The Thing At Black Hole Lake Page 6

  “Everyone is half my size, pipsqueak,” spat Lars. He sauntered off in the direction of the school gymnasium.

  “Eat a snack, man,” Tex yelled. “You are grumpy!”

  Lucy helped Milo to his feet.

  “What was that about?” he muttered.

  Lucy furrowed her brow. “Well, Lars’s mom works at Nu Co.…”

  “What’s that got to do with me?” said Milo.

  “Uh, nothing.” Lucy noted a pair of dark circles under his eyes. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

  “Huh? How did you—” Milo faltered as somebody’s overstuffed backpack collided with his shoulder. “I mean, well, there’s this … Thing.” He seemed to be having trouble finding his words.

  It’s like he really wants to tell me something but he’s afraid to say it. “What is it?” said Lucy. “You look like a roadkill raccoon. What’s going on with you?”

  A group of soccer players led by that schnoodle Joey Peluso passed by, sniggering.

  Milo stared at the floor. “I need to get back to class,” he said. “Excuse me.” He marched off down the hall.

  Tex clucked his tongue. “Do you ever consider, Lucille, simply letting someone talk instead of interrogating them?”

  “Something is really bothering him.”

  “And now we will never know what it is.”

  Lucy kicked the nearest locker. So much for my investigative skills. She led the way towards the cafeteria, visions of Milo’s red kayak dancing through her head.

  The Reel Deal

  Eyes half open, Milo paddled his kayak across the mist-shrouded lake through a predawn drizzle of rain. He’d arisen extra early this morning, and for once, he was completely alone. Perfect.

  He’d been sleeping fitfully lately, plagued by dreams of endless dark waters with unseen monsters lurking below. Not helping was the sudden wave of cold shoulders and bullying he’d experienced at school; his fingers had been “accidentally” slammed in a locker, a group of kids simultaneously “finished eating” when he sat down to join them at lunch, and, of course, that Neanderthal Lars had pushed him down so hard his knees were still scabby. To top it all off Milo hadn’t seen his father for five days in a row, which had to be some sort of record.

  “PHEW-EEEE-OOO,” he whistled, announcing his presence to whatever was out there. “Time to go fishing.”

  He unzipped his pack and pulled out a large bag of fat, juicy gummy worms from Mandy’s Candies.

  Over the past week, Milo had attempted to lure the creature with a variety of supermarket candy with no success. He eventually concluded that Steve must have been on to something, and that he’d have more success with Mandy’s handmade confections. After all, everyone in town knew they were the best for miles around.

  The day before, Milo had walked into Mandy’s Candies wary of the fact that his father’s alternative sweetener had previously turned the store’s owner into a many-legged beast bent on destroying the Nu Co. factory. To Milo’s relief, Mr Millepoids had greeted him with cool professionalism. Rather apologetically, Milo had bought some of everything the store had to offer, then, for good measure, tucked a twenty-dollar bill in the tip jar on the counter when he’d left.

  The crinkling of the bag echoed across the lake as Milo emptied the candy into a netted pouch he’d secured to the end of a long rope. Closing the drawstring, he swung the bag over his head like a lasso, then released. The pouch flew through the air and landed with a PLURP.

  Now, we wait. Milo took out his camera. His plan was to lure the creature close enough to capture a picture. Come on, you preposterous beastie, get your breakfast. There was a splash. Milo spun round so fast he felt whiplash in his neck.

  QUACK.

  An odd-looking duck with black-and-white plumage and bright orange eyes floated behind him. False alarm. The exotic bird swam over and pecked the side of his kayak.

  “This candy isn’t for you.” Milo splashed the duck with his paddle until it ruffled its feathers and flew away.

  Settling back into the boat, Milo’s eyes glazed over as the dark clouds above turned orange, then pink. He yanked the rope a few times to make the pouch of gummy worms seem more enticing. Just as he was about to nod off, he felt a tug on the rope. Something was nibbling on the gummies.

  Now wide awake, Milo wrapped the rope round his wrist and felt another nibble. It was working! But was it the lake monster or something else? The rope jerked again, harder this time, and Milo lurched forward. Whatever was pulling the pouch, it was big. Monster big. Abruptly, the line went slack and Milo flew backwards, his tailbone hitting the boat’s hard plastic edge. “Ow.” He rubbed his rear.

  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 on
e 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 just regular owls? The birds, whoever or whatever they were, continued eastwards over the lake. Was it Lucy’s imagination, or were they headed to the factory, too?

  Down below, she spotted a long red object nearing the creepy island at the centre of the lake. That’s Fish’s kayak. Why is that doofus going to the Siren’s Lair?

  The island had a sinister reputation. Some people said it was haunted. Some swore it was a refuge for murderers and thieves. Needless to say, it was a popular destination for anyone on the wrong side of a dare.

  Lucy checked her calculator watch. It was getting late, and her investigation into Nu Co. was more important for now. The boy and his boat would have to wait. She pulled a dry leaf out of her hair, crumbling it to dust.

  The woodland trail ended at a chain-link fence on the edge of Nu Co.’s property, beyond which lay a diminishing forest bathed in artificial light. The sound of buzz saws and heavy machinery echoed throughout the landscape.

  Lucy hid her bike behind a blackberry bush and tucked her conspicuous hair into a black beanie she had borrowed from Willow. It had cat ears. That couldn’t be helped. She scrambled twenty feet up a slender fir tree and hid amongst its branches. Taking out a pair of binoculars from her backpack, she surveyed the scene.

  A wasteland of felled trees lay before her, stretching to the edge of Nu Co.’s rapidly expanding orchard of sticky pine trees. Beyond the orchard, the factory puffed brown smoke from its pyramidal brick smokestack. From her perch, Lucy watched the last of the workers’ cars cruise up the long factory driveway and exit on to the main road. Silas’s faded yellow pickup truck was among them.

  Lucy trained her binoculars to an area just past the fence where several large machines rumbled beneath the first evening stars. A towering yellow vehicle resembling a giraffe wrapped a complex set of saw blades round a tree, slicing it off its stump in less than a second. The mechanical beast spun the severed tree sideways and, faster than Lucy could say “crudberry pie à la mode”, stripped off its branches and chopped it into logs, stacking them neatly in a pile.

  Cripes and beans. At this rate the entire forest would be cleared in a matter of days, if not hours.

  Hoping to get a closer look at the operation, Lucy slid to the ground and hopped over the chain-link fence. Slinking amongst the shadows, she crouched behind a pile of wood. The giraffe machine motored down the slope and gripped another tree, sawed it down, then–

  POP-PA-PA-CROWW!

  There was a bright flash and a puff of black smoke as the giraffe’s saw blades suffered a series of small explosions. An alarm sounded and the vehicle released the tree before it caught fire. The driver jumped out and threw his hard hat to the ground. Meanwhile, a group of workers gathered around, shouting curses.

  Lucy felt goosebumps. Sabotage. She tiptoed closer to the mayhem. Sidestepping a freshly cut stump, she tripped and fell face first into a patch of prickly ferns.

  “Hey, did you hear that?” shouted one of the workers.

  “Is someone over there?”

  The shouts of the mob grew louder as angry footsteps crunched towards Lucy. She curled up under the fern’s fronds and tried to make herself as small as possible. These goombas are out for blood!

  “No, not there, over here!” someone shouted. “Some cornpone’s behind the stump grinder!”

  Now the feet were stampeding in the opposite direction.

  Phew. That was close. Lucy crawled behind an alder tree and peered through her binoculars.

  The workers surrounded a rhinoceros-sized machine with tank treads. It too was spitting sparks. Abruptly, they dragged a man wearing a grey fedora hat and an overcoat out from behind the vehicle and into the light.

  “It’s the weatherman,” gasped the machine operator.

  Lucy’s breath caught in her throat. It was none other than Carlos Felina, handsome Sticky Pines newscaster. And secret Pretender.

  An SUV barrelled down the dirt road that cut through the orchard and into the clearing, the words “SECURITY” printed on its side in white letters. It slid to a stop and three serious-looking men stepped out.

  Great. Fisher’s goons. The first time Lucy had seen these bozos, they’d been disguised as creepy clowns at the Nu Co. Par-T in Da Pines carnival (ugh). Today, they wore black suits and ties topped off with sunglasses, despite the low light. They look like they’re auditioning for Men in Black: The Musical.

  The hard-hatted workers thrust Carlos Felina towards the slickly dressed newcomers.

  The weatherman raised his hands in surrender. “Please, I can explain,” he began.

  “Save it, pretty boy,” snarled a thick-set, soft-chinned goon. It was Murl, Fisher’s head of security. And dillweed extraordinaire.

  “You’re coming with us,” said a tall, thin man at his side. Lucy had previously nicknamed this one “Tweedle Dum”.

  “Who else is working with you?” yipped the shortest man in black. And there’s “Tweedle Dummer”, his partner in donked-up doofery.

  The weatherman cowered. “I’m… I’m…” He seemed to make eye contact with Lucy from afar.

  Can he see me?

  “I’m alone. I swear it.”

  Murl whistled and the Dums bundled Felina into the back of the SUV, then drove off into the orchard.

  Where are they taking him?

  Lucy snuck round the grumbling workers and hurried after the car. Staying out of sight, she ran through the rows of cultivated trees, each tapped and flowing with sticky black sap. So much sap. But if they’re not selling Nucralose, what’s it for?

  The SUV’s rear lights glowed red as it pulled to a stop in the middle of the orchard next to a curiously dense patch of trees.

  Murl emerged from the driver’s seat and Dum and Dummer pulled Felina out of the rear. They escorted the weatherman through a narrow pathway leading into the grove.

  As soon as they disappeared, Lucy hustled across the road and crawled through the grove’s underbrush. When she reached the edge of a clearing, she hid behind a low branch and peeked through the pine needles.

  The dense trees encircled a white windowless geodesic dome about as wid
e as a school bus. A pipe stuck out of its top, emitting copious plumes of bubblegum pink smoke. A tangy, metallic scent hung in the air. What in the Princess Peach is this place?

  In the clearing, Murl and his goons marched Carlos to the front of the futuristic building.

  “This is all just a misunderstanding,” said the weatherman tremulously. “If you’ll allow me to speak to Mr Fisher, I’m sure I can clear this all up.” He smiled like he did when he was on TV. “You see, I’m somewhat of a celebrity around here.”

  “We know exactly who you are” said Dummer. He and Dum led Carlos up a few steps to the dome’s front door.

  Lucy squinted through her binoculars as Murl typed a code into a number pad. 1-9-1-3-6-9. She jotted down the numbers in her notebook. With a beep the door unlocked.

  “Where are you taking me?” asked Carlos.

  “Down,” Murl sneered.

  Dum and Dummer each grabbed an arm and pulled Carlos towards the entrance. This time he resisted, thrashing against their grasp.

  Lucy fought the urge to cry out. I need to help him! But what can I do?

  “Get in there,” grunted Dum.

  “No!” Carlos yowled like a wild animal.

  Lucy jumped as she heard a gloppy SPLOOSH!

  Dummer stumbled, his head clunking into Dum’s chest as their arms closed round liquid slime. Carlos Felina had seemingly vanished.

  But Lucy knew better.

  “What the—” Dummer squealed.

  “Where’d he go?” Dum stared in bewilderment at his goopy hands.

  Standing at their feet was a black-and-white cat, its back arching as it hissed and spat with fury.

  I knew it! Lucy was so excited she nearly dropped her binoculars. This was the first concrete piece of Pretender proof she’d witnessed since the Strickses transformed into owls. Carlos Felina can change into an animal, too! What the slug ARE these people??

  “It’s him, you idiots!” thundered Murl.

  Cat Carlos screeched and high-tailed it into the trees, leaving Dum and Dummer slack-jawed.