The ink-black depths stirred beneath the moonless sky. Agitated; expectant; the stars’ warped and oozing reflection, glinted up at the searcher as his little outboard crept across the rippling, liquid night beneath him—lidless eyes staring in silence.
The man shivered as he scanned his waterproof flashlight across the starboard bow. Just find the buoy, he thought again as the unbounded blackness stretched before him, always a little farther than his light’s reach. She’ll be so surprised… Maybe she’ll notice this time.
Above the surface, the suffocating stillness swallowed the outboard’s pu-pu-putting, but just below, the propeller churned, disturbing the loch’s hush with each rending turn. Deep down beneath the crushing weight of one hundred feet of black water, unseen life darted from hiding place to hiding place, avoiding lurking predators.
The searcher steeled his nerves and puttered on across the gaping black, ignoring the needling fears within him.
No one would have come if he had asked; he was surprised that they had even invited him. But this is better anyway… It’ll make me stand out.
He wanted her eyes to see him, to do more than simply pass over him—or straight through. This would let her know how he felt.
He hunched in a little closer, inching the throttle a little further, disturbing the gloom just a little more with a thrummm.
All of this for a disposable camera.
She had tied it to the buoy when the group traded their tour boat for kayaks that morning; ‘that way, if we get turned over, it won’t get lost,’ she had said.
At least I know where to find it…
Suddenly, an unexpected hill and trough passed under the searcher’s boat, rolling toward the distant shore. Was that someone’s wake? Who’s out here without lights?
He slowed his engine to a stall, the kick of the idling gear the only sound beside the lone wave crashing into the distant shore. He turned round slowly, panning his light across the endless darkness.
No boats… Swiveling his light back to the bow, he strained to hear anything, even a hint of what might have caused the wave, but there was nothing. Nothing but open air and the unknown deep below him.
Breath caught in his chest and heart beating madly, the searcher swung his head forward and turned the throttle, the boat lurching ahead in response.
I’ll just get the camera and head back… it’s not much farther.
Then two more waves came, larger than the first, sending him rocking and bobbing. He stopped again; no wind… and, still, no boats.
His voice tight in his chest, he whispered: “Is there somebody there?” He listened, hoping for an answer, hoping even more to be alone. The deafening silence in his ears screamed to be filled with something—anything. The scratchy terror in his words did nothing to calm him.
I should go back… she’ll appreciate the effort—but he was shaking his head before the thought could even finish. No. I’ve ‘tried’ for years, and nothing I’ve ever done has worked… we’re leaving before dawn; it’s now or never.
He swallowed and spoke aloud, “This is ridiculous; I’m acting afraid of a dumb wave—it’s nothing. I’m closer to the buoy than the shore and I can open the throttle the whole way back if I want.” Speaking in his normal voice afforded some confidence, enough to ignore the nagging panic swelling in his chest. “I’ll be back in the warm pub—with her—in no time.”
He engaged the throttle and began skipping across the inky black surface, tearing through the stars’ reflections like fingers smeared down a window pane. He swept his flashlight back and forth ahead of him, his hand shaking the projected beam.
Then, out of the darkness, the buoy appeared, floating high over the water in stark contrast to the night’s shadow.
Its light is out… but I found it! He wiped his forehead with the fist holding the flashlight. I couldn’t’ve taken much more of this. Relief washing over him, he made a heading toward the structure.
The boat came about when the motor bucked, yanking his shoulder, almost jerking him backward. His pained and panicked muscles seized, holding onto the throttle with a dead man’s grip as he cast his light to the stern.
The motor tore from the boat, pulling his body up to the gunnels and his chest out over the water before finally wrenching from his grasp. He crouched there, paralyzed in fear, his pale-faced terror rippling and distorted.
Motors don’t do that—motors don’t do that! His thoughts howled within him. Then a slow wave rose and began circling the boat.
The searcher had been found.
He pulled himself back into the outboard, his flashlight beam flailing wildly, seeing the wave’s length growing longer and longer, closing in—the bobbing outboard now no more than a life raft. The searcher grabbed the emergency paddle, holding the flashlight on his shoulder with his chin.
The buoy—I have to make it to the buoy!
The quarter inch of cold metal between him and the circling wave was not enough. If he could only reach the buoy, maybe he could climb high and cling to the rusted struts until morning.
He plunged the paddle into the water, pulling one weak stroke as he fumbled with the flashlight, trying not to hang out over the edge. Then the paddle tore from his grasp with the same unholy force that had taken the motor.
His flashlight fell to the deck as he grabbed the seat’s edge to stabilize the pitching hull, his knuckles like white bones. Why is this happening? I only wanted to—
The bow rang with a hollow thud, jolting it three feet into the air before crashing back down.
“No,” whispered the searcher as the shell beneath him flexed under the force of a powerful stroke.
The boat flew up, tipping everything out into the frenzied blackness, and the searcher crashed, swallowing frigid water. Gasping for air and floundering in his heavy, sodden clothes, a horrifying stench mingled with each life-sustaining gulp of air: a cross between a reptile’s musk and a fish’s reek. Choking and coughing, unable to call for help, he watched his flashlight spin slowly as it sank deeper and deeper. In flashes, the slow-revolving beam revealed a horror that he never could have imagined:
An endless coursing funnel of thick, serpentine flesh swirling round him tighter and tighter.
His leaden limbs, fighting to keep him afloat, struggled to draw him toward the buoy.
Just make it there; if I can just make it there!
Then something cool and scaly caught his ankle in a firm, three-fingered grip, and yanked him beneath the surface.
The black water frothed and boiled, splashes thrown in violent upheaval for a moment. Then the surface settled.
The troubled waves smoothed and, once again, reflected the cool stars above.