in the water but it was clear that it was also concerned about whatever had happened to the boat.

  “Catfish?” Al said, only half joking. They’d seen some monsters pulled out of this lake and the idea wasn’t too farfetched.

  Wayne felt something wet and cold at his feet. He looked down and saw that the bump along the bottom of the boat had knocked his beer over. It had splashed on his toes and was soaking into his cheap flip flops.

  Before either of them had the opportunity to speculate further, the bump came again. It was harder this time, actually rocking the boat.

  “That’s not a catfish,” Al said with concern in his voice.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Wayne said. “So then what the hell is—?”

  His words dropped flat as something jumped up out of the water. It surfaced on Al’s side of the boat and slapped hard against the side. Wayne barely saw it—just long enough to see a weird serpentine shape and something grey and glistening. The aluminum body of the boat made a hollow drum-like sound as the thing struck it.

  Al jumped back, his rod clattering to the floor of the boat. He wheeled around to look at what had leaped out of the water, but it wasn’t there.

  “What was it?” Al asked.

  “I don’t know,” Wayne said. “I barely saw it. It looked like…I don’t know…like a big-ass snake or something.”

  “No way that’s a snake,” Al said. He was backing away from the edge of the boat but also trying to cautiously peer out into the water.

  Whatever had hit the boat, it had alarmed Wayne enough to throw open his tackle box. He removed the first drawer completely and pushed aside a bunch of stringy plastic lures to get to his Ruger. For so long, it had gone unnoticed and had been little more than extra weight in the bottom of the tackle box. Having to retrieve it made him feel entirely too uneasy.

  As his hand fell on it, he heard the noise of something breaking the surface of the water again. This time, the boat was partially turned in the water roughly forty-five degrees or so as the thing struck the side while it breached.

  Wayne drew the gun up and the moment he had it out of the tackle box, Al was screaming.

  Wayne saw what was happening, but his body locked in place for a solid two seconds as he tried to make sense of it.

  Something had come out of the water—the same something he had caught a glimpse of no more than ten seconds ago—and struck the boat again. This time, though, it had come partially into the boat. Only, it didn’t seem the creature was interested in the boat at all.

  Instead, it was wrapped around Al’s chest.

  And while the thing did resemble a snake, Wayne started to think it looked more like an eel or a leech instead…only an enormous version of either one and, somehow, abstract in the way it was built.

  By the time Wayne was able to move, the unnamable thing was pulling Al off of the boat. Al’s feet actually left the floor and were in the air for a moment as the thing pulled him back. He screamed again but it was cut off when he was pulled into the water with the eel-like thing. There was a violent splash as the thing fought against Al’s attempts at escape, followed by a loud knock at the side of the boat.

  Wayne stumbled forward on shaking legs, the Ruger held out in front of him. Having seen the thing that currently had his friend hauled underwater, the little Ruger felt suddenly stupid and useless. It was loaded with three bullets but he thought he might as well be firing a child’s cap gun.

  Still, he had to try something. He went to the front of the boat and got there just in time to see Al’s arm come shooting out of the water. It slapped blindly at the side of the boat. His fingers fumbled along the slick aluminum and Wayne reached out to take his friend’s hand. He was able to make the connection, grabbing his hand and seizing it tightly. He pulled backwards and was relieved to see Al’s head pop up above the surface.

  But the thing was not giving up so easily. Another part of it came out of the water and wrapped around Al’s shoulders. It then seemed to slither around behind the back of his head and came to the front. It wrapped around Al’s jaw, covering everything from his nose down. Al stared at him with wide eyes that looked both terrified and utterly confused. He was trying to climb up onto the boat but was immobilized in the water as the thing continued to hold him by his shoulders and the lower part of his face.

  The moment the monstrosity was latched on, Wayne felt a surge of strength from it. He nearly lost his grip on Al and knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. Knowing that it was risky, Wayne leaned forward and extended the Ruger out towards the water. He held it directly along the surface of the creature where it held Al around the shoulder. Wayne saw it tighten up at the feel of something on its skin. As it tightened, it drew Al down again and his head started to go underwater.

  Grimacing, Wayne angled the Ruger as far away from Al’s shoulder as he could and pulled the trigger. The Ruger made a clapping noise and, despite its small size, kicked in Wayne’s hand with surprising authority. The flesh of the thing was peeled away in ribbons. Blood and white gore went flying, some spattering alongside the boat.

  The thing instantly released Al but another part of it (or, Wayne thought, maybe it’s all the same piece and its long enough to seem like it has multiple appendages) came up on Al’s right side, searching for something else to grab onto.

  Wayne saw it clearly for the first time. The skin of the thing wasn’t too dissimilar from the color of a catfish but it looked more like some large tentacle from a sea monster, acting of its own accord. There were puckers along its underside, white grey and glistening.

  Wayne wasted no time. He aimed as best as he could, the barrel no more than six inches away from the thing, and fired again. He hit it a little off of center, but the result was good enough for him. The slithering thing sank quickly into the water, disappearing just as quickly as it had appeared.

  Wayne dropped the gun and used both hands to reach into the water for Al. He grabbed both of Al’s wrists and pulled as hard as he could. He drew Al up out of the water and then fell down, nearly falling ass-first out the other side of the boat. Al was hanging halfway in the boat and scrambling in the rest of the way. He was taking in deep hitching breaths as he climbed in. Once his entire body was inside, he simply lay along the floor for a moment, shuddering and coughing.

  “You okay?” Wayne asked, getting to his feet and locating the Ruger.

  “No…don’t know,” Al said, clearly still frazzled. “Wayne, what the hell was that?”

  “I don’t know,” Wayne said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Get…get us out of here. Now.”

  “Absolutely.”

  He wasted no time, heading to the back of the boat and giving the pull-crank engine the little bit of strength he had. It took four tries, his muscles jittery from what he had just witnessed, but the little engine finally came to life. As he got behind the wheel, he also did his best to look Al over for any serious injuries. Other than having gone about ten shades paler than his usual lake-tanned self, he seemed to be okay.

  “I’ve got my cell phone,” Wayne said. “Do I need to call an ambulance?”

  “No. Just get me home.”

  It looked like Al might start crying at any moment and that broke Wayne’s heart. He looked away and out to the water as he rocketed the boat ahead as fast as it would go. On a few occasions, he looked ba
ck over his shoulder, sure that he’d see an impossible shape chasing after them.

  With the small steering wheel in one hand and the Ruger in the other, Wayne sped back towards Al’s house. He tried to come to a conclusion as to what the creature had been but came up empty. It was either some impossibly big leech or eel…or something completely unheard of.

  Either way, there seemed to be a monster of sorts residing in Clarkton Lake.

  And suddenly, the black government vans started to make a little bit of sense.

  SEVENTEEN

  Joe had it bad. He hated to admit it, but he had it really bad.

  He had it so bad that as he strolled down Kerr Lane with the weight of the night pressing down on him, he didn’t pay attention to his surroundings as he had done on his first trek out at night. Instead, he was looking at his cell phone. The white light bounced up into his face and anyone that might have passed him (which was no one, as it was 11:30 at night) might have thought he looked like a phantom.

  He was looking at the screen and reading the text message he had received half an hour ago. It had come from Valerie and read: Can you meet me at the shack?

  Mac had been asleep when his phone had buzzed by his bedside. He had almost been asleep himself; the only thing that had kept him awake was thinking of Valerie. So when he received the text, he’d wasted no time. He was dressed and had his shoes on within two minutes. He’d then sat on the bed and listened to some music. He thought about texting Ricky Marshall to let him know that he could go see Devilsgut as much as he wanted. Meanwhile, he, Joe, would be meeting up with a beautiful girl in the middle of a humid summer night.

  Joe had made his exit the same way he had before. He didn’t much care if he woke Mac this time. She was in on the secret now and he doubted she’d do anything to mess it up. It made her feel special, almost like a big kid. She hadn’t come out and said this, but Joe could tell.

  He came to the spot where the little footpath started, shining his phone towards it to make sure he was in the right spot. He recalled what Valerie had done the last time he’d come out here to meet her, creeping up on him from behind and scaring the hell out of him. He didn’t think she’d do it again, but he wasn’t sure. He looked around cautiously and then headed down the path.