Skinny-Dipping at Monster Lake

by Bill Wallace

  “Nothing to it,” I boasted. “No, it wasn’t scary at all. I mean, nothing’s going to bother you. It was kind of fun—honest.”

  We chowed down until everyone was totally stuffed, added wood to the fire so it wouldn’t go out, and decided to fix the s’mores after we fished for a while.

  Our tackle boxes, rods and reels, along with the bait were already down at the lake. We took flashlights and put weights on our lines so we could throw them out farther.

  “Before we start fishing, we need to check the bank poles again,” Ted called out. “I don’t want to go sloshing around with all your hooks and lines in the water. If I bump somebody’s pole, one of you idiots might think you have a fish. You’d yank and I’d end up with a hook in my leg. Come on, Kent.”

  I put my rod down and started to get up.

  “I’ll go with you.” Daniel hopped to his feet. “I’m not scared.”

  When they stripped, there was another chorus of “Here Comes Peter Cottontail.” None of the bank poles had been touched, so it took Ted and Daniel hardly any time at all to run them. Still, Daniel gave me sort of a funny look when they got back. They put their pants on, and we all shined our flashlights out onto the lake. Once we had the bank poles spotted, we cast our lines, trying to get between them so we wouldn’t get hung up.

  We sat there for a long time, talking about school, and where we would like to go on vacation, and which girls we thought were cute and which were nice, and telling ghost stories. But when Foster pulled in a two-pound catfish and then Chet caught one that weighed a pound and a half, there were suddenly more important things to do than talk.

  Over the next two hours or so, we ended up catching fourteen fish with rods and reels, and nineteen more off the bank poles. About midnight, when things started to slow, we began wandering back up the hill.

  We stuffed ourselves with s’mores. Aside from an occasional sword fight with the coat hangers—trying to knock the other guy’s marshmallows off or get them all covered with ashes—making s’mores was pretty uneventful. When we were so full we could hardly stand the thought of sticking another marshmallow over the flames, we all got our sleeping bags and made a circle around the campfire.

  Pepper started snoring the second his back hit the sleeping bag. Some of the guys visited. Others—like me—stretched out for a short nap.

  I barely got my eyes closed when Ted nudged me with his foot.

  “It’s our turn on the bank poles.”

  I yawned and looked up at him. “You sure? What time is it?”

  “Fifteen till one.”

  “Let’s get some sleep.”

  Ted glanced around, then leaned close to my ear. “Lots of times the big fish come up after the little ones have fed,” he whispered. “Come on.”

  The first five bank poles hadn’t been touched. But when Ted started pulling up the line on pole number six, he suddenly let go and jumped back.

  “What?” I gasped.

  “Fish.” He breathed. “Big one, too.” He pulled up the stringer that was attached to his rope and had me shine the light on it. It was almost full. “Wait here,” he said. “We’re gonna need a fresh stringer for this guy. He’s big. I don’t want to lose him.”

  Walking around, with nothing on, in a dark lake wasn’t my idea of fun. Course, after three trips to check the bank poles, I’d almost gotten used to it. But standing there . . . all alone . . . in the dark . . . the quiet . . .

  It took forever for Ted to get back.

  “I’m gonna need both hands,” he said, motioning me toward the bank pole. “You’ll have to hold the light and bring the fish up—real slow. Don’t yank on him. He’s gonna jerk and flop around, but just keep pulling slow and steady.” He opened the wire hook at the end of the stringer, then checked to make sure the other end was secured to the rope around his waist. “Don’t lift him out of the water, though. Soon as I see him, I’ll ram the stringer through his bottom lip. Don’t even think about letting go of the line until I got the stringer latched. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Holding the flashlight in one hand, I used the other to get hold and start lifting the line. A sudden tug yanked the nylon cord from my fingers. I reached down and got a better grip.

  Again a strong, solid jerk pulled the line from my grasp. A chill raced up my back. Ted wasn’t kidding. This guy was big. The anticipation tingled up my spine and pounded inside my head. I stuck the flashlight handle back in my mouth, tilted sideways so the light was on the string, and grabbed the line with both hands.

  The instant the fish’s broad, flat mouth broke the surface, Ted jabbed the stringer through his bottom lip. How he managed to latch it, I still don’t know.

  The spray that came when the fish lurched and tried to take off shot water high into the air. It got my eyes, face, hair. The nylon cord dug into my fingers. My jaws locked. My teeth ground together, I was so determined not to let him go.

  “Got him,” Ted whispered. I worked my hands loose and wiped the water from my eyes. Taking the light out of my mouth, I shined it on my hands. There were red marks where the line had dug in, but they weren’t bleeding. Ted raised the stringer so we could see our trophy. The fish was still long enough that its back half was underwater.

  “He’ll go fifteen pounds.” Ted panted. “Maybe twenty or more.”

  “Let’s go show the guys.”

  Ted shushed me. “No. Let’s see what else we got on the bank poles. Can you imagine how they’d flip out if we came back with ten of these things on our stringer?”

  Even though Ted’s rope belt was tied tight around his waist, and even though the stringer was secure, he still kept checking it. About three poles farther, we caught another fish. This one was smaller, but still a lot larger than the channel cat we caught on rods and reels.

  Right in the middle of our bank pole line—the place where we were closest to the campsite—we slowed our pace. We didn’t talk or slosh as we moved through the water. It was as if we had given some unspoken signal that we’d do nothing to tip the guys off about the fantastic catch we had. We wouldn’t even let them know we were around until we had more fish to show off when we got back beside the light of the fire. And we would . . .

  All of a sudden something wet . . . and slimy . . . and cold . . . touched me . . . in a place where I didn’t want to be touched!

  Eyes flashed. Fists and hands slammed into the water, fending off whatever it was that attacked me. I ran for the bank.

  Someone yelled. I think it was me. To be honest, it sounded more like a scream, but I don’t remember screaming or yelling, either one. When I glanced back, something was there.

  Eyes!

  Glowing, yellow eyes stared at me. Running harder, I opened my mouth. Not a single sound came out.

  Then somebody else screamed.

  I glanced over the other shoulder. There were no eyes, but Ted was charging toward the shore, too.

  I took off so hard and fast, I almost came clear out of the water.

  10

  What are you two guys doing?” Daniel asked. Only there was a weird sound to his voice. As if his words carried a disgusted edge, sharper than a knife.

  It was right about then that I noticed we were standing a good ten feet up the bank from the water. Everyone’s flashlight was on us. And Ted and I were holding on to each other.

  I guess it did look kind of strange.

  We sprang apart as if we’d been holding on to a hot stove.

  “What’s going on?” Pepper asked.

  “You saw the monster, didn’t you?” Zane turned to shine his light on the lake.

  Then somebody noticed the fish. Gasps and shouts filled the night. But once everyone had inspected the huge channel cat, their attention returned to us.

  “Who screamed?”

  “It wasn’t a scream,” I protested softly. “It was a yell.”

  “What happened?”

  Naturally, Ted—my best friend—pointed straight at me. “It
was Kent.”

  “I didn’t scream,” I mumbled again. “I yelled.”

  “There were two screams,” Foster pointed out.

  Ted made a gulping sound when he swallowed. “Well, Kent screamed and started fighting the water. Then he took off for the bank.” He shrugged. “I figured something got him—and whatever it was—well, it was probably coming after me, next.”

  All the lights turned on me.

  “What was it, Kent?”

  “What happened?”

  I cleared my throat. “Something wet, and cold, and slimy grabbed me . . .” I pointed down. “. . . Right there!”

  Everybody sort of cringed and moaned.

  “Did it bite you?”

  “No. It just . . . it just . . . something kind of hit me.” I didn’t like all those flashlights on me.

  Ted was beside me again. “Something wet, and cold, and slimy touched you?”

  “Yeah, it was more like a slap.”

  Suddenly something slapped my leg. I jumped. I couldn’t help it. Then I looked down. Ted held the smaller of our two catfish and whacked me again with the tail.

  My shoulders sagged so low, my knuckles could have dragged the ground.

  The chuckling seemed to grow. Everybody started pointing and laughing. It’s one of those things that . . . well, I guess it really was funny—just as long as it happened to someone else.

  There was not much to do but join in and laugh with them—after we put our underwear on.

  Being the laughingstock wasn’t so bad. All the other guys, except for Daniel, let me know that if it had happened to them they would have probably done the same thing. But being the brunt of their teasing—once—was enough. That’s why, when Zane saw the lake monster, I never admitted that I saw it, too.

  • • •

  The scream was enough to wake the dead!

  We all looked. From far down the bank, a flashlight bobbed and flickered its glow all over the place.

  “I saw it!” The shout seemed to come from the light. “I saw it! Come quick! Hurry, before it swims away.”

  We raced toward Zane’s voice. I only “raced” about three paces when I hit a pile of goatheads. Flinching, I stopped dead in my tracks, stood on my left foot, and balanced on the toe of my right.

  I hate stickers.

  I hopped toward the water a couple of times—just to make sure I was out of the sticker patch—then I raised my foot and pulled the nasty goat-heads out.

  Only when I took off again, I realized I didn’t get all of them. Shining the light to make sure I wouldn’t sit down in the stupid things, I found a sandy spot on the bank. I pulled my right foot up in my lap and put the light down beside me so I could see.

  By the time I got the stickers out, the others were quite a ways off. Frantic and still yelling, Zane ran from one guy to the next. He shook everybody except Pepper.

  “Hurry! Come on. I saw it!”

  They followed him a few more feet, then stopped to shine their lights out on the lake.

  Tilted to one side and limping, I tried to catch up with them. Then—I decided to just walk.

  “It was right there!” Zane’s voice cried out. “Just to the left of that bank pole. I saw its eyes.”

  “Zane, you’re always seeing stuff,” Daniel’s irritated voice growled.

  “I swear! They were red or orange. They glowed. I saw it! We were skinny-dipping with . . . with that thing in the lake. We were skinny-dipping with the monster. It was out there . . . with us. Right there!”

  Streaks of light danced across the water. Then the moaning and groaning and griping started. All the guys took turns at him with:

  “You idiot. You probably saw the light from a boat, across the lake.”

  “Yeah. You’re always seeing stuff, Zane.”

  “It probably wasn’t even a boat. It was just somebody’s porch light, reflecting off the water.”

  “Zane, you’re a total knot-head. There’s no such thing as a Lake Monster. Between you seeing the Lake Monster and Kent getting attacked by a wild catfish . . . man, this is turning into one loooong night.”

  “I promise!” Zane pleaded. “I saw its eyes. They were red. I’m not lying this time. Honest.”

  A movement caught the corner of my eye. Halfway to the gang, I stopped dead in my tracks. Without shining the light, I turned toward the lake.

  Thirty feet out, and maybe two to three feet below the surface . . .

  Two eyes stared at me.

  The breath caught in my throat. Every muscle tensed, but I didn’t move. I didn’t even blink.

  The eyes weren’t red, though. They had sort of an orangish glow—almost a dim yellow.

  A little shudder raced from my tailbone up to the nape of my neck. It set the little hairs at the base of my skull up on end. I don’t know how long I held my breath. I finally had to let it go and suck in a new one. I really had seen eyes before!

  Zane was right. The thing was out there with us. We were skinny-dipping with the yellow-eyed monster. Then I saw how far apart the eyes were. It didn’t matter that we were skinny-dipping. We could have had our bathing suits on . . . we could have had our jeans . . . no, all our clothes . . . it didn’t matter. That thing was big enough that it could have swallowed us in one gulp and . . .

  You wimp! I told myself. You’re as bad as Zane. There’s no such thing as monsters. The light’s coming from someplace else.

  I took another breath and stared at the bank, across the lake. No lights danced and shimmered on the ripples. I scanned to the left and then the right. There were no boats. Then I focused back on the spot where I saw the eyes. Sure enough, the light came from beneath the surface. The lake was pretty clear, and I could see the sediment or little particles of dirt and dust scampering before the glow. Then . . . the eyes blinked and flickered.

  I didn’t mean to slam into Jordan. I hit him so hard, I almost knocked him flat on the bank. Trouble was, I was sprinting so fast, I just couldn’t stop.

  “Hey, what’s with you?” He stumbled and caught his balance.

  “Ah . . . er . . . ah . . . I was just coming to see what all the commotion was.” The stammering lie finally made its way out. “What happened? Is Zane okay?”

  “Oh, he’s having hallucinations again,” Jordan answered.

  “Yeah,” Daniel chimed in. “He saw the Lake Monster.”

  “We ought to feed him to the Lake Monster,” Chet scoffed.

  “Yeah.” Pepper laughed. “Let’s do it.”

  There was a short wrestling match. I mean, really short. After all, Zane was outnumbered six to one. It took only a matter of seconds before Pepper had one arm and Daniel had the other. Foster caught one leg, and despite all Zane’s hopping and bouncing around, Chet finally captured his free foot. Jordan cheered them on as they stretched Zane out between them and made their way out, until they were about ankle deep in the water. Then they started swinging him back and forth.

  “One!”

  There was something inside of me that wanted to yell: “Stop. Don’t throw him in. I saw the monster’s eyes.”

  “Two!”

  But there was something else inside of me that said: “Keep your mouth shut, Kent. They’re not going to believe you. You’ll end up in the lake, too.” So . . . with one part of my insides fighting the other part . . . I just stood there.

  “Three!”

  Even spinning and flailing and jerking and flopping, it was downright amazing how far Zane flew. Clothes and all, he hit the water with a splash that was better than any cannonball we could do in the pool. Still, somehow—the instant he hit the water, he managed to get his bearings. In the blink of an eye he was on his feet and charging toward the bank. Well, maybe not toward the bank, but at least away from the lake and the monster. He shot past us so fast that we hadn’t even picked up our flashlights by the time he was halfway to the campfire.

  As the rest of the guys headed back up the hill, I slipped off toward where I saw the eyes. There
had to be some explanation. There wasn’t really a monster living in Cedar Lake. But I knew I saw something. If I could just see it again . . . If I could just figure out what . . .

  “Where are you headed, Kent?” Ted called.

  I stopped. His flashlight made me blink. I shined my light at his eyes.

  “Ah . . . I . . . I lost something,” I stammered. “Yeah, I lost something on the bank.”

  “What was it? I’ll help you find it.”

  Frantic to cover up my lie, I dug into my pocket. Sure enough, there was a quarter in there.

  “It was my lucky quarter,” I lied.

  “Lucky quarter?”

  “Yes. I . . . ah . . . always carry it when I go fishing.”

  “Want me to come and help you look?”

  “Nah. It’s no big deal.”

  The light bounced in Ted’s hand when he shrugged. I was glad he turned and headed toward the camp with the rest of the guys. Lying is not cool. It always made me feel kind of creepy or ashamed inside. But this was different. I just couldn’t tell.

  Ted was my best friend, and I really wanted to confide in him. But . . .

  Maybe I could tell Mom and Dad when I got home.

  Maybe not.

  Maybe I just couldn’t tell a single soul—not until I knew for sure what I had really seen.

  11

  I didn’t see the eyes again.

  I finally gave up and went back to camp, but I didn’t get any sleep. About an hour or so after the sun came up, we had hot dogs and marshmallows for breakfast.

  Zane didn’t eat anything. Partly because he was still pouting about everybody making fun of him. And partly because he was still all wet and soggy. It’s hard to be sociable when you’re dripping and sloshing around in wet clothes. Ted asked me if I found my lucky quarter. I showed him the one I discovered in my pocket, and that was the end of it. But I still felt guilty about lying to him. I felt even worse about not taking up for Zane.

  When we finished eating, everyone drank a pop. Then we started packing stuff up so it would be ready for the dads to load while we rode the horses back home. We were so tired, all thought of riding around the lake was forgotten.