Miasma

My uncle Stephen and I were close. Every summer ever since I was four years old, my parents and I would drive down to his lake house and stay for a week or two. It was here that I cast my first line and learned how to fish. He'd take me out in his little red motorboat and we would stay out on the water for hours. When I was older, he'd even let me pilot the boat. I remember the sunlight reflecting off the glistening, silver scales of the fish we plucked from the water, the refreshing cold of the deep, shimmering lake beneath us. These memories spark a warm fire of nostalgia in my heart. Now, I have to hold the dying embers close. If I let go, even for a second, I might lose my mind.

He passed away two months ago. The man was old and tired. I'd like to say I was overwhelmed with grief, but I wasn't. In fact, I just felt… Nothing. Numb. By then I'd gone off to live on my own, and with age comes responsibilities. A whole lot of them. Then my summers became bleak, my memories were buried with the growing to-do list in my head. Go to work. Get groceries. Remember to text mom and let her know how you're doing. News of his death came in the form of a phone call, but acted as a hand forcing its way past the papers to unearth a photo album of happy thoughts. My parents requested I come out to visit. My father, Stephen's brother, was heartbroken. I accepted, and soon enough, there I was. Standing by my parents and mourning in their living room.

There was no funeral. He never wanted one. Stephen didn't have many people around to come to it, anyways. He never married, never had children, my father was his only sibling. We had him cremated within a couple days. My parents and I discussed who would take what. The man didn't have much. All my parents really cared to take were the more personal items, such as photos and the old watch he always wore, which went to my father. The rest, they said, was up to me. They knew I could always use some extra money, if I were to sell any of his things. So I drove down to the house and began sorting through his belongings. I figured I'd stay a while too, maybe do some fishing.

I arrived at noon and began sifting through the drawers and shelves. Everything felt so much smaller than it used to be, compared to when I was a kid. You realize the world really isn't as huge as you thought it was when you grow older. By nine, there were bags of neatly folded clothes, boxes stacked with old books, and cases of other everyday household items waiting by the door. Without laughter to fill the home, the silence felt suffocating. Usually I'm perfectly comfortable in isolation, as I live alone. But being here, having my memories of the place invaded with reality, I felt so out of place. The whimsy, the adrenaline-inducing excitement I used to feel when I came here all those years ago, it became a lie. I had to step outside to take a breather.

The summer evening breeze made me feel at ease. It was almost as though I was back on that boat with Stephen, slowly floating out to the deeper ends of the lake… That's when I remembered it. I turned my attention to the dock. The motorboat was still there, rocking gently with the waves. I approached the water, the wood groaning under my weight. It was falling apart from wear and rot, a subtle reminder that it was once something living. Ripples in the surface mimicked the rise and fall of someone's chest while breathing. The splash of water against the rusted sides of the boat was a call to distant memories. Images and feelings I'd pushed to the very back of my mind. I climbed into the vehicle, accidentally kicking something in the process. Laying underneath the seats was Stephen's old fishing rod and tackle box. For some reason, this was the thing to bring me back down to earth. My vision blurred with tears, my heart felt heavy, and the next thing I knew I was starting up the engine. I had to get away from the house. The crushing weight of the silence had followed me out and was starting to get to me.

I'd gone farther out than I intended. Far enough to leave the house looking like a speck of light against a dimming horizon. Guess that's just what happens when you let your mind wander while driving. The distance wasn't the only thing I hadn't noticed, however. There was this… smell. The longer I focused on it, the more it bothered me. The fumes stung my nose and made my eyes tear up again. It was like opening a bag of rotten fish heads you'd left out in the sun for a good couple of days. While it was certainly unpleasant, at least it helped take my mind off why I was out there in the first place. My stomach turned and my head began to spin, so naturally, I held my head over the boat to vomit. But as my eyes met the water, the sensation vanished. There was something in the lake beneath me.

Now, I had no idea how deep the water was. I had no way of telling how far down or how big the object was. The only point of reference I could come up with was that it was farther down than what my arm could reach. Something about this thing in the water captured my attention with a vice-like grip. It was a round, ghostly, milk-coloured thing, like an insect's egg. It pulsed every once in a while, sending a pale light running along a spider web of what resembled veins. The light didn't run far though, eventually fading into darkness deeper beyond what I could see. For a moment, I was in a trance. Hypnotized by the soft heartbeat of the strange entity. The sound around me seemed to mute as I directed my undivided attention to the thing. I swayed with the water, pushing myself forward to get a better look… Then had to pry myself away when I almost slipped from the side of uncle Stephen's boat and into the water. When I staggered back into the seat, I could practically hear the old man scolding me, telling me to be mindful of how far I'm leaning. My ears popped and sounds of the waves and wind returned, like someone had pulled a pair of thick earmuffs off my head. It was disorienting.

The oddness of the situation only hit me after I'd recollected my thoughts. Fascination melted into a deep feeling of uneasiness. The smell had dissipated. For a while, I held still. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky a void of black. Starless and plagued by thick clouds, suggesting rainfall was on its way. When I finally peered over the side of the boat, all I could see was the mirrored sky. No white, pulsing, glowing object. The breeze no longer carried a sense of comfort. With that, I called it quits and began the short journey back to the lonely house. When I arrived back at the house and checked the clock, it turned out I'd been on the water about two and a half hours. It was nearly midnight. Sailing out as far as I did would have only taken twenty minutes, considering how fast I'd been going. Thirty at most. That meant I'd been sitting there for roughly a whole hour and a half. It certainly didn't feel like it. Adding up hours that didn't make sense, combined with the confusing thing I'd witnessed, the whole ordeal was making me tired. So I went to sleep on the couch.

I woke up not to a rising sun, but a dark room and a painfully dry throat. Rising groggily from the worn cushions, I stumbled into the kitchen to get a drink. The icy cold of the tiles shocked me awake and sent shivers running up my body, like a thousand spiders crossing my spine as if it were a bridge. Next to strike was that wretched smell. It was stronger here. Maybe because it was a closed space. I gagged, which didn't help my aching throat. With a stinging reminder of what I came here for, I swiped a glass off the shelf and reached for the faucet. My fingers met the metal and I was about to get the water flowing, but was stopped by a vibration coursing through the handle. I immediately yanked my hand away, watching the sink. Another thump came, strong enough to make the windows shudder in their frames. The smell, the shaking, it was making me feel so sick. I backed away from the sink, my world twisting and warping around me. The pipes continued to throb like arteries, I could feel the pulse reverberate throughout the entire home. Glass shattered across the floor as I dropped the cup in my hand to cover my ears and staggered back into the living room. Then, I collapsed.

When I came to I was face down on the floor, ice cold and stiff. With shaking hands, I pushed myself off the ground. Sunlight slipping past the shutters met my eyes and brought with it a temporary blur of my vision. I stumbled to the window to turn them shut, cursing at the light for the sudden attack. As the fog hanging over my waking mind subsided, I remembered my experience from the night before. The distant thumping echoed in my head, made me feel uneasy. Surely, this couldn't be more than a tired brain twisting reality. But that didn't explain the fragments of glass on the floor and pale threads poking out of the kitchen sink.

They resembled those parasitic freshwater worms you find in fish, but thicker. Or perhaps the soggy remnants of some rice noodles that accidentally fell into the sink. However, they were bumpy and not a smooth line. The things were just worming their way past the drain cover. I couldn't tell what they were, but I certainly wanted them gone. I grabbed the drain cover and pulled. Whatever the things were, they were holding the cover down pretty well, like pale roots to a tree. I ended up having to cut them, and when I did, they leaked some translucent, blue-tinted fluid. The rest of it slipped back down the drain. I also found them to be soft and squishy, like some sort of water-filled vein. I decided I shouldn't use that sink for a little while. In the meantime, I figured I'd go out and try to catch some fish. I caught a glimpse of my solemn face in the door's little window and tried to smile, cheer up. It was gray and cold, but that wouldn't stop me. I tested my uncle Stephen's equipment, made sure everything worked, zipped up my coat, then started up the boat's engine.

I made a point to stay closer to shore this time around, only moving for about 10 minutes. The clouds were darkening and it filled me with a long-forgotten excitement. I pictured an eight year old me rushing to get my boots with Stephen leading me out to the dock. The rain always brought all the fish to the top, and with the drops now pelting the surface, I expected there to be plenty. To my surprise, half an hour in, I still had nothing. It was beginning to get on my nerves.

I was on my first trip with my uncle all over again. I couldn't catch anything because I was moving around far too much. I was so impatient back then, and even now, I still can be. Stephen would tell me I got it from my dad. When I kicked up too much of a fuss, he would bring me back to shore for lunch. He usually chalked up my incessant whining to me being hungry should I complain too long. So I did that. I set the rod at the bottom of the boat, being mindful of the hook, then made my way back to the house. Then, as if I'd passed through some sort of wall, I was hit by that god-awful smell.

The putrid scent made my eyes water uncontrollably. Take a deep breath with your nose directly over a bottle of vinegar and you'll know what I mean. I pulled my shirt over my nose, trying desperately and failing to relieve myself of the odour. I was nearing the dock. It was growing ever stronger, could the smell be coming from there? Was it on me? I wondered, slowing to a stop as I pulled up to the house. I got off the boat with haste, the smell never leaving me be. It was ever present, even after I'd gone inside and taken a shower. I looked down the kitchen sink's drain and saw nothing. Repeated the process with every other drain I could, there was absolutely nothing. Maybe it was something outside. I put my shoes back on and walked along the shore, searching for anything that could be producing the smell. By now, the rain had died down to a light mist.

I wasn't out there long. I found it relatively quickly, but completely by accident. When the scent became too much to bear, when my gut turned over and my face felt swollen and hot, I stumbled over to vomit into a cluster of bushes situated right by the water. Before the nausea was alleviated and I could see straight again, I had to stand still, leaning on my knees to keep upright. Then, I saw it. A fish. Obviously dead. But the blood had long since dried up. Its scales had the dullness of a worn out metal tray, scratched up to the point where it could not shine. Its mouth lay agape and eyes without reflection. Soulless, empty, wrinkled up and old. When my thoughts cleared, I tried to solve the mystery that is how it got there. Maybe a bird grabbed, ate, then threw it down there. But the fish was almost completely intact, aside from… There was a slit in its stomach, from which protruded a white line. Bumpy, yet smooth on the surface. I wiped my eyes and squinted at the fish. I'd missed some details. There were thin worm-like veins slipping out from between the scales. It was in its mouth, hanging around the eye sockets. I shuddered with disgust, instinctively wiping my hands on my shirt as if trying to get something off of them.

My eyes followed the vein in its gut, further into the bush. It snaked past the branches a while and into this mass. Something within me urged me to look, and I did. I circled the shrubs and reached out to pry the plant apart. As the leaves separated, I found what I'd been looking for. There were so many fish. But unlike the other who'd been partially under the sun, these were still wet. Fresh. But not because of the onslaught of rain earlier today. They were all intertwined by those veins. Here, they were thicker, similar to the rope my uncle Stephen and now I had used to tie the boat to the dock. I found myself unable to look away. The longer I stared, the more I noticed. The disfigured fish had no clear silhouettes. They were not separate. That isn't because I couldn't see them properly. They were literally merging, melting together. The veins then pulsed, sending a ripple of milky white light through each and every one. The fish began to move in response, flicking their tails and opening and closing their mouths like they were gasping for air. That was enough for me.

My hand was once cut by a fishing hook dragging across my skin. It bled very little, but I was young and sensitive. Because I was so, I went running for my uncle to make it feel better. Please, make the pain go away. Every time, he would respond by sticking what he called a "magic" band-aid over the scrape. In reality they were simply placebos. Regular band-aids with superheroes and cartoon characters on them, but just like magic, the pain was gone. At least, I believed it was. Children can be easily distracted from wounds if you say the right things, but not here. This was a different kind of pain, and as I rounded the corner sprinting for the house, I realized that. There was no explanation, no reason, no magic band-aid I could put over this. I struggled to keep my thoughts in order. Instinctively, I ran onto the dock as if my uncle would be there, sharing a drink with my father at the edge of the walk.

I sat there a while with my feet dangling over the rippling black water below me. I couldn't remember it being so dark, but I didn't recall it being any lighter either. I focus on my reflection, on my eyes. They looked like lightbulbs that had just finally gone out. I try to imagine my uncle sitting by me, his hand on my shoulder. But as my mind strains to bring up old memories, I find myself unable to clearly remember the shape of his face. Or what colour his hair was. Whether it was brown like my father's or in the midst of turning a pale, aging gray, I couldn't tell. Then, like streaks of lightning in a storm, pulsing lines lit up the lake-bed and interrupted my thoughts before I could come up with an answer. I stood, the dock whining in protest to the sudden movement. When the veins flashed again, they were in a different position. The water was still shifting around when it should have been calm. They were moving.

Time felt slow. As I leapt to my feet, it felt as though I was passing through a thick wall of molasses. My legs were wobbly and my heart was a jackhammer in my chest, I could feel the pressure rising up my throat. The dock shook and I lost my footing. As I hit the floor, it finally occurred to me just how much the wood had deteriorated. The boards cracked and I scrambled to stand again. The ground crunched with the shifting of my weight. I lifted my foot to take off running, but another strike rattled my escape route. This time they didn't stop. With every step forward, I stumbled back two. The dock was being shaken so violently, waves were forming. The steady rise and fall of water escalated to aggressive instability. Finally, I slipped, falling through my lifeline and into the lake below.

The pain brought on by crashing through the boards was numbed by the cold that suddenly swallowed me. For a moment, I felt an eerie calmness. There was something so soothing about being underwater. Cut off from the world, truly isolated. Nobody can hear you. However, that reality, that privacy, it was invaded so crudely when something wrapped tightly around my waist. I was yanked down further into the water. I opened my eyes to nothing but blurry darkness. I swiped my arms around, reaching for anything. Nothing came within my reach. I pulled at the rope-like thing around my torso. It was soft in my hands and bumpy like a snake with a spine broken in far too many places. Then, my surroundings lit up. A pale, nauseating light pulsed through a spiderweb of veiny appendages. I shouted, only to have the bubbling of millions of litres of water silence me. I was thrown against the sand. Though I was underwater, the impact was strong. More air escaped my mouth before I could remind myself I was unable to scream.

I thrashed around in the dark, desperate to free myself. But as I felt the appendage tugging me further away from the dock, I could feel my determination diminish. I clenched my jaw shut, fighting the urge to draw in a breath. More of the soft cords found my body and began coiling around my limbs. I felt around the sandy lakebed, desperate to find something to cling to. My hands were going numb, overtaken by the tingling cold. My fingers met something solid. Something pointy, a jagged rock. I pried it from the sand. This was my only hope. I pushed off the ground so I stood upright. The veins were winding higher up my arms, to my shoulders and neck. They felt thinner, like they'd split off into small lines to cover more area. I dug my heels into the ground, fighting the pulling wires. I felt sharp, buried stones cutting into the soles of my feet. I flipped the rock in one hand and grabbed a vein with the other, then swiped it to cut. The skin broke with a couple strikes. The light pulsing through it seemed to leak into the water around me. But it quickly faded, merging with the deep, dark blue. A sound shook the darkness, and I felt the coils release. A muffled, ghastly wail rang out from behind me. I pushed off the lakebed and towards the surface, turning to look behind me in the process. The pale, pulsating tendrils were retreating to the deeper parts of the lake. But there was something else there. Curled up small, entangled in the cords, was a human figure.

I broke past the surface, gasping for air and coughing. The pressure in my chest subsided. After catching my breath, I scanned the surroundings for the shore. It had dragged me out farther than I thought. As fast as I could, I swam back towards safety. My boots and scarf had fallen off during the struggle, and in order to keep moving, I had to remove most of my remaining clothes. Once I reached the shore I nearly collapsed, my adrenaline and energy gone. My limbs were numb from the cold and they felt like jelly. I only kept going to escape the ever-cooling air. I fell into a deep sleep as soon as I laid myself on the hardwood floor. My body felt so heavy, falling slowly into the floorboards like a stone sinking to the bottom of a lake.

I woke the following evening to an aching body and a dry throat. Instead of being in the living room like I remembered, I was instead slumped against the front door. However strange, that was the least of my problems.. I turned my head to face the window and see a sky bathed in ever-dimming gray. Gray like the grainy sand, the sharp stones that scraped up my body on the shore, the stone I used to free myself… Last night. Last night, what happened last night? I rose from the floor and limped to the bathroom. I peeled my still damp shirt from my body and looked over my skin. What I saw made me sick. Half-embedded in my body were thin, torn ends of the appendages belonging to the creature that attacked me. I began frantically clawing them out as soon as I got over the initial shock. It took so long to get them out because of how much I was shaking. No blood was drawn, but they did leave small entry holes in my torso. When it was over, I proceeded to vomit into the bathtub. To my horror, there were bits of white in the bright yellow fluid that came up. I began to hyperventilate as I stared into my open mouth in the mirror. There were small white strands snaking up my tongue from down my throat. I grabbed onto as many as I could and began to pull. As I did, they started to squirm.

When it was done, I threw the mass across the room and into the bathtub. I collapsed onto the bathroom floor and cried, coughing up blood and remaining bile. I could hear the writhing form of vile tendrils thump against the sides of the tub. When I could think somewhat clearly, I got up to look at the flailing entity. At one end, there were tiny veins branching off from one big woven line like roots. On the other, the part that was coming down my throat, split off into multiple bigger veins after getting too tangled together. From the thickest point, there were five loose, outstretched appendages. Then, I realized it looked familiar. I glanced down at my hands, then back to the thing in the bathtub. It was shaped like an arm.

That was it for me. I was going to grab my phone and keys and speed out of here as fast as possible. Getting to the hospital was the only thing on my mind. What if there were more of those tentacles under my skin? I saw what happened to those fish. What if it did that to me too? I flipped the house upside down in search for my things, but nothing turned up. I was in a frenzy until I began retracing my steps from the night before. I had to take my clothes off to swim to safety. I stood there in my underwear in the living room, staring at the floor and trying desperately to convince myself that no, I didn't have my phone in the pocket of my jeans. No, I didn't leave my truck keys in the upper right pocket of my jacket like I always do. No, they couldn't be at the bottom of that cursed lake. But they were.

I couldn't bring myself to eat or drink anything. I just needed to get out of there. I grabbed a coat and one of my uncle's old pairs of runners. My thoughts were so scattered I forgot to put my clothes on. I rushed out the door and sprinted down the dirt road. The shoes were too big for me and I struggled with my steps. I thought in my panicked haze that maybe, if I got far enough up the road, someone would see me. I would be seen and they would come help me. My vision blurred and my chest tightened the further I went. My lungs burned with the frigid air. I was running on fumes. I passed the treeline and fell into a tall maple tree. I leaned against it, trying to catch my breath. I closed my eyes and tried to calm my nerves. I felt myself slipping, like I was about to fall asleep. I forced myself awake to catch myself, and when I did, I was somewhere else.

I was no longer leaning against a stump. I was standing against one of the wooden posts at the beginning of the now ruined dock. I must have actually been out for a while, but that didn't explain why I had moved. I jumped backed up into the sand. It crunched under my feet. My bare feet, I wasn't wearing shoes anymore. My coat wasn't on either. I spotted them strewn across the colourless beach. My head was spinning and I felt sick once again. My throat still burned. It was stinging more than before, but I was no longer out of breath. The sky was darker than I remember. The edges of my sight began to warp again. Light reflected at odd angles as if I were wearing shattered glasses. I fought to keep my heavy eyelids open, and just as I felt I was about to slip away again, my attention was violently grabbed by that vile smell. I gagged and was reminded of the increasing agony in my throat. Under my strained cries of suffering, I heard the slap of wet flesh against wood. Hesitantly, I turned my head to the culprit.

A slimy body dragged itself onto what remained of the dock. The ghostly thing's form was half obscured by a webbed veil of tendrils. It was so pale and shifted the setting sunlight in a way that made it appear as though it were glowing. Slowly, it stood. Dripping with cold water and the scent of decay. Its head jerked to the side and I saw its face. Its features were melted together and what remained was a glistening patch of skin. There were discoloured spots that suggested the placement of its eyes, nose, and mouth, but no holes. Its arms and legs were disproportionately long and bony. Its limbs, instead of hanging and moving freely, appeared to be partially attached to each other by a thin, stretching membrane. A muffled gurgling noise erupted from somewhere in its body, possibly a closed-off throat, then it began shuffling towards me.

My body ached when I pushed myself to my feet. There was a pressure in my chest again. Breathing had become a difficult task. When I took steps away from the thing, the feeling of pins and needles shot up my legs. I felt a dull, ringing pain all over my body, coming from the inside out. I could hear the monster's uneven steps approaching faster than it should have been, I could feel it looming over my head. It was so much taller on land than it appeared to be in the water. The house before me, it was my only hope. If I could get inside, I would be safe. The door was getting closer. I was almost there, I reached and grabbed onto the doorknob, but before I could turn it, I saw something in the little window on the door. It was me, somewhat. Me, but I couldn't recognize myself.

My face looked like it was sliding off. My skin was attached in ways it shouldn't be. My nostrils were slits, my nose was receding into my skull. My eyes were slanted down and an impossible angle and getting smaller as liquid flesh spills over them. My hair looked as though it were being glued down to my head. I lifted a hand to touch my face. My middle and index finger were merging together. I looked down at my stomach. There were way more veins than what I tore out this morning. I hadn't gotten rid of them properly. I felt long fingers close around my hands. Its grip was so, so cold. It lifted me off the ground by my wrists and I watched helplessly as the house grew farther and farther away. It's milky veins sprouted and began pulling my body into its own. It felt like I was being enveloped in a blanket of ice. It, no, we walked towards the edge of the dock.

We peered at our reflection in the water. My vision went white as its face folded over mine. I couldn't breathe, but I no longer needed to. As I sank into the body of the creature, my senses faded. The sound of the wind and waves muted, I couldn't feel anything anymore. Nothing but cold and the beating of a heart that wasn't mine. The miasma was gone, replaced with the empty scent of water. A final shiver ran up my disintegrating spine as we plunged back into the deep, dark lake.