ABSOLUTELY NO SWIMMING; a supernatural fic.
ABSOLUTELY NO SWIMMING -- a supernatural monster-of-the-week fic.
{commissioned by thursdaysisters.}
there's something hungry in a man-made lake. after a video of an attack goes viral,
sam and dean head for tennessee to do some unusual fishing. (3,917 words)
“C’mon, Bree!” he shouted with an enticing splash. “Put down the camera!”
“What, and miss this perfect filming opportunity?” she laughed, zooming in on him. “My viewers are gonna eat you up…”
“Don’t you ever stop thinking about your damn vlog?” he sighed, laying back to float and turning his face up to the hot sun. “Girl, this is the life. I saw we toss our phones, build a cabin over there, and just never leave. How did you even find this place?”
“Amazing what you can find when you turn down a dirt road, huh?” She glanced around, taking in the lush trees and blooming flowers, the birdsong and warm breeze. “Personally, I can’t believe someone hasn’t plopped a hotel or resort here. How something this pretty has been left untouched…”
“Maybe it’s private property,” he suggested, none too concerned by the prospect of trespassing. “Or government land.”
“I never saw any signs posted,” she said nonchalantly before turning the camera on herself. “Hey there, babes! Big Bad Bree here, coming to you from what could very well be the new Garden of Eden. Just look at that view, huh? Pretty spectacular, am I right? And speaking of natural beauty-take a gander at my hunky boyfriend Max over there. I know what you’re thinking-how did a girl like me land a stud muffin like that? Well, let’s just say I have my feminine wiles-”
“Hey! Something just brushed my leg!” He started back with long breaststrokes, only to sink beneath the water with a frantic splash.
“Max?!” she shouted, panic spiking her blood. “Max!”
He bobbed up sharply, head breaking the surface with a gargled scream. “Bree! There’s something in here! Something’s got a hold of my-” He disappeared again, as if a balloon yanked sharply by a demanding child. A vibrant red blossom spread across the swirling water.
“Max!” She dropped the camera and ran into the lake, churning through the mud frantically. “Max!”
The dispassionate camera, lying on its side, continued to record as Bree Morton screamed.
***
“Dean, did you see this?” Sam demanded, face half-covered by his laptop’s screen.
Dean rolled over on the bed with a groan, cracking open bloodshot eyes and glaring up at his baby brother. “I’m sure I haven’t. What is it? One of the Kardashians get knocked up again?”
“It’s a vlog that’s gone viral. This girl’s boyfriend was killed right in front of her-right in front of the camera.”
“I’m assuming this wasn’t a mugging gone bad, the way you’re frowning. Something spooky about it? Something we should be concerned about?”
“Yeah. It happened at a small lake in the middle of Tennessee. Broad daylight. And it’s like… I dunno, like a school of piranhas attacked him. Or a shark.”
“A shark. In Tennessee.”
“The people commenting on the video have already dubbed it ‘Tennessie’.”
Dean groaned again. “People are so damn original. Alright-guess the next stop is Tennessee. You can take the first shift behind the wheel. Think I need a bit more time to wake up…”
“You shouldn’t have gotten so drunk last night,” Sam said with a frown.
“Those assholes thought they could drink me under the table-”
“Remind me again: didn’t I find you under the pool table?”
“Yeah, but I had seven hundred more bucks in my pocket. They should’ve known better than to try and hustle a hustler.”
***
“Please understand,” Bree said earnestly, dark brow furrowed and brown eyes over-bright with tears. “I uploaded that video because I wanted people to see the truth. I didn’t do it to try to cash in on-on what happened to Max. Believe me: I didn’t want the notoriety that video brought. I’m not that petty or shallow. I loved Max. We were talking about… About getting married… I didn’t want to get fifteen minutes of fame over his death.”
She looked down at her hands, fingers interlaced and shaking in her lap.
“I believe you,” Sam said quietly. And looking at her, how could anyone think she was trying to turn the situation to her advantage? From the bruised circles under her eyes and crumpled state of her clothes, it was clear she hadn’t slept in days. Probably hadn’t showered, either. She was a well-built woman, much padded at her curves, but her face was haggard and gaunt-she probably hadn’t eaten a real meal since it had happened. Another few days, weeks, and her clothes would be hanging off a much thinner frame. Her dreadlocked hair had been hastily tied back in a bandana. There were pictures all around them of Bree and the ill-fated Max, grinning into the camera and flashing peace signs, a striking pair with his golden surfer boy physique and her dark skin and hair. And it was obvious from the pictures that she was a woman who valued personal appearance: in every shot she had immaculate winged eyeliner and dark red lips. There wasn’t a trace of that confident woman left now, sitting before them on a threadbare couch.
“Thank you,” she murmured, managing a faint smile. “It’s been so hard-the police are calling it an animal attack-they suggested it was an alligator. Wanted to just write it off and close the case. But I just can’t believe it…”
“Did you see or hear anything, before or after the attack?” Dean asked, leaning forward.
“No-not really. I was…” She hesitated, throat tightening around the words. “I was too damn focused on my goddamned vlog. I couldn’t even get to him in time. All I could do was watch. And scream.”
Sam remembered that vividly from the video. The shrill terror and horror in Bree’s voice-impossible to fake. The way she collapsed sobbing after dragging what was left of her boyfriend into the shallows; all recorded in bloody high-def at an off-kilter, disquieting angle.
“But the way Max went under,” Bree said after a pause to recollect herself. “It made me think of kids playing Dunk. You know-when you’d swim under a friend at camp and grab their legs. Pull them down for a quick dunking. If it had really been an alligator, it would’ve rolled him under. And it wouldn’t have let him go once it grabbed him. It would’ve clamped its jaws and gone straight into a barrel roll. I’ve seen that before when they snatch deer or goats. This wasn’t like that. And the wounds…”
She shuddered, rubbing her hands over her arms. “Alligators don’t have serrated teeth.”
“And you’re sure you didn’t see anything? Didn’t get even a glimpse of what it was-any scales or fins?” Dean persisted.
“No. There was too much blood and algae in the water. I couldn’t see a thing.”
“So?” Sam asked as they walked back to the car. “What next?”
“I’m thinking we hit your favorite place-the library. Try to find out the story behind that land and lake. Maybe there’ve been other deaths the local authorities have hushed up as mere animal attacks.”
“You agree with Bree, that this wasn’t an alligator?”
“Sammy, you saw that video, same as me. What alligator would shear off a guy’s leg like that? Would dunk him before coming back for the kill? And those wounds-Bree Morton’s absolutely right. There’s something in that lake that shouldn’t be there.”
***
“Says here,” said Sam, “That the entire area used to be a little town called Hazel Holler.”
“That’s not a town, that’s a stripper,” Dean muttered, scanning through old newspapers on microfilm. Microfilm. This place was truly trapped in the past. “So why’s there a lake there now?”
“The Tennessee Valley Authority built a dam in the late ‘30s that ended up flooding the place. They relocated the people, knocked down most of the houses, and let nature take its course.” Sam flipped through several pages. “A lot of the residents protested the whole thing. Sounds like there was quite a public outcry. …But apparently most of the townsfolk had been the descendants of slaves-which is probably why the government didn’t waste any breath arguing or give them enough time to plead their case.”
“Here’s something,” Dean said, straightening in his chair. “Three years ago, a guy was fishing when his boat overturned. He swore something capsized him and then-jackpot!-bit his leg. He still had a hold of his rod-”
Sam couldn’t stop the laugh, and Dean managed a grin before continuing. “-and managed to hit whatever had grabbed him. Got back to shore with a wicked scar for his troubles.”
“Well, maybe we should go pay this,” Sam peered over his shoulder, “Roger Fenner a visit. See if he can shed more light on this.”
***
“I’ve been sober for six years,” Roger Fenner announced as he offered them glass bottles of root beer. “Just want to make that clear. Some folks tried to say I was three sheets to the wind-that I must’ve just imagined what I saw. But there ain’t nothing wrong with my eyes. Or my memory.”
He settled in his rocking chair with a grunt. The man looked like beef jerky left to cure in the sun for too long, all whipcord and teak. His bald head gleamed in the sunlight and he yanked a none-too-clean red kerchief from his overall pocket to flap at the flies buzzing around the porch.
“What did you see, Mr. Fenner?”
“I saw a clawed hand. Looked almost human, ‘cept the nails were hooked and barbed. And the skin wasn’t so much human skin-it looked like eel skin. Sorta matte black and rubbery. I saw it lift out of the water, grab hold of the edge of my rowboat, and pull. Next thing I knew, I was in the water. And then it grabbed hold, a hand at my ankle and another near my knee, and I felt it bite me. Chomp! Like a kid with a cob of corn.” He chuckled, waving his kerchief in front of his face. “So, naturally, I started hollering and kicking. Stabbed down with my fishing pole and felt it connect with something. A skull, maybe. And then it let go of me. I clambered on top of my boat and I started shouting bloody hell. My pal Fred was on shore taking a nap-so he got the inflatable raft outta his truck and paddled out and got me.
“I wouldn’t have even said anything about what happened-that lake’s technically gov’nment property, you know,” he said in a knowing aside. “Belongs to the TVA. And the last thing I needed was trouble with the feds. But my nephew Bobby had just gotten a job at the paper and I knew he was desperate for any local interest story to take to his boss. So I gave him a little interview. Let him snap a photo of the bite.” Here he paused to yank up the muddied leg of his overalls, revealing impressively gnarly white teethmarks dotting the skin like a perforated curve. “And then three days later this young man shows up on my doorstep. Very polite, very earnest. Very worried. And he asks me, quite kindly, if I could drop the subject. Stop talking about it. If people came to ask me questions, could I just draw a solid blank? And he asked me to avoid fishing there in the future-as if I needed any telling! I asked him why he was so concerned and he said he was a naturalist doing some study of the flora and fauna in the region or something. Said there were some rare animals living in that lake that should be left in peace, and that getting everyone all worked up to a fever pitch would only be ‘detrimental’ to the local ecology. Something like that.”
The man gulped down half of his root beer. Smacked his lips contentedly. Watched his dog, tethered to the front step, bark at a pair of chickens strutting past. “My mama always used to tell us stories about that lake,” he said, voice mellow with nostalgia. “All the parents round here used to tell their little uns stories about that place. Warn us away from swimming there. Said there was a curse on it-that an old witch cursed the place and the men who made it, for driving her kin out of their homes. Never did believe those stories, myself, growing up. But now…”
He fixed Dean with a firm stare. “There’s something in that lake, alright. And it ain’t no gator or fish.”
***
“Any theories?” Dean asked that night in the motel room. He had laid out a couple of knives and guns across the bedspread and was cleaning everything. “If we’re gonna hike out there tomorrow morning, I’d rather only take the essentials.”
“It could have something to do with a witch’s curse,” Sam said thoughtfully, pen pressed to his bottom lip. He was squinting in the glare of the laptop screen, scrolling with his free hand. “I’ve been looking into some of the older TVA records, and that story Fenner’s mother told him may have been based in fact. Says here that there were six men who signed off on the plans for the dam that flooded Hazel Holler-and all six of them were dead within a month of its completion. One died of influenza, another from a stroke, a third from a snake bite…”
“Certainly seems like a larger than normal amount of bad luck. Okay, so if this is the work of a curse, maybe we should track down a Wiccan in the area. Someone with some white magic to back us up.”
“If this is just a creature, guns and knives should do the trick. We’d just need to find a way to lure it close to shore.”
“Yeah, because I don’t feel like reenacting an underwater Bond fight with something scaly. Besides, I don’t think we brought a harpoon gun.”
“I think we should go and try to get a look at this thing-see exactly what we’re up against.”
“Maybe Ariel’s just gotten really antisocial.”
***
“Well, isn’t this picturesque?” Dean announced, slamming the Impala’s door. “Looks like the perfect place for a wholesome skinny dip.”
“I know it’ll be difficult, but try to resist the urge to take your pants off,” Sam said dryly, lugging the plastic bucket out of the backseat. “In the video, Max wasn’t all that far from shore. Maybe thirty feet out or so.”
“Aha!” Dean triumphantly pulled back a clump of cattails to reveal a small rowboat tilted onto its side. “Looks like it’s seaworthy-I told you it’d be a waste of money to rent a boat and drag it all the way out here.”
“If you start quoting Titanic, I will throw you overboard.”
Once they’d rowed a decent distance out, Sam slid the point of his knife under the plastic lid of the bucket and popped it open with a brisk wiggle.
“Try not to splash that shit everywhere,” Dean said, nose wrinkled at the smell of the bait. “Man, I hope this works. Maybe this thing only goes after moving prey. It seems like it prefers legs, at least.”
“We’ll give it a while and if there’s no sign of it, you’ll just have to stick a leg overboard.”
“Me? Why should I?”
“Your legs are nicer than mine.”
“And that is the textbook definition of a backhanded compliment-following that logic, you should be the one playing bait, since we can afford to spare an inferior limb.”
“…Did you hear that?”
“What?”
“Sounded like a splash.”
“Sure it wasn’t a banjo? Might be a creepy inbred kid watching us from the bank. Or some yokel that wants to make you squeal like a piggy-”
The rowboat rocked sharply. Sam grabbed hold of the edge and Dean yanked the gun from his holster. “Just gimme something to shoot,” he muttered, carefully craning his neck to peer into the murky water. “Here, fishy, fishy…”
Something rammed into the hull with a sickening crunch. Water sprayed over them through a long crack in the wood. In a matter of seconds there was a visible puddle spreading across the bottom.
“Just wonderful,” Dean groaned, grabbing the paddle. “Winchester is not on the menu tonight. I am not about to become sushi.”
“Okay, I’ll admit: probably should’ve waited until we’d found a Wiccan,” Sam said, paddling furiously. “I’m big enough to admit when I’m wrong.”
“Yeah, and big enough to be a full meal for whatever’s beneath us-if we hit the water, you swim straight for the bank, okay? Don’t waste time checking on me. Just swim. Got it, Sammy?”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth before the back of the boat was hit a third time, this time tilting wildly forward in a way that promptly dumped them into the lake. Spitting green water, Sam kicked out, his foot connecting with something. There was a momentary spike of fear before the something surfaced beside him with a spluttered curse. “Sorry, Dean.”
“Why the fuck don’t you ever listen to me, Sammy? Move!”
Dean could almost feel the muddy bottom-they were inches away from the shallows-when fingers closed around his right ankle. With a short bark of alarm, he twisted sharply, struggling to kick off whatever had grabbed him. But the fingers only tightened. And now he felt the sharp prickle of claws piercing his jeans. In another heartbeat serrated teeth would clench down, biting all the way to the bone-
The paddle swung down with punishing force. Sam’s longer legs meant he could stand where Dean couldn’t; he had a solid stance as he cut through the water with the heavy length of wood. The hand around Dean’s ankle disappeared. Something bobbed up in front of his face. Something scaly and dark-skinned. And most definitely unconscious.
“Please! Stop!”
Dean floundered onto the bank, water streaming from his shirt and jeans. Sam was right behind him, paddle still in hand and hair plastered to his face. They stared at the man standing before them. He couldn’t be much older than them, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and jeans, his black hair buzzed short and skin even darker in contrast with his shirt.
“And who the hell are you?” Dean demanded, spitting in an attempt to clean out his mouth. He’d probably be tasting algae for a week.
“My name’s Jonah, Jonah Bleakly.”
“This your whale, Jonah?” Sam said, pointing with the paddle at the thing floating senseless in the shallows. He reached out and hooked it, drawing it closer to the bank.
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” the man said, brow furrowed and mouth in a tight frown. “She’s my great-grandmother.”
“Now this I gotta hear-cause I’m not seeing a family resemblance,” Dean groaned, sitting down with a squelch.
Jonah stepped past him, waded in up to his knees, and gathered the creature up in his arms without hesitation. Rearranged the limp arms, angled the lolling head against his shoulder, and sighed.
“When the TVA came with their notices, my great-grandmother Eulah announced she’d never leave. Her parents had built the house she lived in and she’d be damned before the government would take it away from her. She tried to take the issue to court, but everybody knew that was pointless. Because she was black and the daughter of slaves. Everybody in Hazel Holler was the same. So when they started building the dam, she made her own plans. She made a potion so she could live in a town under water. She cast a curse on the people who had forced her hand. And when the water came, Eulah stayed.”
He laid the creature that had once been a woman down gently. There were still vestiges of humanity in her face, framed in small, pebbled scales and gasping gills. What grew from her scalp looked more like fibrous plants than hair. Instead of legs there was a long, slender tail reminiscent of an eel’s flattened body. The arms were impossibly skinny given the strength they’d displayed, and her webbed hands ended in hooked claws. She was matte black and monstrous-and still Jonah Bleakly looked at her with kindness and understanding.
“She just wants to be left in peace,” he explained. “This was her home-this is still her home.”
“And what are you-her guardian?”
“In a way. She’s family. And for the past seventy years my grandfather and father and I have been keeping an eye on her. Keeping others away.”
“You were the one who talked to Roger Fenner,” Sam said.
Jonah nodded.
“You’re not doing such a good job on the guarding front lately,” Dean said. “Your granny here killed a guy named Max Wexler a couple weeks ago. Scarred his girlfriend for life.”
“I’ve heard,” he replied, shoulders sinking under the invisible weight. “I was away for a week, trying to reorder some finances. You see, my family’s been buying the land around the lake back from the TVA. Just a couple acres at a time. So we can properly fence it and put up signs. It’s taken us three generations, but we’re almost done.”
“All of this because she refused to leave? That’s a pretty damn big burden to put on her family.”
Jonah straightened his back. “She’s given us purpose. She taught us how to take a stand. Our family’s been persecuted and looked down upon and attacked and debased for generations. But in following her example we’ve refused to back down from any of it. My grandfather became a businessman because of her. My dad became a lawyer because of her. And I became a naturalist because of her. And in a couple more weeks, this place will legally be ours again. Hers again. And we’ll make sure no one else will get hurt.”
“That still doesn’t change the fact that she killed someone,” Sam persisted.
“The guy had a girlfriend-they were planning on getting married,” Dean added, wringing out the hem of his shirt. “That’s a whole future gone. Because your grandma had the munchies.”
“At this point, she’s more animal than woman. She was only following her instincts. When the whole world treats you like a monster,” Jonah said quietly, looking at them both in turn. “It can’t blame you when you live up to that expectation. Please. I swear to you-soon there won’t even be a chance for her to hurt anyone else. And I’ll do everything I can to help the victim’s girlfriend. Please. Killing her won’t bring him back.”
Sam hesitated. Dean stood up and tried to brush the worst of the mud and plant matter from his legs.
“If we hear one more whisper of water-based trouble in Tennessee,” Dean said finally, leveling an accusatory finger. “We’re coming back with a bigger boat. And harpoon guns.”
As the Impala turned around and headed off down the dirt road, Eulah Bleakly stirred. She opened glossy black eyes and took in the face of her concerned great-grandson, kneeling beside her.
“Jonaaaaaah,” she hissed through serrated teeth, reaching out and brushing her hand across his cheek. “Good booooy.”
“Gamma, are you happy?” he asked quietly.
“Yessss.”
She slipped back into the water with the softest of splashes, disappearing into the reeds and mud.
{commissioned by thursdaysisters.}
there's something hungry in a man-made lake. after a video of an attack goes viral,
sam and dean head for tennessee to do some unusual fishing. (3,917 words)
“C’mon, Bree!” he shouted with an enticing splash. “Put down the camera!”
“What, and miss this perfect filming opportunity?” she laughed, zooming in on him. “My viewers are gonna eat you up…”
“Don’t you ever stop thinking about your damn vlog?” he sighed, laying back to float and turning his face up to the hot sun. “Girl, this is the life. I saw we toss our phones, build a cabin over there, and just never leave. How did you even find this place?”
“Amazing what you can find when you turn down a dirt road, huh?” She glanced around, taking in the lush trees and blooming flowers, the birdsong and warm breeze. “Personally, I can’t believe someone hasn’t plopped a hotel or resort here. How something this pretty has been left untouched…”
“Maybe it’s private property,” he suggested, none too concerned by the prospect of trespassing. “Or government land.”
“I never saw any signs posted,” she said nonchalantly before turning the camera on herself. “Hey there, babes! Big Bad Bree here, coming to you from what could very well be the new Garden of Eden. Just look at that view, huh? Pretty spectacular, am I right? And speaking of natural beauty-take a gander at my hunky boyfriend Max over there. I know what you’re thinking-how did a girl like me land a stud muffin like that? Well, let’s just say I have my feminine wiles-”
“Hey! Something just brushed my leg!” He started back with long breaststrokes, only to sink beneath the water with a frantic splash.
“Max?!” she shouted, panic spiking her blood. “Max!”
He bobbed up sharply, head breaking the surface with a gargled scream. “Bree! There’s something in here! Something’s got a hold of my-” He disappeared again, as if a balloon yanked sharply by a demanding child. A vibrant red blossom spread across the swirling water.
“Max!” She dropped the camera and ran into the lake, churning through the mud frantically. “Max!”
The dispassionate camera, lying on its side, continued to record as Bree Morton screamed.
***
“Dean, did you see this?” Sam demanded, face half-covered by his laptop’s screen.
Dean rolled over on the bed with a groan, cracking open bloodshot eyes and glaring up at his baby brother. “I’m sure I haven’t. What is it? One of the Kardashians get knocked up again?”
“It’s a vlog that’s gone viral. This girl’s boyfriend was killed right in front of her-right in front of the camera.”
“I’m assuming this wasn’t a mugging gone bad, the way you’re frowning. Something spooky about it? Something we should be concerned about?”
“Yeah. It happened at a small lake in the middle of Tennessee. Broad daylight. And it’s like… I dunno, like a school of piranhas attacked him. Or a shark.”
“A shark. In Tennessee.”
“The people commenting on the video have already dubbed it ‘Tennessie’.”
Dean groaned again. “People are so damn original. Alright-guess the next stop is Tennessee. You can take the first shift behind the wheel. Think I need a bit more time to wake up…”
“You shouldn’t have gotten so drunk last night,” Sam said with a frown.
“Those assholes thought they could drink me under the table-”
“Remind me again: didn’t I find you under the pool table?”
“Yeah, but I had seven hundred more bucks in my pocket. They should’ve known better than to try and hustle a hustler.”
***
“Please understand,” Bree said earnestly, dark brow furrowed and brown eyes over-bright with tears. “I uploaded that video because I wanted people to see the truth. I didn’t do it to try to cash in on-on what happened to Max. Believe me: I didn’t want the notoriety that video brought. I’m not that petty or shallow. I loved Max. We were talking about… About getting married… I didn’t want to get fifteen minutes of fame over his death.”
She looked down at her hands, fingers interlaced and shaking in her lap.
“I believe you,” Sam said quietly. And looking at her, how could anyone think she was trying to turn the situation to her advantage? From the bruised circles under her eyes and crumpled state of her clothes, it was clear she hadn’t slept in days. Probably hadn’t showered, either. She was a well-built woman, much padded at her curves, but her face was haggard and gaunt-she probably hadn’t eaten a real meal since it had happened. Another few days, weeks, and her clothes would be hanging off a much thinner frame. Her dreadlocked hair had been hastily tied back in a bandana. There were pictures all around them of Bree and the ill-fated Max, grinning into the camera and flashing peace signs, a striking pair with his golden surfer boy physique and her dark skin and hair. And it was obvious from the pictures that she was a woman who valued personal appearance: in every shot she had immaculate winged eyeliner and dark red lips. There wasn’t a trace of that confident woman left now, sitting before them on a threadbare couch.
“Thank you,” she murmured, managing a faint smile. “It’s been so hard-the police are calling it an animal attack-they suggested it was an alligator. Wanted to just write it off and close the case. But I just can’t believe it…”
“Did you see or hear anything, before or after the attack?” Dean asked, leaning forward.
“No-not really. I was…” She hesitated, throat tightening around the words. “I was too damn focused on my goddamned vlog. I couldn’t even get to him in time. All I could do was watch. And scream.”
Sam remembered that vividly from the video. The shrill terror and horror in Bree’s voice-impossible to fake. The way she collapsed sobbing after dragging what was left of her boyfriend into the shallows; all recorded in bloody high-def at an off-kilter, disquieting angle.
“But the way Max went under,” Bree said after a pause to recollect herself. “It made me think of kids playing Dunk. You know-when you’d swim under a friend at camp and grab their legs. Pull them down for a quick dunking. If it had really been an alligator, it would’ve rolled him under. And it wouldn’t have let him go once it grabbed him. It would’ve clamped its jaws and gone straight into a barrel roll. I’ve seen that before when they snatch deer or goats. This wasn’t like that. And the wounds…”
She shuddered, rubbing her hands over her arms. “Alligators don’t have serrated teeth.”
“And you’re sure you didn’t see anything? Didn’t get even a glimpse of what it was-any scales or fins?” Dean persisted.
“No. There was too much blood and algae in the water. I couldn’t see a thing.”
“So?” Sam asked as they walked back to the car. “What next?”
“I’m thinking we hit your favorite place-the library. Try to find out the story behind that land and lake. Maybe there’ve been other deaths the local authorities have hushed up as mere animal attacks.”
“You agree with Bree, that this wasn’t an alligator?”
“Sammy, you saw that video, same as me. What alligator would shear off a guy’s leg like that? Would dunk him before coming back for the kill? And those wounds-Bree Morton’s absolutely right. There’s something in that lake that shouldn’t be there.”
***
“Says here,” said Sam, “That the entire area used to be a little town called Hazel Holler.”
“That’s not a town, that’s a stripper,” Dean muttered, scanning through old newspapers on microfilm. Microfilm. This place was truly trapped in the past. “So why’s there a lake there now?”
“The Tennessee Valley Authority built a dam in the late ‘30s that ended up flooding the place. They relocated the people, knocked down most of the houses, and let nature take its course.” Sam flipped through several pages. “A lot of the residents protested the whole thing. Sounds like there was quite a public outcry. …But apparently most of the townsfolk had been the descendants of slaves-which is probably why the government didn’t waste any breath arguing or give them enough time to plead their case.”
“Here’s something,” Dean said, straightening in his chair. “Three years ago, a guy was fishing when his boat overturned. He swore something capsized him and then-jackpot!-bit his leg. He still had a hold of his rod-”
Sam couldn’t stop the laugh, and Dean managed a grin before continuing. “-and managed to hit whatever had grabbed him. Got back to shore with a wicked scar for his troubles.”
“Well, maybe we should go pay this,” Sam peered over his shoulder, “Roger Fenner a visit. See if he can shed more light on this.”
***
“I’ve been sober for six years,” Roger Fenner announced as he offered them glass bottles of root beer. “Just want to make that clear. Some folks tried to say I was three sheets to the wind-that I must’ve just imagined what I saw. But there ain’t nothing wrong with my eyes. Or my memory.”
He settled in his rocking chair with a grunt. The man looked like beef jerky left to cure in the sun for too long, all whipcord and teak. His bald head gleamed in the sunlight and he yanked a none-too-clean red kerchief from his overall pocket to flap at the flies buzzing around the porch.
“What did you see, Mr. Fenner?”
“I saw a clawed hand. Looked almost human, ‘cept the nails were hooked and barbed. And the skin wasn’t so much human skin-it looked like eel skin. Sorta matte black and rubbery. I saw it lift out of the water, grab hold of the edge of my rowboat, and pull. Next thing I knew, I was in the water. And then it grabbed hold, a hand at my ankle and another near my knee, and I felt it bite me. Chomp! Like a kid with a cob of corn.” He chuckled, waving his kerchief in front of his face. “So, naturally, I started hollering and kicking. Stabbed down with my fishing pole and felt it connect with something. A skull, maybe. And then it let go of me. I clambered on top of my boat and I started shouting bloody hell. My pal Fred was on shore taking a nap-so he got the inflatable raft outta his truck and paddled out and got me.
“I wouldn’t have even said anything about what happened-that lake’s technically gov’nment property, you know,” he said in a knowing aside. “Belongs to the TVA. And the last thing I needed was trouble with the feds. But my nephew Bobby had just gotten a job at the paper and I knew he was desperate for any local interest story to take to his boss. So I gave him a little interview. Let him snap a photo of the bite.” Here he paused to yank up the muddied leg of his overalls, revealing impressively gnarly white teethmarks dotting the skin like a perforated curve. “And then three days later this young man shows up on my doorstep. Very polite, very earnest. Very worried. And he asks me, quite kindly, if I could drop the subject. Stop talking about it. If people came to ask me questions, could I just draw a solid blank? And he asked me to avoid fishing there in the future-as if I needed any telling! I asked him why he was so concerned and he said he was a naturalist doing some study of the flora and fauna in the region or something. Said there were some rare animals living in that lake that should be left in peace, and that getting everyone all worked up to a fever pitch would only be ‘detrimental’ to the local ecology. Something like that.”
The man gulped down half of his root beer. Smacked his lips contentedly. Watched his dog, tethered to the front step, bark at a pair of chickens strutting past. “My mama always used to tell us stories about that lake,” he said, voice mellow with nostalgia. “All the parents round here used to tell their little uns stories about that place. Warn us away from swimming there. Said there was a curse on it-that an old witch cursed the place and the men who made it, for driving her kin out of their homes. Never did believe those stories, myself, growing up. But now…”
He fixed Dean with a firm stare. “There’s something in that lake, alright. And it ain’t no gator or fish.”
***
“Any theories?” Dean asked that night in the motel room. He had laid out a couple of knives and guns across the bedspread and was cleaning everything. “If we’re gonna hike out there tomorrow morning, I’d rather only take the essentials.”
“It could have something to do with a witch’s curse,” Sam said thoughtfully, pen pressed to his bottom lip. He was squinting in the glare of the laptop screen, scrolling with his free hand. “I’ve been looking into some of the older TVA records, and that story Fenner’s mother told him may have been based in fact. Says here that there were six men who signed off on the plans for the dam that flooded Hazel Holler-and all six of them were dead within a month of its completion. One died of influenza, another from a stroke, a third from a snake bite…”
“Certainly seems like a larger than normal amount of bad luck. Okay, so if this is the work of a curse, maybe we should track down a Wiccan in the area. Someone with some white magic to back us up.”
“If this is just a creature, guns and knives should do the trick. We’d just need to find a way to lure it close to shore.”
“Yeah, because I don’t feel like reenacting an underwater Bond fight with something scaly. Besides, I don’t think we brought a harpoon gun.”
“I think we should go and try to get a look at this thing-see exactly what we’re up against.”
“Maybe Ariel’s just gotten really antisocial.”
***
“Well, isn’t this picturesque?” Dean announced, slamming the Impala’s door. “Looks like the perfect place for a wholesome skinny dip.”
“I know it’ll be difficult, but try to resist the urge to take your pants off,” Sam said dryly, lugging the plastic bucket out of the backseat. “In the video, Max wasn’t all that far from shore. Maybe thirty feet out or so.”
“Aha!” Dean triumphantly pulled back a clump of cattails to reveal a small rowboat tilted onto its side. “Looks like it’s seaworthy-I told you it’d be a waste of money to rent a boat and drag it all the way out here.”
“If you start quoting Titanic, I will throw you overboard.”
Once they’d rowed a decent distance out, Sam slid the point of his knife under the plastic lid of the bucket and popped it open with a brisk wiggle.
“Try not to splash that shit everywhere,” Dean said, nose wrinkled at the smell of the bait. “Man, I hope this works. Maybe this thing only goes after moving prey. It seems like it prefers legs, at least.”
“We’ll give it a while and if there’s no sign of it, you’ll just have to stick a leg overboard.”
“Me? Why should I?”
“Your legs are nicer than mine.”
“And that is the textbook definition of a backhanded compliment-following that logic, you should be the one playing bait, since we can afford to spare an inferior limb.”
“…Did you hear that?”
“What?”
“Sounded like a splash.”
“Sure it wasn’t a banjo? Might be a creepy inbred kid watching us from the bank. Or some yokel that wants to make you squeal like a piggy-”
The rowboat rocked sharply. Sam grabbed hold of the edge and Dean yanked the gun from his holster. “Just gimme something to shoot,” he muttered, carefully craning his neck to peer into the murky water. “Here, fishy, fishy…”
Something rammed into the hull with a sickening crunch. Water sprayed over them through a long crack in the wood. In a matter of seconds there was a visible puddle spreading across the bottom.
“Just wonderful,” Dean groaned, grabbing the paddle. “Winchester is not on the menu tonight. I am not about to become sushi.”
“Okay, I’ll admit: probably should’ve waited until we’d found a Wiccan,” Sam said, paddling furiously. “I’m big enough to admit when I’m wrong.”
“Yeah, and big enough to be a full meal for whatever’s beneath us-if we hit the water, you swim straight for the bank, okay? Don’t waste time checking on me. Just swim. Got it, Sammy?”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth before the back of the boat was hit a third time, this time tilting wildly forward in a way that promptly dumped them into the lake. Spitting green water, Sam kicked out, his foot connecting with something. There was a momentary spike of fear before the something surfaced beside him with a spluttered curse. “Sorry, Dean.”
“Why the fuck don’t you ever listen to me, Sammy? Move!”
Dean could almost feel the muddy bottom-they were inches away from the shallows-when fingers closed around his right ankle. With a short bark of alarm, he twisted sharply, struggling to kick off whatever had grabbed him. But the fingers only tightened. And now he felt the sharp prickle of claws piercing his jeans. In another heartbeat serrated teeth would clench down, biting all the way to the bone-
The paddle swung down with punishing force. Sam’s longer legs meant he could stand where Dean couldn’t; he had a solid stance as he cut through the water with the heavy length of wood. The hand around Dean’s ankle disappeared. Something bobbed up in front of his face. Something scaly and dark-skinned. And most definitely unconscious.
“Please! Stop!”
Dean floundered onto the bank, water streaming from his shirt and jeans. Sam was right behind him, paddle still in hand and hair plastered to his face. They stared at the man standing before them. He couldn’t be much older than them, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and jeans, his black hair buzzed short and skin even darker in contrast with his shirt.
“And who the hell are you?” Dean demanded, spitting in an attempt to clean out his mouth. He’d probably be tasting algae for a week.
“My name’s Jonah, Jonah Bleakly.”
“This your whale, Jonah?” Sam said, pointing with the paddle at the thing floating senseless in the shallows. He reached out and hooked it, drawing it closer to the bank.
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” the man said, brow furrowed and mouth in a tight frown. “She’s my great-grandmother.”
“Now this I gotta hear-cause I’m not seeing a family resemblance,” Dean groaned, sitting down with a squelch.
Jonah stepped past him, waded in up to his knees, and gathered the creature up in his arms without hesitation. Rearranged the limp arms, angled the lolling head against his shoulder, and sighed.
“When the TVA came with their notices, my great-grandmother Eulah announced she’d never leave. Her parents had built the house she lived in and she’d be damned before the government would take it away from her. She tried to take the issue to court, but everybody knew that was pointless. Because she was black and the daughter of slaves. Everybody in Hazel Holler was the same. So when they started building the dam, she made her own plans. She made a potion so she could live in a town under water. She cast a curse on the people who had forced her hand. And when the water came, Eulah stayed.”
He laid the creature that had once been a woman down gently. There were still vestiges of humanity in her face, framed in small, pebbled scales and gasping gills. What grew from her scalp looked more like fibrous plants than hair. Instead of legs there was a long, slender tail reminiscent of an eel’s flattened body. The arms were impossibly skinny given the strength they’d displayed, and her webbed hands ended in hooked claws. She was matte black and monstrous-and still Jonah Bleakly looked at her with kindness and understanding.
“She just wants to be left in peace,” he explained. “This was her home-this is still her home.”
“And what are you-her guardian?”
“In a way. She’s family. And for the past seventy years my grandfather and father and I have been keeping an eye on her. Keeping others away.”
“You were the one who talked to Roger Fenner,” Sam said.
Jonah nodded.
“You’re not doing such a good job on the guarding front lately,” Dean said. “Your granny here killed a guy named Max Wexler a couple weeks ago. Scarred his girlfriend for life.”
“I’ve heard,” he replied, shoulders sinking under the invisible weight. “I was away for a week, trying to reorder some finances. You see, my family’s been buying the land around the lake back from the TVA. Just a couple acres at a time. So we can properly fence it and put up signs. It’s taken us three generations, but we’re almost done.”
“All of this because she refused to leave? That’s a pretty damn big burden to put on her family.”
Jonah straightened his back. “She’s given us purpose. She taught us how to take a stand. Our family’s been persecuted and looked down upon and attacked and debased for generations. But in following her example we’ve refused to back down from any of it. My grandfather became a businessman because of her. My dad became a lawyer because of her. And I became a naturalist because of her. And in a couple more weeks, this place will legally be ours again. Hers again. And we’ll make sure no one else will get hurt.”
“That still doesn’t change the fact that she killed someone,” Sam persisted.
“The guy had a girlfriend-they were planning on getting married,” Dean added, wringing out the hem of his shirt. “That’s a whole future gone. Because your grandma had the munchies.”
“At this point, she’s more animal than woman. She was only following her instincts. When the whole world treats you like a monster,” Jonah said quietly, looking at them both in turn. “It can’t blame you when you live up to that expectation. Please. I swear to you-soon there won’t even be a chance for her to hurt anyone else. And I’ll do everything I can to help the victim’s girlfriend. Please. Killing her won’t bring him back.”
Sam hesitated. Dean stood up and tried to brush the worst of the mud and plant matter from his legs.
“If we hear one more whisper of water-based trouble in Tennessee,” Dean said finally, leveling an accusatory finger. “We’re coming back with a bigger boat. And harpoon guns.”
As the Impala turned around and headed off down the dirt road, Eulah Bleakly stirred. She opened glossy black eyes and took in the face of her concerned great-grandson, kneeling beside her.
“Jonaaaaaah,” she hissed through serrated teeth, reaching out and brushing her hand across his cheek. “Good booooy.”
“Gamma, are you happy?” he asked quietly.
“Yessss.”
She slipped back into the water with the softest of splashes, disappearing into the reeds and mud.