The ducks set down near the stone trail on the waterfront. There is a stonewall between them in the lake and it’s a good thing there is. Many of an unlucky duck has settled on the lake only to be sucked down except for a feather.
I was told never to go near that lake, not to set a foot at the water’s edge on the other side and not to climb the wall that separates the old dusty stone path from the water. But I imagine whatever is down there in the water could jump up and get anyone near that stone fence or on the opposite shore.
I am walking Ralphie the duchshound on the path trying to stay away from the water’s edge when Ralphie pulls his leash out of my hands and runs back the way we came. I carefully peer over at the water when a wet black tentacle grabs my leg and starts pulling me in. The creature, some slimy black, monstrosity has a grip on my leg so tightly I think it will fall off. I scream to no avail. Then I am drowning in the water and is that blood? Yes, my blood, as the water froths and my hand reaches out one last time. But only the ducks have heard and seen me.
Word Count: 190
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