The Thing At Black Hole Lake Page 2

  “Lucita!” Tex’s father Serge had just arrived home from work at the deli he ran downtown. He slapped Lucy on the back, hard enough her glasses slid down her nose. “Long time no see, kidushka.” He pulled his trousers up over his belly and grabbed a steaming pierogi from the plate, juggling it from one hand to another before tossing it back. “Too hot,” he winced.

  Anna shooed him away and put the plate on the table for Lucy and Tex. “It is good to see you, Lucy dear. Where have you been hiding?”

  Tex set his fake teeth on the floral tablecloth and dug into the food.

  “Ummm…” Lucy reached for a pierogi.

  What was there to say? I’ve spent the last month trying to track down the members of a mysterious race of cryptozoological shapeshifters known as the Pretenders. They live hidden amongst the unsuspecting populace of Sticky Pines and are susceptible to the effects of Mr Fisher’s sinister pine sweetener Nucralose. In order to protect them I can’t reveal the Truth to anyone: not Tex, not my parents, not even Milo Fisher, who hates me because he doesn’t understand why I had to lie about what we saw. I will remain in unrelenting agony until I solve the unfathomable mysteries of the universe. Can you please pass the ketchup?

  It was all true, of course. After Lucy had witnessed her English teacher, Mrs Stricks, and her wife transform into monkeyflippin’ OWLS, she was left with nothing but questions. What were they? Aliens? Witches? Transdimensional shamanistic warriors? What did they want and how many of them were there?

  Over the past few weeks, Lucy had been working alone to answer these questions. Unfortunately, Mrs Stricks had taken a sudden sabbatical, leaving a substitute teacher in charge of all her English classes. Neither she nor the Other Mrs Stricks would answer the door to their cabin, despite three straight hours of sustained knocking. Many of the other people Lucy hoped to investigate were inaccessible, mostly because she didn’t know where they lived: Carlos Felina, the handsome weatherman, Steve Kozlowski, her father’s bandmate, and Alastair Chelon, a factory worker. And then there was Mandy Millepoids, the owner of the local candy store. The last time Lucy had tried to enter Mandy’s Candies, she’d encountered a locked door with a sign that read: “Pulling Taffy, Be Back in Ten Minutes”. She waited for over two hours before giving up, going home and rage-screaming into her pillow.

  “These are delicious, Mrs Arkhipov.” Lucy blew on her pierogi before taking another bite.

  “Do you think anyone will know what our costumes are?” asked Tex. He stroked his glued-on goatee.

  “Not a chance,” Lucy laughed.

  “At least we have each other,” Tex winked.

  They clinked pierogi.

  Pop music was blasting as Tex and Lucy scoped out the snack situation in the Pelusos’ kitchen. The majority of the partygoers were out talking, dancing or standing awkwardly by the bonfire in the backyard.

  Tex and Lucy each grabbed a handful of candy from a bowl on the countertop.

  A pair of girls approached, one dressed as a bee, one as a witch. Both costumes included short skirts, for some reason.

  Jaime and Amy, the bathroom twins.

  “Are you supposed to be a Klingon?” asked Jaime, the brunette bumblebee.

  “She is a Bajoran,” Tex corrected her. “I am a Klingon.” He pounded his chest for emphasis.

  “Those are aliens, right?” Amy flicked her long blonde hair over her witchy shoulder.

  “Obviously,” said Jaime. “It’s Lucy and Tex. That’s, like, all they think about.”

  Jaimie’s dad worked at the Nu Co. factory, where Lucy’s father had recently been promoted to manager.

  “Are there any eighth-graders here?” Lucy asked, casually unwrapping a piece of taffy.

  “Why?” said Jaimie. “Looking for Milo Fisher?”

  “Of course she is,” Amy jeered. “She’s, like, obsessed with him.”

  “I’m not obsessed,” Lucy scowled.

  Jaimie whispered something in Amy’s ear, and the duo giggled.

  “Never mind.” Lucy grabbed Tex, who was picking the green M&Ms out of the candy bowl, and directed him out of the kitchen. “When I find Milo, I’ll let him know you think he’s the hottest guy in school,” she called over her shoulder.

  “What!?” Amy’s face turned bright red. “No!”

  Lucy smirked triumphantly.

  “Fish is the hottest guy?” Tex popped his fake teeth back in his mouth. “What am I, chopped liver?”

  “You are what you eat,” said Lucy.

  Tex froze when they reached the living room. “Oh. My. Sandwiches.”

  “What?” asked Lucy, looking for Milo.

  “That schnoodle Joey got the new Nintendo.” Tex looked like he’d just stumbled upon the holy grail of happiness.

  Resignedly, Lucy patted him on the arm. “It was nice knowing you.”

  Tex lumbered across the Persian rug, zombie-like, towards the flat-screen TV.

  Feeling vaguely abandoned, Lucy stepped through the sliding-glass door into a cloud of burning wood, roasting wieners and pre-teen desperation.

  Sticky Pines Elementary and Middle School (SPEAMS) had students all the way from kindergarten up to the ninth grade. There were at least three different class years present at Joey’s party, all of them Upper. Quite a coup for a seventh-grader.

  Lucy realised with a start that her and Tex’s costumes were far more elaborate than anyone else’s. At least mine entails a leather jacket.

  Milo was by the bonfire, wearing a royal-blue suit and tie that brought out the colour of his eyes. On his lapel a patriotic badge read “It’s morning in America!” He was laughing with a couple of eighth-grade soccer players in prison stripes that Lucy knew by reputation only.

  She steeled her nerve and strode over. Milo’s smile faltered.

  “Hey, Fish,” she said.

  “Lucy,” he responded coolly.

  A girl in a Zorro mask ran over, yelled, “Assassin!” and threw a water balloon at the tallest athlete’s back, drenching everyone in the vicinity.

  “No fair!” yelled the victim. Laughing, both athletes chased after her.

  “That game just gets funnier every time they do it,” said Milo, deadpan. He shook water from his sleeve.

  Have you forgiven me yet? thought Lucy. “What are you supposed to be?” she said instead. “A politician?”

  “Clearly.”

  “Which one?”

  “Do you know any politicians other than the current president?”

  “No,” Lucy admitted.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  Lucy fidgeted with her dangly earring. “What’s, uh…” I need to tell you the Truth. “What’s that red mark on your cheek?” There are shapeshifters in Sticky Pines. Your dad wants to find them all and dissect them! “Is it part of your costume or did someone egg your face?” That didn’t come out right.

  Milo glared at her. “Excuse me. I have to go to the restroom.” He marched off towards the house, bumping past a mulleted theatre kid strumming a mandolin.

  Deflated, Lucy slumped on to a log by the fire next to a girl roasting a marshmallow.

  “Brutal,” said the girl. She had short black hair with a fringe cut straight across her eyebrows, and a silver ring in her nose. A set of vampire fangs appeared to be the extent of her Halloween costume. Lucy guessed she was in the ninth grade.

  “You’re Mrs Sladan’s kid, aren’t you?” said the girl. “The one who found the missing people? I mean, not that they were really missing. They were being treated at the Nu Co. lab, right? Volunteer guinea pigs or something.”

  That had been the story on the news, at least.

  The vampire slowly rotated her marshmallow. “You know, I’ve always found the ‘official’ explanation pretty far-fetched, myself,” she said.

  Say what now? The tips of Lucy’s ears tingled. “Sorry,” she said, “who are you?”

  “Gertie Lee. Environmental activist and editor-in-chief of the SPEAMS Sentinel.” She held out a hand f
or Lucy to shake.

  “You write for the school paper?” Lucy hardly ever read it since it never reported on UFO sightings.

  Gertie nodded. “Have you ever thought about writing for the Sentinel?” Her marshmallow caught fire and she lifted it off the coals. “I’ll bet you have quite a few stories to tell.” She calmly blew out the flames.

  Holy slug spit. Did this girl have extrasensory perception? Once again, Lucy lamented, I’m being offered a chance to expose the Truth, and I can’t accept. Not until I know more about the Pretenders, at least.

  “I’m not much of a writer,” she forced herself to say. She stood up, ready to leave before she told the girl everything she knew.

  Gertie caught her by the sleeve. “Something weird happened at the factory, didn’t it? And I’m not talking about gremlins or zombies or whatever you’re into these days.”

  “How do you—”

  “You have a reputation,” said Gertie with a look of pity.

  If the people at this school knew what was up, my reputation would be TRUTH CRUSADER, but okay. “What are you getting at?”

  “They say weird things are happening at Nu Co.” Gertie peeled off the charred outside layer of her marshmallow. “Half the students’ parents work there, and they’re all coming home late, acting tired and short-tempered. Your dad’s a manager there, right?”

  “Yeah.” Lucy’s dad had seemed grumpy lately… Why?

  “Word on the mycelium network is –” Gertie looked around furtively – “Mr Fisher plans to profit by turning this whole town inside out. He’s going to destroy the land, exploit the resources, then split when the sap’s dried up.” She popped the blackened marshmallow skin into her mouth.

  “Really?” Lucy had been so concerned about the Pretenders she hadn’t considered what Nu Co. was doing to Sticky Pines itself. A gust of wind blew smoke into Lucy’s face, sending her coughing.

  “Word is –” Gertie lowered her voice even further – “Fisher’s working on something freaky over there.”

  “Like what?”

  Gertie sniffed. “I’d have thought if anybody had inside knowledge, it’d be you.” She held the marshmallow’s naked interior over the flames. “We could use a curious mind like yours at the Sentinel, Sladan. If you could stick to earthly matters, I think you’d make a great reporter. Nothing about mermaids or Sasquatches, though. The Sentinel is a serious paper.”

  Lucy shrugged. “Well. If you don’t want me to write about anything interesting, what’s the point?” She headed for the house.

  “Suit yourself,” Gertie called after her.

  Back in the living room, Tex was surrounded by a group of kids cheering wildly. He was facing off against Joey in an epic fighting game showdown. Sweat beaded on his fuzzy upper lip as his pigtailed schoolgirl avatar did a running kick that sent Joey’s mech-suited warrior flying helplessly into the void. The crowd roared as the schoolgirl struck a victory pose. Tex took a bow, then spotted Lucy.

  Handing his controller to the nearest eager hand, he pushed his way through the throng to join her in the kitchen.

  “Fish wouldn’t talk to me,” she told him, “but I did score a job offer.” She tore into a strip of taffy.

  “I figured,” Tex sighed. “He left the party a minute ago.”

  “He left? Because of me?” Talk about an overreaction. “His house is pretty far from here. Maybe we should go after him.”

  Tex patted Lucy’s arm. “Leave the boy alone, Lucille. This is Sticky Pines. He will be perfectly safe.”

  “Right…” said Lucy. I suppose that plague of monsters has been alleviated. She glanced nervously at the front door. What could possibly go wrong?

  Making a Splash

  Milo marched briskly away from Joey’s Halloween party. He wasn’t ready to talk to Lucy, not yet, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell her all about his terrible day. She clearly couldn’t stop herself from prying into his affairs. She’s like a yacht salesman. She never lets up. In truth, it was one of her best qualities – but it was infuriating.

  The setting sun cast long shadows through the trees. The neighbourhood was filled with the sound of laughing children and the scent of burning leaves. A woman dressed as a rag doll chased a brood of costumed kids swinging candy-filled buckets shaped like jack-o’-lanterns. One was a superhero, another a princess. Another wore a hairy, wolfish mask.

  Milo felt a chill, remembering the beasts he and Lucy had encountered the previous month. He pulled his cashmere overcoat close. Maybe I should call for a ride home…

  His stepmother had dropped him off less than an hour ago. Hopefully she was still free to come pick him up. If she hasn’t gone to a book club, or a wine tasting, or a Mercedes-only drag race.

  Milo pulled out his latest smartphone, which was protected by a shatter and waterproof case. No reception, yet again. This town’s infrastructure is seriously subpar. The only mobile Milo had seen get reliable reception in the Big Crater Valley was his father’s military-grade device. Seems I’ll be walking home. Oh joy.

  The road curved, turning into a bridge over the rapidly flowing Ungula river. To get home, Milo calculated, he would need to follow the river north, then travel halfway round the enormous lake for at least a couple of hours. Through the woods. In the dark. Milo swallowed. At least my phone has a flashlight.

  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.