The Cry in the Water: Part 1

The boards creaked softly, the gentle ripple of the water lulling weary men to sleep. The sun had gone down, and only lamps on the for and aft deck illuminated the night. It was a moonless evening. Conversations had drifted off silently, until all that remained of the previous banter, was gentle pipe smoke and the careful play of lines as each man tried to land just one last fish.

"Nothing gents," sighed Bill, giving his line a gentle test. "The fish are just not biting or running the nets. Let's go home."

There was soft murmur of agreement as each man pulled in his line. They bate had not even been nipped at. Every fish was either sleeping, or had taken to the fin and fled the area. One or two disgruntle man tossed the uneaten bait into the water, disgusted. The boards of Blue Spray, creaked softly.

"Let's pack up," said Bill, directing his fellows to run out oars and begin paddling for shore. Very little breeze crossed the lake at this time of night, and cold as it was, the men readily took a hand at the task. Across the water, they could see the soft light of homes ashore, and the fires that these light promised, inside well loved abodes. Not a man was truly regretful to head for those hearths, in spite of the terrible catch of the day.

There was a sudden, strong bump to the middle of the boat. A solid knock, as if they had run aground. The wooden boards creaked abruptly, screaming quietly from the blow.

"What was that?" asked Bill, looking from one man to the next. No one responded, looking just as alarmed as he. They were still far from the shore, and should have been over deep waters.

"Did we hit a rock?" asked Colburn, an ashen faced farmer who had turned to fishing to supplement his income.

"There are no rocks out here," spat Bill, looking out over the dark waters. "A fallen tree in the lake?"

"I don't like it," said a younger crew member, Burton who had just started his career at fishing this season. A mere lad of fifteen summers. "The water is calm except for those ripples there."

"Eh, what ripples?" asked Bill, looking out with his one good eye.

The lake was usually placid, only ruffled by breezes across her expanse during the day. At night the waters were quiet and limpid even, only broken by the occasional fish. Now she lay quiet as usual, but as Burton had pointed out, there was a gentle swell in the liquid sheet, as if something had passed by.

"No fish, and what do you make of that?" asked the fourth of the company, Durn by name, and ancient in the fishing community. "Somethings in the water."

"Hmm, seals have been hunting this close to the shore for awhile now," said Bill, his confidence not as apparent in his words. Anyone looking at the captain of the vessel could see he was disturbed. "No need to stay our here and figure it out. Come on boys, lets get out of here"

The earlier disgust withe the fishing results was completely forgotten. Every member of the Blue Spray, suddenly found a virtue in taking to the oars and paddling somewhat strenuously for shore and home. The sloshing sound of water being hit by the oars was violent on the ears, as the moon rose over the horizon. Something about being the last vessel into port was having a deleterious effect on the men. The lights from shore seemed a far off beacon across dark waters, that now were very mysterious, almost feral in aspect.

"Did you hear that?" asked Burton, the color of his face ashen. "You heard it right, a cry out there?"

"Yes," replied Bill, signaling to the others to stop their oars for a moment. The older fisherman had caught the tail end of a wail. Something long and high pitched. They all sat in the darkness, waiting to hear if it was repeated. The sloshing water had subsided as the vessel drifted under residue power towards the shore, and four men sat waiting. Heavy breathing was all that broke the silence for the moment, and anxious eyes looked back towards the blackness of the lake.

"Nothing," said Bill, after waiting a long minute. "Oars back out smartly."

Then there was a long shrill cry. A wail vaguely human. Burton even suggested it was a woman's cry. The sound was high pitched, shrill and short. At least one man, Colburn had started and stood up, but he was pulled back down by his partner on the other oar. Every man was silent after the sound so clear in the chill evening. Not a breath to loud, as each strained to hear if it would be repeated.

"Oars in the water and paddle," ordered Bill.

"But what if there is someone in the water who needs to be saved?" asked Burton, looking from one man to another.

"No one is out on the lake other than us," replied Bill with gruff command. "Pull those oars and do not stop."

There was an eerie silence as all four men continued to pull at the oars, no night breeze significant enough to use the sail. Each man scanned the waters warily, looking to see something that was not there, as each pull brought them closer to the shore and the lights of the buildings upon it. No further calls came over the water, and they were near the docks now. One of the men, Durn, wiped sweat from his forehead.

A loud bump against the port side of the ship jolted all of them into a panic. It was a blow, a solid hit that shook the whole vessel. Not a man could keep silent after that. Each cried out in fright.

"Bill, holy teeth, what was that?" whimpered Burton, lowering his head.

"I don't know," shouted Bill, "but we have to get back to shore! All of you, pull!"

Another blow on the starboard side had the men in complete panic at this point.

"God save us!" cried Durn, standing up and holding his oar like a weapon to defend himself.

"Sit down you old fool and keep pulling us to shore!" roared Bill, himself getting up and grabbing for a harpoon. The seals found in the lake were a valuable source of meat and fat, but he was certainly not expecting a seal at this point. Forty years on the lake had shown many surprises, but nothing like this. He had heard ancient legends on his grandfather's knee, but was not about to elaborate now.

"Hey, Bill, what is going on?" asked Colburn, a slight quaver in his voice. "We are moving away from shore."

A quick glance with his good eye showed Bill that indeed the shoreline was moving away and not nearer to them now. A gentle bump, almost unperceived, had just taken place. A sheer chill ran down his spine as the men started talking rapidly, almost cutting over each other in fright. Something was happening to the Blue Spray. She was being pushed, or more accurately, being carried away from the shore.

"Sit and row!" commanded Bill, quickly leaping onto the small barrel of bait the crew had been using for the salmon. He lifted the thirty pound container swiftly, and flung it as far as he could into the darkness, trying to project it behind them. There was a violent jolt to the ship, and suddenly the oars found purchase in the water and pulled for home again without hindrance.

"Do not stop for anything!" cried Bill, taking his seat again at the oars, but keeping the harpoon near at hand.