Swim with the Kinosoo: Chapter 2
Welcome back for another dip in the water …
Today, I’m pulling you down into the deep with the Kinosoo. It’s waiting for you.
Check out the trailer
and the second chapter below
The Kinosoo
TWO
Joel froze. That throaty growl past the hill had grown deeper, more menacing. It was Hash, that much was clear. But what worried him was what the old dog was growling at. A pack of wolves? A black bear?
For an instant, he considered turning around to give his weary legs a real workout. He was a good mile from home as the crow flew, a half-mile more as the trail flew, but he held no doubt that he’d shatter his personal best of a six-minute mile, fueled by adrenaline. By fear.
The growls turned to barks. He swallowed his dread and made his way to the top of the rise.
“Hash!” he shouted. “Hashtag!”
Hash stood in the clearing at the bottom of the slope. He circled and circled, barking at a pond.
Joel scanned the area. No wolves. No bears. That in itself was cause for relief, but the truth struck him cold: there really were no animals or birds in these woods.
The smell, he realized. It’d send anyone with a gas mask packing.
The thing was, it hadn’t smelled like this before—he wouldn’t have forgotten that stink. It occurred to him that he wasn’t where he thought he was; that he’d simply taken a wrong fork in the path.
He tried to get his bearings from the trees. Cold Lake—in particular, French Bay—was just beyond the thick woods to his left. A quarter-mile at most, he was certain. And unless there was another lumpy boulder just like the one down in the clearing near the pond, or an identical twin of the rickety footbridge here, he was exactly where he should be.
Only—
Only, that pond hadn’t been here. He’d swear on Rache’s grave that it hadn’t.
How did you not notice this thing?
Because it wasn’t here before. It wasn’t.
He eased down the slope. Hash kept on like a dog possessed. “Hash!”
The dog backed off from the pond. It growled again.
“Hash! Enough!”
He stepped toward the pond. It was utterly still, the deepest shade of seaweed. The wicked stench made him wince, and he covered his nose and mouth.
Moving closer, it seemed more oil slick than water. Even in the gloom, its surface had a fine, stippled sheen. He was tempted to dip a finger into it just to feel its texture, but the stink stopped him—not to mention it could be a major biohazard. For all he knew, he and Hash were inhaling toxic fumes with every breath.
He glanced around the woods again. Looked at the boulder. The footbridge. This was the same spot, all right.
How the hell did this get here? Just drop from the fucking sky?
An unsettling thought struck him as he studied it. It was roughly oval, twenty feet wide, about thirty in length, with irregular edges here and there; he imagined it might look like a giant ink splatter from above. The far side extended just below the arc of the footbridge, and gauging by the relatively shallow slope of the land here, the depth of the water could be no more than a few inches. But as he tried to peer through the murk, he had this growing sense that this thing was deep. Really deep.
Maybe it’s a flooded sinkhole. Or part of an old sewage system that just caved in.
Really, Joel? A sewer? Out here in the middle of nowhere?
“Hash!” he shouted, annoyed. The dog backed off further, still growling.
He snapped off a stiff, knobby branch from a dead tree. It was almost six feet in length, more than long enough to satisfy his curiosity.
Hashtag barked twice, as if warning him.
“Easy, boy. It’ll be okay.”
He set the tip of the branch into the pond and quickly felt resistance. The water was even thicker than it looked; he could barely see an inch of the submerged part of the branch. A little effort drove it deeper, and he found it difficult to sweep it one way or the other—the goo had the texture of quicksand. As he stirred it up the resistance weakened, and he was able to probe further. The water made a slick sucking sound as it swallowed the bottom third of the branch.
His heart skipped. Scores of translucent insects—what looked like water striders with far more legs—emerged from the dark soup and zipped across the surface. Sharp buzzing sounds made him cringe as they converged on the branch, swarming it from all directions. And as quickly as they had come, they lost interest and disappeared, as if dissolving into the murk. It happened so fast that he questioned whether he’d seen or heard them at all.
Disgusted but undaunted, he got on his knees and lowered the branch halfway. Two-thirds. Probing inch by inch, he stopped with but a foot of the branch still above the surface.
“Are you kidding me?” He extended his reach, barely able to grasp the last few inches of the branch.
It’s bottomless, he thought. You fall in, you’ll sink forever.
He tried to raise the branch from the muck. It held stiffly, and his grip slipped. His weight shifted forward, and he let go as he tried to steady himself. He nearly fell in, but Hash snatched him by the arm and pulled him back just in time. His rear hit the ground hard, his heart drumming.
“Jesus! Thanks, buddy—”
His eyes widened as the branch slipped slowly beneath the surface. It was accompanied by that dreadful sucking sound.
It fucking ate it—
The thought drove him to his feet. As he stared at his grainy reflection, he wondered if the pond itself was merely the tip of the iceberg—if below the woods was a vast network of lightless caverns—if some gigantic swamp creature lurked within.
If it was staring up at him.
He backed off slowly. If there was something down there, it could be just below the surface. Ready to leap from the darkness and swallow him whole.
“Hash!” he shouted sternly. The dog was circling again, barking like nobody’s business.
He took another step back. Whatever had spooked Hash, it wasn’t that awful stink; wasn’t that thick, oily water. Dogs could sense all kinds of shit humans couldn’t. Like things not there … but were. Hash had sniffed the tumor in Rache, months before she’d felt the lump. Kept sniffing her left breast. If only they’d realized it in time instead of laughing it off.
Something’s down there. It’s watching you.
He couldn’t shake the feeling. And when he backed over that ratty doll that Hash had found, the sensation gripped him. That creepy wooden face with its creepy wooden eyes were the last straw.
“Come on,” he said to Hash. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Hash would have none of it, kept growling and circling. Joel grabbed him by the collar and reigned him in. The dog struggled, digging in.
“Hash!”
Hash broke free and bolted halfway across the footbridge. He barked at the pond and wouldn’t let up.
Joel stepped onto the bridge. There were no railings, and he moved up beside Hash. They were a good fifteen feet up, so he knelt down and threw an arm around the dog just to be safe. “Come on, boy. It’s okay. Let’s g—”
A thundering crack startled him. Before he knew what was happening, the weathered planks beneath them gave way. He managed to grab hold of a support beam, stopping his fall, but when he tried to grab Hash, the dog’s fine fur slipped through his fingers. Hash spilled over the side and plummeted to the ground, his neck twisting with an audible snap. His limp body slid into the pond.
“Hash! Haaaaash!” Joel clung to the bridge, dangling above the murky water. Clusters of pond bugs breached the surface, their incessant buzzing growing louder and sharper as they zipped in waves toward Hash. Already, countless crawled across his face and fur. Their semi-transparent bodies shifted colors as they scampered across the varying shades of his black and walnut coat.
What was that?
He thought he heard something—something down there—
He watched helplessly as the dog sank slowly in the thick water, those slick sucking sounds as horrifying as the sight itself. They fell silent when Hash’s cold, dead eyes finally submerged. The pond bugs seemed to dissolve, as if they were no more coherent than the faintest whiff of smoke.
As he struggled to pull himself up, his grip began to falter. In desperation he swung his legs back and forth, hoping his inertia would carry him past the pond when he let go.
More of the bridge collapsed. Dark pond water splattered him. He fell backwards but not far enough, one foot striking the water as he crumpled to the ground. Sharp pain stabbed him as the wind shot out of his lungs.
He staggered to his feet, only to stumble back. His head struck the boulder, knocking him senseless. He dropped to his knees, dizzy, then slammed to the ground on his stomach. His body slid to the edge of the pond, the left side of his face slipping into the water.
The haunted woods began to spin; the wise words of Old Willy circled in his brain. He tried to rise, tried to fight, but his will failed, and the gray light turned to black.
I hope you enjoyed this teaser! Let me know what you think in the comments below.