The Unknown: Tale from the Lagoon

In a small town on the outskirts of North Carolina, lives a community built around a lagoon. Our community has never had an official name because we don't appear on any maps. Us townies refer to our beautiful, small residence as The Unknown.

The lagoon that centers our home is no ordinary lagoon, as it has been said for centuries that it is alive.

What do you mean by 'alive' you say? I understand that it is quite difficult to comprehend, for a lagoon is a body but not the type that lives and breathes itself. That would be impossible, right?

My name is Wimberly Katherine, I'm 19 and I live on the waters that remains isolated from the world. As a child I heard folk stories and legends of this mysterious lagoon. My grandfather, Lionel, searched for this place and when he found it, he created a village around it. He loved it's miraculous beauty and untold secrets. But soon after creating The Unknown, he disappeared last summer. You see, I am to inherit this land. I was going to help him as an intern, and we were going to study the waters together. But we never got the chance.

Today is August 17th, 1951. I awoke to the faint sound of knocking on my front door, repeating three times. I felt unsettled but convinced myself it was just a small squirrel on the shingles of my roof. I stood up from my lumpy futon and headed for the kitchen to brew a hot cup of coffee. The silence of The Unknown is so quiet, that I can hear the neighbor's cat clock, ticking, back and forth.

I pace towards the porch and take a seat on the wooden stairs that are placed perfectly on the steaming, foggy water. Looking out on the orange and pink that reflect the rising sun, I search my deepest thoughts to keep me company, "what had happened that summer?"

"Where are you Grandpa?" I whisper to the horizon.

As I lift the blue mug to my lips to take a sip of my fresh coffee, I stop at a blinding flash that appears to come from about 2 meters out in the lagoon. I'm curious as to what could be down there so I kick off my shoes onto the porch, roll up my pajama pants and start walking through the warm water. When I reach the area where the light had originated, I'm startled to realize that there was no such object sitting below the surface. Just old, mossy rocks with seaweed intertwined between them.

I give up and begin to head back to my porch, but before I get the chance, I feel seaweed tickle my foot. Looking down I go to clear it away, only for it to not be seaweed at all. To my horror, I witness with my own eyes, a decayed hand touching my foot. When I try to lift it away quickly, the hand takes a hold so tight that my bones beneath crack and crunch. I scream in terror and pain as the hand pulls my balance from underneath me. When I fall into the water, my cheekbone smashes off the old, mossy rocks. In my view, The Unknown becomes further and further, as if it were living up to its name. My body submerges at a great force and the hand pulls me under, deeper into the abyss of the lagoon. I can't die like this. I grab the hand and start to grip and stab the wrist with my finger nails but instead, I rip off a bracelet-like object from the figure's wrist. It's a watch, designed with black and gold, just like my grandfather's. I scream and cry, but no sound or tears reach the world above. Another hand grips my arm, and another my neck and one more around my waist. Petrified, I can feel my breath dissipating and the light from up above getting dimmer. I tear apart the skin on the hands aggressively until they're skeletal figures appear.

All of a sudden, they let go. I did not waste any time. I swim quickly to my porch. The surrounding houses, still, silent as can be. It makes no sense that no one heard or saw what had happened. In a hurry, I run to the neighbor's homes and bang on every door. No one answers. It suddenly occurs to me that no one is here. I run to the telephone in my house and dial 911.

"Hello! there's dead bodies in the water, please come quick!" I yell, anxiously.

"Ma'am - I - I cannot - understand." The operator says through static signal.

The telephone falls silent and the only sound that remains is the pounding of my heart and the clock that still ticks next door.

The silence breaks to the distant noise of footsteps in the water. My nerves are shot and I'm afraid to look behind my back. Slowly, I make my way to the front porch once again. Frozen at the sight ahead of me, I can't move one limb. The wind crawls creepily then starts to howl. The clouds swarm grey and the sky turns pitch black until the trees are out of sight. The porches of the homes begin to rip up from their foundations and the shingles tear off to fly away in a ripple of gusts. The skeletal decaying figures from underneath stand before me. My neighbors, my friends and my dearly departed grandfather, Lionel. Before almost dropping to my knees in disbelief, I run inside. I do not care about anything except my escape from this nightmare. I go the kitchen to crawl out the open window but the wind gets stronger and throws me through the glass pane. Landing onto the ground outside, there's blood streaming down my face, arms and legs. I tell myself to get up and run, no matter where it leads. I roll over and go to set my hand on the ground for stability to get up, only to have a residing piece of glass impale the palm of my hand. The screech of my scream rings throughout the acres ahead, but I find the strength to stand up.

While running in the woods, all sights look exactly the same. Trees, dirt and grass all around. My senses could hear their pacing behind me.

My legs collapse. I cannot tell if it is nightfall, and I have been running for hours on end, strictly off of adrenaline.

After crashing to the ground onto the dirt, I think to myself, "Am going to die here?". My head is pounding. The dizzy feeling that is making the world go round is nauseating. I am ready to give up until I see faint lights. It's a car, meaning that there's a road up ahead. I try to move what parts of my body I still can to crawl towards the road. I have no intention to stop going, even if the pain is excruciating. When I reach the edge of the road, the car makes its way towards me, I hold my hand out, only for the tires to screech past my view. I missed it. I had missed my one chance to escape. Laying there, I sob. My fate has become clear.

The wind dies down and hands take hold of my legs to heave me back to the abyss and then all goes dark.

It is October 31st 1952. On a brisk fall day, the smell of eggs and coffee fills the air from the kitchen. I walk out to see my grandfather, Lionel, cooking over the hot stove. His hair soaking wet and his skin ripped to expose his rib cage and the hand I previously tore up. He pauses to glance out the window and spoke to me in a raspy tone,

"Some hikers discovered the lagoon and will report it to investigators. It's only a matter of time before they search for our bodies."

"That just means more souls for the lagoon, Grandpa." I pause,

"Isn't that a good thing?" I spoke again softly.

"Yes, you are right my dear. Why don't you get ready for tonight, it's Halloween. Lots of souls from wandering teens and hopefully trick or treaters" He said slow and harrowing.

My neck creeks and snaps as I nod in agreement. I make my way to my neighbors homes. My skin decayed, my eye sockets worn out and my clothes dripping with the essence of the lagoon. Knocking on all the doors three times, I signal that we are ready. Together we walk into the lagoon and submerge, disappearing into the body of water.

Lurking beneath, we wait for you curious ones to come and explore.