"The trick to crossing Larklow Lake," he said in a quiet, conspiratorial tone, "is to never look down."
He looked so certain, so worried that all we could do was now and hope he elaborated. All we knew from the other locals was that you don't cross Larklow, you go any other way than boat. Anything to avoid the water for reasons they refuse to say, most wouldn't stop glancing over their shoulders the moment we approached them as if they expected the lake itself to be standing behind them.
So far this old man was the first to give us actual, honest to God answers. When persuaded by a few bottles of low-brand rum he even told us where we could find an unclaimed boat (not that anybody around there would admit to owning a boat, that would be admitting they crossed the lake by water and nobody would ever admit that).
The boat wasn't exactly like the old man said, it was barely above the water when the three of us in and the oars looked to be handmade. We didn't even hear the singing until we'd already lost sight of the shore.
I don't remember too much from there on but I do remember someone yelling to not look down, maybe it was me, maybe it was the old man, maybe it was those things in the lake mocking us but someone was screeching and begging us to look up.
I guess as the only one who did.
I only really recall their fins, those severed limbs, those echoes of broken hymns echoing all around the red waves.
He looked so certain, so worried that all we could do was now and hope he elaborated. All we knew from the other locals was that you don't cross Larklow, you go any other way than boat. Anything to avoid the water for reasons they refuse to say, most wouldn't stop glancing over their shoulders the moment we approached them as if they expected the lake itself to be standing behind them.
So far this old man was the first to give us actual, honest to God answers. When persuaded by a few bottles of low-brand rum he even told us where we could find an unclaimed boat (not that anybody around there would admit to owning a boat, that would be admitting they crossed the lake by water and nobody would ever admit that).
The boat wasn't exactly like the old man said, it was barely above the water when the three of us in and the oars looked to be handmade. We didn't even hear the singing until we'd already lost sight of the shore.
I don't remember too much from there on but I do remember someone yelling to not look down, maybe it was me, maybe it was the old man, maybe it was those things in the lake mocking us but someone was screeching and begging us to look up.
I guess as the only one who did.
I only really recall their fins, those severed limbs, those echoes of broken hymns echoing all around the red waves.
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