Cursed Shores

Early June. The air is fairly humid. The sky a shade below baby blue, scattered with white cirrus clouds, the lake below closest to midnight blue. Water stretching for as far as the eyes can see, with sand and trees stretching around its banks.

Looking out from off a lake dock, the sounds of nature echo across the lake’s surface. Birds tweeting, the wind whistling in the air, speed boat engines running in the distance. But beneath this peaceful aura underlies something less natural, much more sinister… Echoing from far off, a sound. Maybe the caw of a gull. No, more of a scream. As the sound grows in volume, it becomes more apparent. A female’s scream. Distorted in a way. Blood-curdling…

The scream is suddenly overshadowed by many, separate but at once. An array of teenage boys and girls run down the dock before diving into the water below. The Reynolds High School swim team have just won the State Championship for the first time in seven years. To celebrate, their Coach Osborne took the 16 member boys and girls team to Lake Renail for a day of swimming and grilling and relaxation.

A few hours have passed and the team has scattered along the sandy banks, some in groups, some individually. Two friends, Trevor Schmitt and Landon Hardman, both Caucasian respectively, among other swimmers, decide to make a bet about who can swim out the farthest before having to turn back. Everyone puts five dollars up, winner gets the whole pot.

The six participants line up shoulder-to-shoulder in relay race start positions. “On your mark… get set, GO,” Landon yells prematurely, giving himself a head start. He and the other five perform high knee through the swash before diving into the oncoming wave.

Further down the beach, another swim member, James Crowley, African American in ethnicity, sits alone on the shore, sketching the waves as they crash against his feet. His eyes hold on his work, marking every detail possible, before raising his head up for another glance. This time around, James sees something he hadn’t seen before.

A young girl, seemingly not yet in her preteens, dressed in Sunday church attire, stands chest deep in the water directly in front of James. He looks around his surroundings, seeing no sign of where she could’ve come from. He looks back, where she still stands, her eyes locked on James and her balance unbothered by the crashing waves. He swiftly flips his pencil, erasing the spot on the page where she stands, and flipping it back over to begin sketching.

Twelve arms cut through the waves, one after another after another, with Landon leading the race. Two arms from the middle of the group stop stroking. “I swallowed some water, bruh,” a swimmer yells as he breaks through the surface. The further out the swimmers go, the more swimmers that bow out. But Trevor and Landon continue persistently.

James with intense focus sketches out the details of the girl’s dress and her braided pigtails as she maintains her stance in the water.

Trevor tries his hardest to keep up with Landon, but fatigue gets the better of him. “Cheater,” he tells as he splashes water in Landon’s direction and turns back to shore. Landon turns back to wave his arm in the air in victory. Suddenly, a slight tug on his leg startles Landon out of his gloating. Just when he is about to brush it off as just a mind game, a much stronger tug nearly pulls Landon under.

As he begins to start the details of her face, SNAP, James’ pencil lead breaks. He glances up to see that the girl is nowhere to be seen. His state of disappointment and confusion only last a moment. A frightful scream is heard from down the shore, prompting James to drop his sketch pad and run back to the main group.

He arrives to most of the swimmers and Coach Osborne gathered around, claiming how Landon never resurfaced after the rest returned to shore after their race. Trevor emerges from the water, unable to see very deep due to the sun going down. He turns back to look over the lake as girls become frantic, guys become worried, Coach attempts to calm all, and James watches on from the side. “Landon,” Trevor yells repeatedly as it echoes back to the distraught swim team. “Landon… LANDON!!”

--

“Landon Hardman was very talented and bright young man that I am so glad I had the pleasure of coaching.” Coach Osborne speaks out across the hundreds of people packed into church seats, all dressed in black.

The front roles compiled of Landon’s family, his mom nearly inconsolable and dad holding back tears. The rows following consist of Trevor, James, and his swim team members. The rest of the seats are full of classmates, family friends, and townspeople.

James sits awkwardly among his tearful teammates; though they spent time with Landon on the team, he just could not feel as emotionally saddened as those that. He glances down the aisle at Trevor, who stares off into space, dissociated, seemingly not even within the building mentally.

Repeatedly playing in Trevor’s head are memories over the years of he and Landon’s friendship and best moments, those final moments as he splashed water at his friend before turning back to shore, never to see him again alive, and the news reports regarding Landon’s death being the 6th drowning death that year so far in Lake Renail, with over 200 deaths in the past 20 years, 81% of victims Caucasian…

--

“—Landon’s passing, wouldn’t you agree? …Trevor?” Trevor snaps to reality. He sits across from Dr. Tisdale, his therapist. “Did you hear what I said?” “Sorry, I must’ve missed it,” Trevor replies. Dr. Tisdale sighs. “Trevor, it’s been 4 months since Landon died. Your parents are worried about you and asking if I am performing my job adequately, as they see no sign of improvement from you.”

“There’s no room for improvement because there’s nothing wrong with me. None of you are going to change my mind, I know what I know.” Dr. Tisdale questions, “And you know… that Landon did not drown in Lake Renail through natural causes.” Trevor fires back, “Look, I realize when someone is talking to me like a child. I’ve known Landon all my life, he’s always been the best swimmer out of anyone I know. And I’ve done the research on that lake, the past deaths and the suspicious sightings. Something of some kind dragged my friend under and just because y’all don’t believe it, the finger is pointed at me like I’m off.”

“No one thinks you’re off, Trevor, people that care about are just worried that your focus is being placed on things that may turn out to let you down.” Trevor sits silently, the doubt in his mind constantly fighting its way to the front of his mind before pushing it back down.

He looks around the room, looking for any reason to not lock eyes with Dr. Tisdale. His eyes fall on his watch, which reads 3:02 PM. “Bout that time, I think.” Trevor stands from the couch, making a B-line to the door. “Alright, good discussion today, Trevor. Same time next Thursd—” The door slams closed midsentence.

Mid October. The air is crisp. The silver clouds block out the sun, the leaves have not yet fallen to the ground. The town looks of the typical Hallmark Channel Halloween Town, but duller and gloomier through Trevor’s eyes.

“Yo Trevor,” James calls to him as he rides up on his bicycle. He and Trevor have really grown to become friends in these past few months, James reaching out to Trevor for condolement, Trevor venting his frustration and confusion from the incident, and James finally showing Trevor the image of the little girl he sketched before he heard the screams.

James carries in tow the agenda he and Trevor have built based on the research they have collected online about Lake Renail, with the little girl sketch on front. “How did it go today?” “Same ole, same ole.”