Oscawana

by Frank Martin

  Brad hopped off the edge and leaned over again, bringing his face practically inches from the water. He watched the weak trickle of bubbles pop one after the other, waiting anxiously for something to surface.

  He whispered Randy’s name, which was more of a hopeful reflex than anything else, and Brad’s languid attempt to reach his friend was answered by a thick stream of red liquid that flowed up from the depths before pooling along the surface.

  Shocked, Brad pulled back from the water and watched in horror as what he assumed to be blood spread out like a blooming flower. The crimson tinge was thick and slimy, bouncing a blinding ray of light in Brad’s eyes. He couldn’t look away, though. Brad stared at the ever-expanding slick of blood as it continued to grow until it completely surrounded the boat.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  April didn’t know what to do after Oscar left her alone on Goose Rock. Something like that had never happened before. He never just up and took off out of nowhere. Especially so suddenly like that.

  Although she had a feeling where Oscar went, April had a difficult time accepting the truth. Mainly because she just had no idea what he was going to do to those boys. Was Oscar going to watch them? Scare them? Or something worse?

  Refusing to think about it anymore, April sat down on the rock and waited for Oscar to return, which she knew full well might not happen. A minute went by. Then two. And April began fearing the worst.

  Her worry vanished, though, when the wakeboard boat emerged from the far side of the lake. Brad looked to be driving now with Randy being pulled behind it. Both boys were cheering victoriously, and the boat continued driving on ahead, splitting the fisherman scattered across the water while Randy jumped back and forth over the wake.

  April breathed a sigh of relief. Oscar swam in the opposite direction to where the wakeboard boat was headed, and knowing how fast he could move, April was sure that if he were going to do something terrible to the boys, he would have done it already. But still, that didn’t answer the question as to where Oscar went. So April hopped back on the jet ski and went off in search of him.

  She more or less followed the same path he was on before he disappeared under the water. Her eyes scanned the surface, periodically glancing up to make sure she wasn’t about to hit anything.

  As usual, April knew finding Oscar was a long shot. When he could dive down deep in the depths of the lake, the odds of him just hanging out around the surface were slim. Not to mention the fact that he could have also climbed up on land at any point of the shore. The more April thought about it, the dumber she felt chasing this strange creature around like an old lady that had lost her cats. And she continued searching the water until the jet ski’s engine grounded to a halt. Only then did April realize that she drove the damn thing straight into the reeds at the end of the lake.

  It took her a good five minutes to clear the tangled seaweed from out of the jet ski’s intake. After that, April crossed her fingers that the engine would start up again. When it did, she decided it was best just to quit while she was ahead and return the watercraft while it was still in one piece.

  April turned the jet ski around and made a beeline for Brad’s house. She knew something was wrong, though, when the wakeboard boat wasn’t alone at the dock. Sheriff Thompson’s boat was there, as well.

  After tying the jet ski up where she originally found it, April cautiously made her way down the dock and onto Brad’s lawn, where the boy and Sheriff Thompson were engaged in a heated conversation based on their body language. Randy was notably absent. When April drew close enough to join the discussion, Brad immediately turned his attention to her.

  “You saw it, right?” he asked, anxiously.

  Images of Oscar immediately popped into April’s mind, but she fought hard to keep her face blank and confused. “Saw what?”

  “The monster!” Brad screamed at her.

  The word felt like it attacked April, stabbing her in the heart. He was talking about Oscar. He had to be. But she never thought of him as a monster. He was a creature. A beast. A strangely, unique animal. Certainly, not a monster. Yet Brad had spat the word with such unnerved ferocity that it had to be true. There was no getting around it. He saw Oscar with his own two eyes.

  Pacing back and forth across his yard, the boy looked a far cry from the suave jock April met at Mr. O’s earlier in the day. His hair was a crumpled mess. Gone was the cocky smirk he wore perpetually, replaced by a terrified face covered in beads of sweat and wrought with anxiety.

  Sheriff Thompson held out his hands, trying to ease the panicked boy’s worries. “Slow down, Brad. Just take a deep breath and tell me again what happened.”

  Brad stopped pacing, yet his eyes remained focused on the ground as he tried to recall the story. “I was driving the boat. Randy was boarding. He hit the wake, launched in the air, and then this...thing jumped up and grabbed him.”

  “How did you see it if you were driving the boat?” Sheriff Thompson asked.

  Brad looked up, stern and serious. “The rearview mirror.”

  Sheriff Thompson’s brow furrowed, appearing troubled by the answer. “You didn’t have a spotter?”

  “Seriously?!” Brad erupts at him. “That’s what you’re getting from this?!”

  The Sheriff didn’t flinch, unmoved by the boy’s burst of emotion. “You know the rules. All water sports need to have a driver and at least one spotter in the boat.”

  “Randy was eaten by a lake monster!” Brad exclaimed, dramatically throwing his hands in the air. “You need to be out there looking for him. Not lecturing me about boat safety.”

  April’s heart, pounding in her chest, suddenly stopped. The fear and worry she’d been pushing aside, sweeping under the rug and pretending it wasn’t there, had come crashing down on her all at once. April didn’t want to believe Oscar was dangerous. She refused to, even when it was staring her in the face. Now someone was dead, and April couldn’t help but wonder if there was something she could’ve done to prevent it.

  If the Sheriff was alarmed, though, he didn’t show it, continuing his questioning in the same steady tone he started the conversation with. “How do you know he was eaten?”

  “There was blood floating in the water,” Brad replied, waving his hands around as if to mime it spreading out in front of him. “A lot of blood. Like a whole body’s worth of blood. Though it’s probably all gone by now.”

  “Did you find his board?” the Sheriff asked, stoically.

  Brad looked at him sideways. “What?”

  “His board,” Sheriff Thompson repeated. “Was it floating close by?”

  “What does that have to do—”

  “Wakeboards don’t sink,” Sheriff Thompson explained. “If he fell and slipped out of the bindings then the board would’ve been close by. If you couldn’t find it then it’s probably still attached to his feet.”

  Brad stared at the Sheriff, his face frozen and dumbfounded, before suddenly erupting with fury. “Randy…was…eaten! I don’t give a damn about his stupid wakeboard!”

  Sheriff Thompson took a deep breath, preparing himself to retort, when a voice from the water beat him to it. “Don’t listen to that boy!”

  Everyone turned and spotted Paul Dutchman hanging out the window of his seaplane as it slowly puttered by the house. So concerned by Brad’s ranting, April didn’t even hear the plane approaching, despite the hum of the prop spinning like a vibrating ghost. She was shocked something so loud could actually get the drop on her.

  Not Sheriff Thompson, though. He stood with his hands on his hips, definitely annoyed by the plane’s presence. “Mr. Dutchman, your plane is not a watercraft. I’d appreciate if you kept it docked if you’re not planning on flying it.”

  “I know my rights,” Dutchman shouted back. “I can drive this plane all around the lake for as long as I want.”

  The Sheriff sighed, clearly curbing his frustration. “Still, I’d appreciate it if you went back to your—”

 
; Dutchman interrupted the Sheriff by leaning out the window even further, pointing in Brad’s direction. “He and his degenerate buddy have been drinking beers and smoking ganja all day.”

  Brad’s shifty gaze danced back and forth between his accuser and the Sheriff, but Sheriff Thompson kept his focus on the plane as it started to turn around. “Thanks for your assistance, Mr. Dutchman, but I have everything under control here.”

  The plane started heading back the way it came when Brad surprised everyone by yelling out to it. “Wait! Dutchman, did you see the monster that nabbed Randy?”

  “The only thing I saw was your hoodlum friend riding that dang board across my seaplane like it was some kind of skate park.”

  The comment caught Sheriff Thompson by surprise and he turned to Brad with an alarmed frown. “Is that true?”

  The plane’s propeller began picking up speed, gradually morphing into one continuous circle. The hum grew so loud Dutchman now had to yell to project his voice across the water. “You’re lucky there’s no damage, otherwise I’d be pressing charges for vandalism!”

  The plane bolted forward like a sprinter out of the gate. It raced across the water for about a hundred feet before pulling up into the air, soaring over the boats around the lake before disappearing beyond the valley.

  When the plane’s hum became nothing more than a faint purr in the distance, Sheriff Thompson turned to Brad with a disappointed pout. “Did you idiots really ride over that man’s plane?”

  “Fine,” Brad proclaimed and theatrically held out his exposed wrists. “Arrest me. Just get back out on your piece of shit boat and find my friend!”

  Sheriff Thompson dryly shook his head. “I’m not going to do that.”

  “Why not?!” Brad raged, clenching his fists.

  Sheriff Thompson scoffed. “Because this is ridiculous.”

  Brad huffed a sigh, reasonably composing himself before continuing his plea. “Randy is missing.”

  The Sheriff frowned, sensing the boy’s dismay, but he looked torn. There was nothing he could do. “I drove through the cove on my way over here. There’s no one there, Brad. After he fell you probably just lost track of him in the water and he swam to shore somewhere. That’s all.”

  Brad stared at him, unmoved and unconvinced. “It was a lake monster.”

  Again, April winced at Oscar’s mention, but neither of them noticed. Especially the Sheriff, who tilted his head to the side with a condescending stare. “And I’m supposed to believe that from a kid reeking of beer and weed?”

  A loud gulp escaped Brad’s throat as he swallowed. The boy had hit a dead end. He didn’t look afraid or worried, but his body slumped down, woefully defeated.

  “Go inside,” Sheriff Thompson instructed, kindly, “Sober up and we’ll talk after dinner if you haven’t heard from Randy by then.”

  Brad shook his head as he turned back to the house, never even bothering to glance in April’s direction. In only a matter of hours he had transformed completely, no longer the recognizable prick April thought him to be. He was distraught, deflated, and just downright depressed. How could he not be? His friend was gone.

  Unlike Sheriff Thompson, April never doubted the boy’s story. She wanted to. It would’ve been convenient to believe Oscar wasn’t responsible, but Brad didn’t claim that a creature ate his friend by coincidence. It was Oscar. The only question was what should April do about it now?

  When Brad finally entered the house, Sheriff Thompson turned his attention to April. “I’m not one to tell people who they should or shouldn’t hang out with but…”

  Honoring the first half of his sentence, the Sheriff never finished the second.

  “It’s fine,” April assured him with a wave. “I was just borrowing a jet ski.”

  Sheriff Thompson started towards the dock and waved for April to come with him. She would’ve preferred not to. The last thing she wanted was to get questioned about Randy or even have to think about what happened, but the Sheriff slowed down his steps, refusing to keep moving until she joined him.

  “I saw you out there on Goose Rock,” he said, trying to kindle a conversation. “That’s where you were the other day on your paddleboard. What’s your fascination with the place?”

  “It’s just peaceful,” April said with a simple shrug, successfully pushing thoughts of Oscar from her head. “That’s all.”

  “Lord knows we can always use more of that,” Sheriff Thompson agreed.

  Upon reaching his boat, the Sheriff hopped inside and pointed to an empty seat. “I know it’s not far but would you like a ride back to your uncle’s?”

  April pointed behind her to the street on the other side of the house. “Thanks, but I’ll walk.”

  She had already turned and started back down the dock when the Sheriff said farewell. “Take care, April.”

  The girl didn’t acknowledge him. Not a goodbye, a wave, or even a nod. She kept her eyes focused ahead, not once looking back. April knew the Sheriff was just trying to be nice and do his job, but that didn’t matter. A boy was dead, and she couldn’t help but feel guilty that it was somehow her fault.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Sheriff Thompson told Brad to sober up, but that was the last thing the teenage boy planned on doing. He cracked open a beer as soon as he got into the house and began chugging, hoping each gulp would erase the image of that monstrosity from his memory. It took just a split second and Brad only saw it happen through a mirror, yet the instant was photographed in his mind. A picture perfect still of the moment that creature latched onto Randy’s torso in mid-air.

  What was that thing, anyway? Mutated animal? Alien pet? Demonic hell beast?

  After finishing the beer, Brad tossed the can aside, grabbed another from the fridge, and slumped down into his sofa. What was he going to do now? Call his or Randy’s parents? And tell them what? That Randy was eaten by a sea monster? Or should he say thinks he was eaten by a sea monster. Because nobody believed him. The only thing Brad knew for certain was that Randy was missing, and despite the blood in the water, which was long gone by now, he had no proof that his friend was actually hurt.

  Brad did what he was supposed to and called nine-one-one, but Sheriff Thompson didn’t even take him seriously. Forget that girl, April. She was useless, just blankly staring at him as if she forgot how to use her brain. If she even had one behind that pretty face of hers. And Dutchman was nothing more than a stuck up, arrogant prick. His house wasn’t that far from the cove. He probably saw the whole thing happen, laughing as the fiend from another dimension dragged Randy into the depths of the lake.

  Ahhh!

  Brad threw the unopened beer against the wall, causing the can to explode in a wild spray of fizz. As the beer fell to the floor, foam spilling out all over the rug, Brad leaned forward in his seat and dropped his face into his hands. He would’ve cried if he weren’t so angry. He wasn’t used to feeling this way. Distraught and wracked with emotion. The summer was supposed to be about fun and having a good time. And if Sheriff Thompson wanted him to wait until after dinner before hearing what he had to say, then Brad was going to make the most of his hours until then. That was what Randy would’ve wanted.

  What followed was a hazy mess of drinking and smoking that left the house in disarray. Sometime later, could’ve been hours or minutes, Brad switched from beer to whiskey by raiding his father’s liquor cabinet. He always wanted to before, just never had the courage to face his father’s wrath if the old man ever found out. Now Brad just didn’t care.

  As the hours of daylight waned, Brad decided he needed a change of scenery and headed on over to the standalone garage across the street from the house. He lifted up the pull-down door and looked over the cluttered array of stored possessions. There was a deflated raft tucked into the corner and a small eight-foot boat hung upside down to the ceiling. As his eyes skimmed across the garage, Brad’s gaze stopped when it fell upon the empty trailer for Randy’s jet ski.

  A hundre
d questions ran through Brad’s head. What was he going to do with the jet ski now? Would his parents want it back? Would they want Brad to have it? And if they did, would he even want to keep it? Maybe he should just sell the damn thing.

  Realizing he was in no mood to figure out the answers, Brad turned his attention to the mud-drenched ATV parked beside the trailer. He threw his leg over the seat and started the engine without giving the action much thought. Brad then took off out of the garage, one hand wrapped around the throttle on the handlebars and the other securely fastened to the bottle of whiskey at his side.

  Staying on the road, Brad drove up the hill a little bit before turning across the valley. He eventually came to a dead-end street, which was really just a dead end for cars. The road actually transitioned into a dirt trail made specifically for ATVs and motorbikes.

  Driving down the path reminded Brad of Randy. They never really ventured too far from the trail’s entrance, but there were too many difficult memories that he and Randy made there together. So Brad kept driving all afternoon, deeper and deeper into the woods until the sun fell below the trees and the scenery became unrecognizable.

  He stopped and let his body fall forward, his muscles completely expired of energy. Only the ATV’s handlebars kept Brad from tumbling to the ground. Too distraught to sit up and too inebriated to make an attempt, Brad swung his arm around and brought the liquor bottle in front of his face. He then tilted it over, pouring a bit of whiskey to the ground. The brown liquid dribbled out the bottle as a final goodbye to a dear friend. A goodbye Brad felt forced to say alone.

  With his chin still resting atop the handlebars, Brad brought the bottle to his puckered lips and took another swig, barely moving his face in the process. After lowering the bottle and clearing his view ahead, a strange sight in the woods ahead caught Brad’s attention. The trees obstructed the sun’s dying rays, creating a faint splinter of light that splashed across a large figure moving towards him.