Rattled, Milo fumbled for the power button on his camera.
“Gyah!” he cried as the creature yanked the rope again. This time Milo braced himself, keeping his balance so the kayak moved along with him. His biceps felt weak from so much paddling over the last few days.
Another tug, another lurch. The kayak skipped along the lake’s surface before sliding to a stop. Milo scanned the water with his camera, holding it one-handed. Where is this Thing?
Ripping open another bag of gummies with his teeth, he tossed a handful into the water and waited. The boat began to rock. Milo swore he could make out the shape of the enormous beast skulking below. Keep it together, Milo. It didn’t eat you before… It most likely won’t eat you now.
He snapped a few pictures as the water began to churn. The floating worms spun in a vortex, sinking one by one. With a start, Milo realised that his boat was being sucked into the swirling current. Oh crum! Frantically, he paddled backwards.
By the time he reoriented the kayak and had his camera ready, there was nothing left of the candy but a foamy patch of bubbles. A tentacled shadow loomed menacingly below, closer than before. All at once Milo felt very aware that his supposedly sturdy plastic kayak was actually quite small and fragile.
Rethinking his plan, such as it was, he searched for the nearest piece of land. A gust of wind parted a cloud of mist, revealing a patch of trees about a hundred yards away.
The Siren’s Lair.
Scruffy Steve had said the island was off limits to visitors, but this was an emergency.
Milo was reeling in the “fishing” line when he felt something latch on to it. Uh-oh.
The Thing took hold and took off. The rope slid through Milo’s fist, burning the skin on his palm. Instinctively, he slapped his other hand on to the rope, dropping his camera, which disappeared into the lake in an instant. No! There was no time to react. The kayak zoomed across the water, towed by the phenomenal force below.
“Grah!” Milo yelped as he was pulled towards the rocky island, fast. Too fast. The line was submerged fifteen feet in front of the kayak’s nose, ribbons of white streaming behind it on the dark water. The Siren’s Lair loomed larger and larger.
Milo let go of the rope and ducked to protect himself from the inevitable collision with the island. The kayak hit the shallow shore with a BRONCHHHH and Milo was thrown out, somersaulting on to the stony beach.
Twenty yards behind him, the creature circled back round, then swam straight at the shore, propelled by a body so powerful the water swelled in its wake. Milo could see the tip of its hideous slimy nose, below which, he knew, sat rows and rows of saw-like, flesh-tearing teeth.
As the Thing reached the shoreline, the enormous creature leapt out of the water, its tentacles streaming behind it like the angry flames of a rocket. Milo covered his head and screamed. He was abruptly hit, not by the monster, but by a wall of snot-like slime.
Trembling, he wiped the gunk from his eyes. The creature had vanished into thin air. Following the sound of galloping hoof beats, Milo turned and caught a glimpse of a stag, white as a ghost, disappearing into the dense island foliage behind him.
Milo lowered himself to the ground, his gooey arms wrapped round his shins. “That was… I just saw… Huh?” He tried to work out what had just happened. That was the deer we hit. The one that ran into the lake. The monster didn’t eat the deer, it… His heart leapt in his chest. The monster. The deer. He gasped, choking on slime. The deer IS the monster.
“The Thing can change its shape!” he shouted to no one.
A surge of adrenaline flowed through Milo’s veins. Flicking off the slime, he pulled his kayak up on to the island and dropped it on the gravel. Breathlessly, he ran into the thicket where the unfathomable creature had vanished, venturing headlong into the unknown.
Pink Smoke
Lucy informed her parents she’d be spending Friday evening researching a story for the school paper. They were still so thrilled she’d joined the Sentinel, they agreed to push her usual curfew back from eight to nine, no questions asked. Pew pew! While every word she’d told them was true, she had carefully avoided mentioning that instead of working in the boiler room with the other newsies, she would, of flippin’ course, be heading to the Nu Co. factory, after-hours and alone.
Her plan was detailed, flawless even, if she did say so herself, which she did, to Tex, enough times that he threatened to block her on social media.
As soon as the last school bell rang at the end of the week, Lucy raced outside, hopped on her bike and pedalled like a hamster shredding it up on a wheel. The factory was all the way on the other side of the valley, so she’d have to hurry if she wanted to get there before dark.
In order to avoid being seen by any nosy parents, Lucy travelled via the small woodland path that circled Black Hole Lake. As the sun disappeared behind a curtain of clouds, a flurry of leaves flew up in her face. Rude. Shivering, she slid to a stop and zipped up her parka.
A hooting bird call caught Lucy’s attention: WHOO-U-U-WHOO! She spotted a pair of owls with broad striped wings soaring overhead.
No flippin’ way. Lucy hadn’t seen the Strickses in weeks. Is it them, or are those
