The Skin of the Lake
horror◐ MatureI knelt by the small plate on the floor. Scratched into the dried silt beside it was one word: STAY. My air gauge clicked in my ear. When I looked up, every chair at the table had been pulled out, facing me, though neither of us had touched them.
Instead of running, I wrote back. With my own glove I dragged a word in the silt: WHO? The dried mud rippled and rearranged itself, letter by letter, into an answer: WE WERE FOUR. NOW WE ARE MORE. Then my lamp showed me the family standing in the doorway, smiling, counting us.
What happens next?
1 ways forwardI read their message twice, then I ran out of air. As my vision narrowed, the family helped me up gently and walked me to the table. They pulled out the empty chair. I sat. The plate in front of me was clean and waiting, and I understood I would be setting it for the next crew, one summer from now.