The night darkened as he turned off the road on to a woodland path. High up in the trees, a night bird screeched, sending Milo’s heart booming. It’s probably just a stupid owl… He was regaining his composure when he heard a dull, mechanical buzzing sound, too quiet to be a helicopter, too loud to be a bumblebee. Looking up, he spotted four blue lights glowing faintly by the treetops.
He breathed a sigh of relief. It’s just one of Nu Co.’s drones. Wait… Is Dad keeping tabs on me after what happened this morning? Milo reckoned he’d have to inspect the soles of his shoes later for a tracking device. At least he cares, I guess.
The surveillance drone drifted down for a closer look when it was abruptly snatched out of the air by a large, stripy owl. Milo jumped in alarm.
The owl swooped behind an evergreen, the drone in its talons, and disappeared into the forest.
Milo knew better than to feel shocked. The feathered inhabitants of Sticky Pines often behaved rather strangely. Well. That bird’s family is going to be disappointed come dinnertime.
He hastened his pace homewards, soon reaching Black Hole Lake. It was properly night-time now. The moon hung low on the horizon, casting a silvery path along the steaming water.
Shallow waves lapped against the shore. Milo checked the time. This walk is taking longer than I’d hoped. At his current pace, it would be at least three hours before he was even close to home.
Flippin’ fantastic. This day just keeps getting better. He picked up a fist-sized rock and chucked it into the water, where it landed with a satisfying KER-PLOP!
That felt good.
He picked up another rock and threw it even harder. KER-PLOP! And another. KER-PLOP! And one more. THONK!
Milo winced at the hollow wooden sound. He’d hit something. He ran to the edge of the embankment and shined his light downwards. Floating untethered near the lake’s edge was a small rowboat. Milo suspected someone had forgotten to tie the boat up, and it had floated away from its mooring.
He considered his options. If he took the boat and cut across the lake, he could reduce his journey by half. Looks like I’m going out on the lake today after all.
Finding no path to the narrow beach, Milo scrambled down the crumbly slope, scuffing his freshly polished brogues.
The rocks below were covered with black algae that may as well have been crude oil, it was so slippery. Milo took off his shoes and socks and rolled up his trousers.
Struggling to stay balanced, he waded into the water and caught the side of the boat. He tossed his shoes inside and scrambled in after them.
Orienting his position with his phone’s compass, he took hold of the oars on either side and propelled himself due north.
Soon, Milo was rowing in a comfortable rhythm. The summer he’d spent training with Harvard’s crew team really seemed to be paying off. Dad was right about one thing: it pays to be well rounded.
It was eerily quiet out on the lake, with no sound but the rush of water as Milo paddled. To cheer himself up, he started whistling the first song that came into his head, which happened to be the theme to the 1950s TV show Lassie. “PHEW-EEEE-OOO, WOO-EEE-EEE-WOO-WOO…”
He rowed faster, his whistles echoing across the glassy water, a song reaching out into the abyss. Milo was near the middle of the lake, quite far from shore, when he noticed that his feet didn’t seem to be getting any drier. He stopped whistling and looked down. There was a puddle in the bottom of the boat up to his ankles. His stomach turned as he realised that the boat was slowly filling up with water. Leaping Lehmans. There’s a leak.
Frantically, he tried to locate a hole, to no avail. Of course this boat didn’t come unmoored on its own. Of course somebody abandoned it on purpose. What was I thinking? Foolish, stupid, reckless…
Milo took a deep breath. He was halfway across the lake. If he went quickly, he might still make it to the other side. He started to row when he heard someone whistle the first few notes of the Lassie song.
There were no other boats around. Was it coming from the shore? “Hello?” Milo called.
The whistle sounded again, “PHBEEWWW-BEEEEEEE-BWOOOO.” There was a slight trill to it, as if someone were whistling and blowing bubbles at the same time. Was someone out swimming on this cold October night?
Unbelievable. This town really is filled with kooks and crazies.
KER-THONKSHP! Something heavy landed inside the boat, splashing puddle water on to Milo’s face.
“Gah!” He felt around the boat and pulled up a fist-sized rock. “Who threw this?” His voice echoed across the silent depths. There was no response. He looked up, half-expecting to see the drone-snatching owl taunting him from above, but he saw nothing but celestial objects in a sparsely clouded sky.
Something moved to the right of the boat, distorting the moon’s reflection on the water. Milo swore he could hear the faint sound of laughter.
“Who’s there?”
The boat rocked as something brushed against it from underneath. Something big. Panicked, Milo started rowing with all his might. He was startlingly aware that his craft was now dipping perilously low under the weight of the growing puddle. He was sinking.
Note to self. He panted, red-faced. Never go out in Sticky Pines alone. He was practically flying through the water now. Never go out in Sticky Pines at night. He gasped as something pulled at his oar. Never leave home in Sticky Pines, period!
Forcefully, the paddle was yanked out of Milo’s hand. He yelped as it slid out of its socket and slipped under the water with a sad little PLOOP. He was now stranded. Then, just a metre away, he saw something emerge from the gloomy depths.
The water rippled as something thin and dark rose above the surface. Milo’s chest
