Into The Loch's Depths

Frigid water lapped the shore of the Loch as icy beads of rain slid down my neck, seeping through the many layers I wore to ward off the cold. An otherwise peaceful outlook; seeing the waters stretching to the horizon, the rolling green hills blending into the shoreline, the proud silhouette of Urquhart Castle standing guard over the black expanse, or at least, it would have been peaceful, except for the keen wailing being carried on the wind.

A woman knelt amid the rocks, uncaring that her dress was soaked through, uncaring that her distraught husband was trying to pull her upright. She only cared that the shape she was hunched over was not moving. Not breathing. The poor child was blue, his clothes leaden with the weight of the depths of the Loch. Another child lost. Another child taken too young.

Whispers scuttled through the gathered crowd. Fear and folklore mingled. Blame was thrown around, some said the child was at fault for wandering too close to the water, others said that the mother hadn't warned her child properly of the dangers. However, there was only one voice I listened to. "It's happening again," a

gravely voice whispered.

"What is happening again, grandfather?" I responded, finally tearing my eyes from the morbid scene. His weathered face was bunched in pain, fear filled his watery blue eyes. He pulled a flask that I knew held whiskey from his belt, uncorking it with his mutilated hand before taking a deep drink.

"Come," was all he said, turning from the waters edge. "We should not linger here." Steering me free from the crowds clutches we began the long trek home. We headed up the slick cobbled streets, passing locals abuzz with the news.

"I heard he drowned," whispered one woman as she drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "Nay, 'twas the beastie in the Loch that got 'im," boomed a passing cobbler. Grandfather hurried us past, turning away from the gossip, as if not to draw attention to himself.

"Och, McTavish, what do ye think happened to the lad? I heard ye were there when they found him" all eyes in the immediate vicinity turned towards Grandfather as the Tavern's owner stepped into our path. Under his bushy white beard I saw Grandfather's mouth turn into a thin line. He was clearly displeased about being questioned.

"Aye Thomas, I was there when they pulled the lad from the Loch. All that matters is he's dead, no point spreading rumours and gossip. Ye should all be ashamed of ye'selves," brimming with displeasure, he placed a hand on my shoulder to move us on, but Thomas, stepped forward once more.

"They're saying it's the same as fifty years ago, that ye were there the last time too. That it's why ye don't go out on the Loch anymore," if Thomas wanted to upset him further, then he was doing an excellent job.

"Bah! Idle gossip won't change the fact that three boys are now dead. Ye should all be more concerned aboot where yer lads and lassies are right now than harassing an old man on 'is way home," he exploded, glowering at anyone brave enough to make eye contact. At his words many dispersed, as if they were indeed going to find where their children were currently.

Pushing me forward a touch more forcefully than before, he shouldered past an agape Thomas, steely gaze forward. The rain continued to fall as we journeyed home, making the cobbles treacherous to walk on. As the houses passed, Grandfather's limp deepened, and he leaned more heavily on me so as not to slip. Our pace slowed as we got to the fork in the road that would take us up the muddy path to our cottage. Winding our way up the hill, my mind turned over what Thomas had said. What was he talking about 'the same thing fifty years ago'? Why did my Grandfather never let us set foot on the rocky shore of the Loch? Did this have something to do with why our house was so far up the hill, removed from the rest of the town? Something had clearly rattled him, but his lips remained shut firmly, revealing none of his secrets.

We were both soaked to the bone by the time our cottage came into view. A welcome glow of the fire greeted us as we entered the warm, albeit small room. Helping him to his chair, I set Grandfather down as gently as I could, and despite his best efforts to conceal it, I still heard the groan of pain as he lifted his leg onto the small stool. Rushing to shed myself of my dripping shawl, I filled the kettle with water from the bucket, stoked the fire, and hung it over the coals.

My mind raced with thoughts of today's events. This was the third boy in as many weeks to lose his life in the Loch. All had been found the same as today: blue, lifeless, floating not far from shore. If it had been only the one boy, you could fool yourself into believing he slipped and fell into the icy waters and drowned. But three? All the same age, all with similar looks, all found in the same manner. I needed answers.

Pulling my wobbly timber stool over to where I was crouched in front of the fire, I gathered my heavy skirts and perched precariously on it. I turned to see Grandfather staring hauntedly into the flames. His scarred, disfigured hand clutched his whiskey flask to his chest, his other hand gripped the arm of his chair so hard his knuckles had turned white.

"Grandfather," I began hesitantly. "Do ye know what happened to the boy? The one who drowned today?" I watched as his mangled hand contracted on the flask.

"There's nothing to know lass," he replied distantly, gaze never wavering from the fire. "The lad drowned, that's all."

"It doesn't seem like that's all there is to it," I pressed. "What about what Thomas said? About this happening fifty years ago?"

"Thomas knows not of what he speaks," he answered gruffly.

"Well I think it seems rather odd that three boys all the same age all drown within a few weeks of each other," I paused, watching him closely for any reaction. When he didn't even blink I continued. "I was thinking I might head back to the Loch tomorrow and see if there were any clues about what happened to them all."

His eyes snapped to me, fear and fury coating his face, "Ye will do no such thing lass! Ye will not step one foot on the shore of that cursed Loch, do ye understand me?" His voice cracked through the cabin like thunder, making me jump. Not once since he'd taken me in after my parents death had he raised his voice at me. I was too shocked to do anything more than nod in agreement.

Seemingly appeased with my acceptance of his demand, he relaxed into his chair once more. I, more confused than before, turned my attention back to the kettle which was beginning to shriek and went about making us dinner, which we ate in silence, the only noise the crackling of the logs in the fire.

The following week passed without incident. Grandfather and I went about our usual jobs, cutting firewood, caring for the small herd we had, collecting eggs from the chickens, repairing our few garments and blankets that had gotten holes in them.

It wasn't until we ventured back to town for supplies that the news reached our ears. Another boy had drowned. The cousin to the first lad. The family were inconsolable. They, joined by half the town, were holding the wake in the tavern, trying to stem the flow of tears and sobbing with ale and whiskey as we were passing. I felt Grandfather stiffen as we continued on, saw the eyes that looked his way before dropping to the mangled hand that rested on the hilt of the dirk strapped to his belt. Whispers followed us through the streets as we wound our way to the bakery.

My confusion grew, especially when a gentleman with white hair and a deeply wrinkled face approached us, his face like a thundercloud. "Ye need to put an end to this nonsense, McTavish," he spat, anger and grief hanging off him like a cloak. "Tis all yer doing. Ye angered the beastie and now two of me grandbabbies are gone."

I didn't have to look at Grandfather's face to know it was set in shock. Tears fell from the other man's eyes, disappearing into the line of his beard. Looking between the two men I could see the same grief lining each of their faces, though where Grandfathers was an old, deep hurt, this other man's was a raw, fresh wound.

"I had nothing to do with ye lad's deaths, Duncan, ye know this," he replied calmly, though there certainly was grief underlying his words.

"Ye know very well if yer darned foolish brothers hadn't angered the beastie all those years ago we would never have been put in this mess. Yer rotten, foolish family cursed this town, and now ye must pay the price," his voice got louder with each word, drawing the attention of those near. His eyes landed on me, hatred burning from them as he said, "before we offer it what it wants, yer own blood."

Fear gripped my heart like a vice. This Duncan was threatening to offer me to some Loch monster, not that I believed in such foolishness, but the thought of being thrown in that icy, black waters had my blood run cold. I had not stepped foot on the bank of that Loch in years, not since it stole my parents from me, sucked them into it's inky depths while I was still a bairn.

Grandfather stepped in front of me, blocking me from Duncan's view, his back was rigid, and he stood taller and straighter than he had in years, "Ye will never threaten me granddaughter ever again ye wee stinkin' scrote. Tis not her fault yer laddies were taken, now I'd suggest ye head to the tavern with the rest of yer family and leave us be."

With one final glare in my direction Duncan swept past us, his dirk and claymore clanking savagely as his hands fell on them, and for a moment I wondered if he'd draw them here, demand the price of my Grandfathers head to console his grief. Grandfather didn't stick around to find out, hurrying us along, his battered cloak snapping in the sudden wind that whipped up as we turned the corner onto the bakers street.

My mind was swimming with questions as we did our shopping in silence. News must have spread through the town of our encounter with Duncan as stares and whispers followed us on our way through the streets, hounding our every step. Agitation was rippling from Grandfather by the time we reached the Inn, seemingly reflected in the black clouds rolling across the sky, threatening heavy rain.

The dining room in the Inn was warm thanks to a large fire stoked on one side, a dark wooded counter ran the length of the back wall, broken only by a set of stairs that would take you up to the lodging rooms upstairs. There were only a few patrons, and no piper played in the corner as usual. The atmosphere was bleak and sombre, no doubt reflecting the mood of the rest of the town. Four children had died, there was no place here that would be filled with merriment and laughter for quite some time.

"Lass why don't you fetch yourself some stew, I need ta speak with Mrs McLeod a moment," Grandfather said distractedly, gesturing in the direction of the bar. As we shed our cloaks, a noise from outside grew steadily louder. The Heavens had finally opened. There was no way we were leaving here any time soon. As if walking in the rain wasn't miserable enough, once rain like this started it was nearly impossible for us to make our way home, the creek would swell and cut our road off in no time, stranding us to spend the night here.

I watched as Grandfather hurried into the back room to find Mrs McLeod before resigning myself to eating alone. Heading up to the counter I waved as Killian, Mrs McLeod's grandson, came out from a back room carrying a barrel.

"Hallo there Miss Bridget, what are ye doing here on yer own?" he said with a genuine smile, his eyes flicking around the dark room, no doubt looking for Grandfather.

"Good day ta ya Killian," I replied with a small smile of my own. "Grandfather's out back speaking with Mrs McLeod," I answered with a gesture to where he'd vanished moments earlier. "I was hoping ta get something ta eat while I waited for him."

"Well yer certinaly not going out there in this downpour let me tell ye now, let's get ye something to warm ya up," in a flash he'd disappeared into the kitchen, reappearing a moment later with a bowl of steaming stew. Placing it down in front of me with a flourish, he pulled a mug forward, uncorked a bottle of whiskey and poured a dram. "This'll warm ye right up, Miss Bridget," he said with a wink.

Warmth flooded my cheeks as I looked at his open, kind face. The moment was shattered as the front door burst open with a bang, causing everyone in the room to jump. All eyes went to the figure in the doorway. Water was running off him in rivulets, his soaked tammie hanging over his face, and floor-length cloak creating a puddle at his feet. Lightning flashed through the open doorway behind him, thunder rumbling as he silently turned and shut the rain and wind out once more.

He stalked powerfully across the room to where Killian and I stood, and took a seat on the stool next to mine. "Whiskey please," his voice soft and rich. He still hadn't taken his sopping outer clothes off. Honestly he looked as though he'd walked straight out of the Loch he was that soaked.

Ever the gentleman, Killian fetched the man his drink, not even frowning at the pool forming under the mans feet. I ate my stew in silence, sipping my whiskey and watching this stranger out of the corner of my eye. With his tammie still hanging over his face I couldn't see his eyes, though his jaw was strong, nose straight and proud. His lips were slightly upturned as if he were smiling. His broad shoulders and warriors posture were clear even with his black cloak obscuring his figure. I couldn't even make out his tartan to know which clan he was from. My curiosity was burning to know who this man was and where he came from.

Killian had hovered, unable to bring himself to leave me next to this strange man, but when one of the other patrons needed his assistance, he cast a worried look my way before hurrying off to see to their needs. At his absence, the man next to me stirred, and turning his face slightly toward me he said "Enjoying your whiskey, Miss McTavish?" I jolted to hear my name on his lips.

"Excuse me?" I squeaked back. This seemed to amuse him, for his mouth tilted into a smirk. "I'm dreadfully sorry sir, but I don't think I know ye," I stammered once I regained my composure.

"Well I know you," he said. Finally he turned towards me and I could see he was broader than I first thought, and taller. His face was like something a poet would write about, perfectly symmetrical, smooth as a new-born bairn, not a wrinkle, nor hair, nor scar marred his skin. And his eyes. They were dark, nearly black, like the churning of the Loch's waters during a storm. I found I was unable to look away, they were so mesmerising, enchanting.

"I know what happened to those boys, the ones whose deaths you've been secretly investigating when your Grandfather's been distracted," He continued, the richness of his voice swept around me like a cloak. I felt no flutter of anxiety that he knew what I'd been up to. No heat flushed my cheeks at being caught. I found myself thinking that it was right that he knew and I was calmed by his presence.

"I can tell you everything, but not here," his honeyed voice said. "Follow me now and you'll know the whole truth. You can stop wondering if your Grandfather is truly responsible, you can stop questioning his lies, and together we can learn the truth." So reasonable was his request that I didn't think twice before agreeing. We stood and he led me to the front door, helping me with my cloak as we went.

I barely heard Killian calling my name, the rain and thunder swallowing the worry in his voice as we stepped into the storm and I followed the man to the churning edge of the Loch. It's waters were whipped into a frenzy, splashing up the wall to spray it's icy droplets onto my face.

A particularly loud crack of thunder snapped me from the trance I'd been in and I staggered back a step as a particularly large wave soaked my dress. I turned to where the figure stood beside me, his cloak was a mere shadow on the ground, his exposed flesh gleamed in the flashes of lightning. He was naked, head upturned to the rain, as his hair seemed to grow longer, taking on the appearance of water weeds, his hands widened, the skin between his fingers meshing together, and at the bottom of his powerful legs were hooves.

It was then that I knew. This was no man. This was a Kelpie. And I'd walked right into it's trap.

I screamed as his face elongated, smile widening, becoming more equine with each flash. His depthless eyes fell on me as his body continued to mutate. "I've watched you grow up Bridget," he said, and I strained to hear him over the storm. "You see, in my revenge of your Grandfathers betrayal, I took his daughter's virtue. I seduced her into carrying my child, then had to watch as she married some pathetic farm boy to cover up her shame. I bided my time, waiting for him to foolishly step foot in my domain before I stole his worthless life."

I stood rooted in shock. I knew I should flee, get away from this evil creature, but I couldn't move.

"I came to get you, to return you to the Loch you belong in. She caught you just before you took my hand. Oh how she begged me to leave you be, that you were innocent and didn't deserve this fate. So I made her a deal. I'd leave you be until your eighteenth birthday, if she took your place," I wasn't sure how I knew, now that his face had no humanity left in it, but I could feel him smirking, as if enjoying telling me about my mother's demise.

"She was more than willing to give herself up to me once again. She left you with that weak, cowardly Grandfather of yours before she joined me. She didn't even struggle as I took her to my home at the bottom of the Loch," tears mingled with the rain on my cheeks. My thoughts spun, and I knew in the deepest part of my being, I knew that what he spoke was the truth.

I'd always wondered why I was so drawn to the water, why Grandfather so vehemently forbade me from even so much as step foot on the rocky shore of the Loch, or cross the creek near our cabin when it was full flow, why we lived so far from the allure of the waters edge.

"You're my father," I croaked. Not as a question, but an admission of fact. Instead of answering he merely held his webbed hand towards me.

"It is time to take you home, daughter," yet before I could order my thoughts enough to react I heard it. My name. My name was being carried on the wind. Turning back to the town I could just make out Killian, with Grandfather far behind him, racing towards where we stood on the banks of the Loch, bellowing my name as if his life depended on it. A growl of displeasure emanated from my father behind me and the rain became heavier, as if trying to hinder their progress to me.

"More pathetic mortals I need to rid the world of I see," he snarled.

"No!" I cried. My heart raced in my chest and I knew if I didn't do something then and there that my beloved Grandfather, and dear, sweet Killian would be the next to face watery deaths at the bottom of the Loch.

"I'll do it, I'll come with you," the answer burst from me before I could regret my decision. Whipping back around to face him, I squeezed my hands into fists, steeling myself for what came out of my mouth next. "I'll come with you if you promise not to hurt them, or anyone else again." My hair whipped around my face, wet tendrils sticking to my cheeks as panic bubbled in my chest.

His equine face, now a dark, almost black colour, spilt into a horrifying grin. "I always knew you'd come back to me," was all he said before those webbed hands grabbed me and we dove towards the Loch. The last thing I saw was Killian, hand reaching for me, terror etched on his face before we hit the icy surface of the Loch and vanished beneath it's roiling surface.