by Kate Hall
When the sun crests over the horizon, I open a jar of tomatoes and feel the dock move just enough to turn my head. Alyssa is wearing my black fleece leggings and that same gray sweater, and she’s carrying two cups of steaming liquid. The early summer heat hasn’t made it to our little ranch yet this morning.
“Cocoa?” She offers, holding out my favorite cup, a mug she gave me for my thirteenth birthday that says, “Something Fishy” with a teal mermaid tail instead of a handle. She’s always just sort of accepted my obsession with the fish that live in our part of the lake. I used to think that she cared about them as much as I do.
“Thanks,” I reply, holding her hand to steady her as she sits next to me. A shiver runs through her as the unblinking eyes evaluate her for just a moment. She doesn’t release my hand now that she’s sitting. We watch the golden sunlight move over the hills, shining through the trees. Pale fog floats just over the water, and I breathe in the fresh morning air.
“They know you, too, you know,” Alyssa says, taking a sip of her hot cocoa before tossing a piece of tomato. “They wait for you the same way you wait for them.”
“How do you know?”
She puts her eyes on mine, steady and unblinking, but she doesn’t respond. After a moment, I blush and turn away, tossing another piece of bread into the lake. We continue in silence until the sun is up and the food runs out. When I can feel the tops of my ears burning from the sudden heat, the fish swim away, lazily spreading about the lakebed. My food isn’t enough to sate their hunger, not with how big they are, but it’s a treat they seem to look forward to.
“You’re the best person I know,” Alyssa whispers. She leans her head on my shoulder and sighs, ruffling my hair in my face.
After a moment, I lean my head on top of hers. We only sit for another moment before my phone buzzes. Janna’s name pops up on my screen - she sent a picture of herself behind the wheel of her boat, her rash guard askew. Kyle is in the background, calibrating her camera while Rodney’s face just peeks in on the side, slightly blurry with movement.
“God, I could go for a day on the water,” Alyssa sighs.
“After being trapped in it for two years?”
She smiles. “So long as it doesn’t rain.”
We run up to the house and change into swimsuits—I let her use the new one I just bought, the red one-piece with a low back. It looks better on her anyway. I put on my pale pink bikini that I wore most of last summer, and we take the four-wheeler the long way, through the rusty metal gate and back to the dock. We quickly make all of our supplies as secure as possible, and Alyssa tightens her leg over my wakeboard bag to keep it down on the left side. The bag is an obnoxious aluminum that’s starting to tear and flake in places, but it was free because Mom gave it to me with her old board. Shortly after, Dad bought me new boots for it that make the whole thing appear a lot more modern.
We speed over to Becker’s Point, our usual meeting place outside of Ginger Hills. Alyssa’s arms are around my waist, and I feel a little bad about my hair whipping in her face, but she hoots and hollers as I weave around the warming water. Her excitement is contagious, and I hop over the wake of a yellow Crownline ski boat with “Janna Banana” written in vinyl across the back. Rodney’s delightfully obnoxious country music is blasting from the tower speakers, and Alyssa releases me to cheer and wave as we race them.
It’s almost like nothing has changed. Except now, as she yells over the engine in my ear, “Go faster!” A shiver runs through my whole body.
We don’t beat the gang to Becker’s Point—Janna’s boat is much faster than my ancient jet ski—but I’m exhilarated as we pull up alongside them and tether together.
Rodney is less moody than yesterday, and he picks Alyssa up and spins her around. “The Wake Twins are back at it!” He opens the compartment under the deck and wiggles their boards out, a matching black pair with electric blue designs and boots. Although he’s been using his more, Alyssa’s smaller board still looks well worn from when she used to come out with us, back when we’d go with Janna’s mom and learn the tricks she did in her competitive days. Their Instagram account is full of images and videos of them, but Rodney stopped using it when she disappeared.
I get my new rope out once my bag and I are securely on deck. The rope is a professional grade one that everyone pitched in to buy me for my miserable February birthday. Alyssa puts on one of the life vests, a thin black one with purple hibiscus designs.
After I hook up the rope to the high metal tower - newly installed as Janna’s Christmas present - Alyssa straps in to her old board on the swim deck.
“It might take a few tries,” she warns. “On account of me being disappeared and all.” Nobody laughs except her. “Tough crowd.” She takes the rope as I pass her the handle, then hesitates to jump into the lake. From their angle on the boat, I’m sure that no one else can see the moment of fear flashing across her eyes.
“We’re nowhere near Ginger Hills,” I say quietly. With the engine off, anything louder than a whisper will be clear to everybody. “And it’s a perfect day out.”
She nods and jumps into the water. I quickly untether my jet ski and take off, ready to follow along as soon as Alyssa shouts, “Go, boat!”
Like a fish to water, she pops right up like she’s been doing this all along. It takes a moment for her to gain her confidence, but I ride far to the starboard side and watch her drop her left hand and weave back and forth. After another moment, she does the tiniest jump up over the wake, and then cuts hard to the left, practically beside the boat instead of behind. I hold my breath to see what she’ll do next, although I already know. She turns to look at me, a smirk on her face.
She cuts hard back to the right, practically sitting in the water. When she gets to the boat’s wake, everyone at the boat starts to cheer, even Janna at the wheel. Alyssa leaps into the air in a quick flip, landing like a pro on the other side.
Rodney cheers the loudest. The Wake Twins really are back.
Hours later, when everyone has had a turn—even Rodney and Alyssa going simultaneously—we pull the yellow boat and my jet ski up to the dock at our favorite restaurant, cheeks red and grins wide. I tether the jet ski to the back of the boat so we don’t take up too much space.
I wave everyone else on as I finish putting up the life vests and wakeboards - the boards are fastened securely on the tower now that we’ve pulled them out of their normal under-deck storage. Alyssa sits cross-legged on the deck, waiting patiently even though she’d just been conversing with Kyle about his new camera, ooh-ing and ah-ing over the photos he’s taken so far this morning.
Just as I’m closing up the back bench seat to cover our vests, a gasp comes from the dock.
“Heather,” a strangled voice comes out. I stand stick-straight to find Alyssa’s eyes pointed at the water. There, just under the surface and watching her, is a giant catfish with a brown heart-shaped mark.
The legendary giant fish of Ginger Hills never leave our cove.
We’re nowhere near Ginger Hills.
Chapter Four
Everyone, even skeptical Rodney, is so freaked by the catfish that Janna’s parents drive two cars to pick us up—one for the boat, and the other for my jet ski. They’re just as superstitious about the water around Ginger Hills and our giant fish as the rest of us—the Stephens’s are truly outliers in this town.
Alyssa and I ride with Janna’s mom, while everyone else rides with her mamma.
As we climb out, Janna’s mom wraps me in a warm hug, her sportsman’s muscular arms tight around me. “We’ll keep the jet ski at our house for now. Next time you go out Janna can pick you up and launch off our ramp.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Knight.”
She rolls her eyes. “Like I always say, call me Farrah.”
I grin, “Alright, Mrs. Knight.”
She laughs as she climbs back into her Jeep, but her posture is still tense. Nobody is at ease today.
A girl around my age r
ushes out the front door, eyes darting around. I recognize her instantly from the last day of class, although she’s a lot more animated than before. Her stringy brown hair is pulled behind her head in a low ponytail, and her clothes are at least a few sizes too large. Her eyes widen when she spots Alyssa and me. The front room of the house is reserved for her psychic readings, which have always been eerily accurate. When I was six, she told me I’d break my arm if I climbed the pine tree out back, and, a week later, I was in a cast. That must be why this girl is here, although there’s no car in sight. Where did she come from?
Alyssa keeps eye contact with her but doesn’t say anything.
“I’m Ruth,” the girl stammers, her voice high and airy. She sounds so much younger than she looks.
“Heather,” I reply. There’s something about her penetrating gaze that sends an uneasy shiver down my body, but she doesn’t stick around for me to figure her out. She walks up the driveway, bracing herself against the dust trail from the retreating Jeep.
I shake my head and walk inside, although I have to pull Alyssa along as she watches Ruth go.
“You two are home early,” Mom says, giving us each a peck on the temple that surprises Alyssa. Of course she’s treating her just like the old days. Mom looks shaken, though. There must have been something in that reading that rattled her, but I know better than to ask.
“About that,” I say. I evaluate Alyssa, deciding if I want her to be in on this conversation. She knew the superstitions, but Mom and I have a rule. We only talk to each other about the secrets our waters hold. Alyssa’s lake-ridden eyes are steady on mine. “Winny was out at Fisherman’s Wharf.”
Mom puts a hand over her lips in thought. “Was anyone else there?”
Alyssa starts to say, “Rodney,” but I cut her off, knowing Mom isn’t talking about people.
“No. Just Winny. But I don’t know what to do if the others start leaving. We can’t keep them safe.”
Mom just nods, watching us carefully. “This is because of Alyssa.”
At the mention of her name, her face falls. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
Mom lays a hand on her cheek and pulls her to look into her eyes. “It isn’t your fault. It simply is, and now we have to figure out how to fix it.”
“Wait,” I say. “If the fish are going to other parts of the lake, does that mean…” I don’t know how to finish the sentence.
Mom keeps watching me, so neither of us notice Alyssa’s realization dawning. She says, “If the fish are leaving Ginger Hills, then nobody anywhere is safe.”
Chapter Five
The dock is quiet, the water shockingly serene. Even though the water is safe on sunny days, everybody from Ginger Hills takes their boats out further into Table Rock Lake in case of rain.
I toss a few pieces of bread out, but it’s a few minutes until anybody returns. Winny is usually the first to take food, but only a few of the carp come to the surface. Ramona, Sandy, and Cat. Still, I spot a few slippery bodies sliding around each other deeper down, where it’s hard to see them. They know something is wrong, too. I stare intently at them, begging them to give me an answer.
Of course, they don’t say anything. I wait another moment, and don’t even notice Alyssa taking off her sun dress and slipping into the water, still in my red one-piece.
The fish swarm around her, and she runs her hands along their slick bodies and spiny fins. She’s practically one of them, her eyes widening and mouth gaping as she makes long, slow sounds to sooth them.
I don’t think I’m afraid of the fish in my lake, but I also don’t have the courage to go in with her. Instead, I grip on to the side rails and watch as she floats with them. Soon enough, Winny joins her, the brown heart making her obvious.
Because my eyes are so intensely focused on Alyssa, I don’t notice the stormclouds until the sound of distant thunder rumbles in my ears.
Alyssa hears it too, and her eyes meet mine. She’s floating a bit away from the dock, but now she flails desperately toward it.
A single drop hits the tin roof of my dock, and the sound reverberates through me, sickens me.
Without a second thought, I jump into the now deadly water.
My light dress is suddenly heavy and soaked-through, and I have to grip the ladder hard and stretch out.
“Take my hand,” I say, not loudly. If I shout, it will only make things worse. More real. The fish are gone, fled to deeper water. They don’t want this to happen any more than we do.
The moment her fingers wrap around my wrist, a claw grips my ankle, tearing into my flesh. I grit my teeth and hold tight. It’s just the one. It’ll be okay.
I make the mistake of glancing down. The creature has eyes as dark as the abyss.
Hungry eyes.
It grins a sick grin, mouth filled with yellowed teeth. I pull Alyssa to me.
Her eyes, too, are dark and hungry.
I keep my hand clenched tightly around her, even when she digs her claws into my wrist, even when she bares her teeth at me. I drag myself out of the water, kicking at the creature trying to pull me under. The steady, fat drops of water fall from the sky and try to wash me away, into the grasp of the lake.
Alyssa starts to thrash and tug, desperate to get out of my hold, but I drag her out of the water with me with a strength I didn’t know I had. The instant she’s on the dock, out of the water, her eyes return to their greenish brown color, and her skin loses the yellowed tone it had taken on.
We lie on the dock together for what feels like hours, the rain sloughing against the tin roof. Alyssa heaves sobs, repeating, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Her fingers intertwine through mine, and I stroke the outside of her thumb with my own.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “It’s going to be okay.”
Eventually, her breathing slows, and I almost think she’s fallen asleep. The creatures have stopped swirling below us, and the rain is finally starting to let up as the sun sets past the hills that surround the lake.
“I should have never come out,” she says, her voice calm and tired.
I shake my head and press my lips against her soggy hair. “I’m glad you did,” I mumble.
Chapter Six
When I was thirteen years old, the cabin across the lake sold. The woman who bought it owned some sort of tech company, and she wanted a quiet life on the lake to live with her family—a doting husband and their twin children, also thirteen. The day they moved in was sunny, and the kids were playing off the dock when I waded over on my unicorn float, the one I saved all my lawn mowing money to buy. The two trusted me when I said there were monsters in the lake when it rains.
The girl was beautiful, funny, and kind. The boy was quiet and sad. A year later, when the boy tried to kiss me, I told him I was in love with his sister. He said “Thank God, because I’m in love with a boy.”
I never told the girl I loved her. It’s a small town. When we were fifteen, the rumor spread through school that she was gay. Graffiti was written on her locker, boys would shove her in the halls, and none of the teachers defended her. On the last day of school, in the pouring rain, she dipped her toes into the lake and disappeared. The fear in her eyes was burned into my mind, a scar that would never go away.
The day I turned seventeen, two days before the end of the year, I spoke with the lake. “Give her back. Please. Take someone else. Anyone else.” I’ve always been stuck here, taking care of the water’s children and keeping its secret. That it takes sad girls and gives them claws and fangs and fins, and they can only remember who they are when they’re fish, incapable of defending themselves.
In exchange, the creatures have to feed the lake, to tear some people apart and add others to their family. The lake rewards them with safety.
Now, though, something has changed. When the lake gave me Alyssa, it took more than I’d asked. The fish that I’ve so lovingly protected and defended are no longer bound to Ginger Hills. On a rainy day, they can take anyo
ne they want.
I swallow. No, that was exactly what I’d offered. Magic doesn’t cheat.
Alyssa is asleep in my bed, hair still damp from a shower that hadn’t quite washed away that fishy lake smell. After lying down, she’d asked me to stay, so I had. The weight of her head on my chest is steady and reassuring.
I will fix this.
When she rolls off me at three in the morning, I sneak out once again. This time, I go into my mother’s reading room. Her tarot deck is in a velvet bag in a secret dresser drawer, so I pull it out and whisper to it that I need it to listen to me, just for tonight. I also take candles and lavender and anything else I can think of to keep me safe.
On the dock, I light the candles in a circle, one for each point of a pentagram.
“Please,” I whisper. “Listen to me.”
The water beneath me swirls, and I don’t have to look to know that there are nineteen fish staring at me—the other night, when I’d made my plea, there had been twenty, but now, Alyssa’s eyes are shut while she dreams far away from this place.
“You cannot have her back.” My voice shakes, and tears well up in my eyes. “We had a deal, and you broke it. You tried to take her from me, to take me.” I draw symbols on the deck in chalk, and the fish swirl around and over each other faster, agitated. “I bind you back to this place. You are only to take from Ginger Hills. This shall be as it has always been.” The words feel silly as they come out of my mouth. I want to feel powerful, authoritative, but I’m just a child who doesn’t know what she’s doing.
I don’t know what I expect, but the sounds of the fish fade away as they swim further into the depths of the water. Other than that, nothing changes. The air is still, and cicadas sing in the trees. Far away, a mountain lion screams.
How can I trust that Ginger Hills is safe?
After a few minutes, I sigh and blow out the candles before replacing them in my canvas bag. I amble back through the brush and trees, through the fence, and past the sleeping horses. When I put everything back where it was in Mom’s room, I go quietly down the stairs and crawl back into bed with Alyssa, who snuggles into me and breathes a contented sigh into my neck.
