The orange-hazed brush fire sparked across the lake, far enough away that fire officials declared the campers were in no danger. That night, Moira and Billie slipped out to the lake because they were eighty percent sure they would die gruesomely if they stayed in the cabin, but it wasn’t because of the fire. It was the moan.
The moan was sweetened with sleep and halting, a whisper released into the heavy dark. Most of the cabin and the other bunks were shadowed lumps in the moonlight, but as Moira sat up to look, Billie’s freckled face hovered in the gap between their beds. The only other one awake. “Cramps?” Billie whispered.
A period was like getting punted in the uterus, they knew, though neither girl had gotten her first yet. Moira kept pads ready in her duffel. But on the first night of camp, the mere suggestion of periods in the heavy black silence felt as exposed as skinny dipping.
When the girl below them moaned again, Moira sensed her chance with Billie, the girl who’d berated their hapless counsellor earlier that day. When Denise had tried to force a child’s life jacket on Billie, she’d sneered and suggested Denise wear one to match all her baby fat. The other campers tittered, but Moira was struck by Billie’s daring. Now, so close at night, she dared a whisper. “Maybe…” she said, “maybe when they go to sleep, all these girls are controlled by something else.” A delicious shiver rocked both their bodies.
“A something that wants all of us,” Billie added. Below, another girl rolled in her sleep, and Moira and Billie held their breath. “And when they move, they’re getting in place to jerk out of bed and scramble like spiders to get us.”
Moira felt a terrifying buzz. The girls kept adding to the story. Soon they were both convinced at least two of the campers slept with their eyelids stitched to their eyebrows and another girl, seemingly completely still, was actually flashing so fast between the bunks and door that she was invisible.
That was when they crept across the cabin floor, shoved their bare feet into their runners, and fled.
Outside, the sharp air had a hint of the lake in it, deep and lapping and beckoning. Pine needles brushed Moira’s ankles, a warning. Two girls who just met and a lake cradling the full moon’s glow on its dark swells. An old combination, but for the girls, it was hard and shiny and bright.
It was forbidden to be on the waterfront alone, but the waves were oddly gentle as they heaved water towards the girls’ feet, as if apologizing for the orange flare on the hills, the smoke that disappeared into the dark sky. Billie slipped off her runners and tiptoed to the waves. Moira took off her runners too. Her bare heels were already red and raw against the shoe. She wobbled over jagged rocks and ankle-turning pebbles to Billie, she tried to slow down, she tried to tell Billie to stop, and then they both stepped onto the water.
At first Moira thought the wave had just receded and she’d hit yet another rock, a smooth one. Her foot didn’t sink into the wet cold. But they kept walking, and still their feet didn’t sink, and they were three feet out. They were walking on the surface of the waves.
Billie squirmed her toes in the water, and Moira did the same, but as much as they pressed their feet flat against the lake, it seemed to bend with them. Only when Billie pointed her toe and pierced the surface did she fall up to her left calf. She gasped. The small sound echoed across the lake as she pulled her foot back up.
Moira and Billie shook as they stared at the spot where Billie’s foot went in. “My feet are cold,” whispered Moira. “And wet.” They stood still, and a wave on the lake rocked them up, and then down. “Should we go back? Denise might find our empty bunks.”
“She’ll snore all night, like those other zombies.” Billie took a step, then three more, and then she started to scamper over the waves towards the middle of the lake.
“Billie!” Moira whispered. The dark of the water drew her in to follow, but she was still only steps away from shore. Here, the water below was up to her waist, but Billie was jumping over the line of buoys. Moira followed, feet splashing cold against the lake. “We’re not allowed to go past the swimming line,” she said.
“We’re not swimming.”
“But what if we fall?”
“Then I guess we have to test it. Give me your hands.” Lake water dripped off Billie’s fingers, but her icy grip was strong. “Okay, now we jump.”
Moira pulled her hands back. “Jump?”
“What, so you’re gonna run back to Denise, tell her we’re walking on the lake, and huddle into your sleeping bag?”
Moira wondered if another girl had been awake, if she’d be the one out here with Billie. Or if Billie would be by herself. All day Moira had been sussing out the rest of the girls, all paired off and whispering, though they’d just met that morning. No one had paid much attention to her, though she’d tried to show them a song at lunch to pass around their plastic cups. Denise had made her stop; said she’d get the cups all dirty.
“Okay, let’s jump,” said Moira, and she grabbed Billie’s hands.
The moan was sweetened with sleep and halting, a whisper released into the heavy dark. Most of the cabin and the other bunks were shadowed lumps in the moonlight, but as Moira sat up to look, Billie’s freckled face hovered in the gap between their beds. The only other one awake. “Cramps?” Billie whispered.
A period was like getting punted in the uterus, they knew, though neither girl had gotten her first yet. Moira kept pads ready in her duffel. But on the first night of camp, the mere suggestion of periods in the heavy black silence felt as exposed as skinny dipping.
When the girl below them moaned again, Moira sensed her chance with Billie, the girl who’d berated their hapless counsellor earlier that day. When Denise had tried to force a child’s life jacket on Billie, she’d sneered and suggested Denise wear one to match all her baby fat. The other campers tittered, but Moira was struck by Billie’s daring. Now, so close at night, she dared a whisper. “Maybe…” she said, “maybe when they go to sleep, all these girls are controlled by something else.” A delicious shiver rocked both their bodies.
“A something that wants all of us,” Billie added. Below, another girl rolled in her sleep, and Moira and Billie held their breath. “And when they move, they’re getting in place to jerk out of bed and scramble like spiders to get us.”
Moira felt a terrifying buzz. The girls kept adding to the story. Soon they were both convinced at least two of the campers slept with their eyelids stitched to their eyebrows and another girl, seemingly completely still, was actually flashing so fast between the bunks and door that she was invisible.
That was when they crept across the cabin floor, shoved their bare feet into their runners, and fled.
Outside, the sharp air had a hint of the lake in it, deep and lapping and beckoning. Pine needles brushed Moira’s ankles, a warning. Two girls who just met and a lake cradling the full moon’s glow on its dark swells. An old combination, but for the girls, it was hard and shiny and bright.
It was forbidden to be on the waterfront alone, but the waves were oddly gentle as they heaved water towards the girls’ feet, as if apologizing for the orange flare on the hills, the smoke that disappeared into the dark sky. Billie slipped off her runners and tiptoed to the waves. Moira took off her runners too. Her bare heels were already red and raw against the shoe. She wobbled over jagged rocks and ankle-turning pebbles to Billie, she tried to slow down, she tried to tell Billie to stop, and then they both stepped onto the water.
At first Moira thought the wave had just receded and she’d hit yet another rock, a smooth one. Her foot didn’t sink into the wet cold. But they kept walking, and still their feet didn’t sink, and they were three feet out. They were walking on the surface of the waves.
Billie squirmed her toes in the water, and Moira did the same, but as much as they pressed their feet flat against the lake, it seemed to bend with them. Only when Billie pointed her toe and pierced the surface did she fall up to her left calf. She gasped. The small sound echoed across the lake as she pulled her foot back up.
Moira and Billie shook as they stared at the spot where Billie’s foot went in. “My feet are cold,” whispered Moira. “And wet.” They stood still, and a wave on the lake rocked them up, and then down. “Should we go back? Denise might find our empty bunks.”
“She’ll snore all night, like those other zombies.” Billie took a step, then three more, and then she started to scamper over the waves towards the middle of the lake.
“Billie!” Moira whispered. The dark of the water drew her in to follow, but she was still only steps away from shore. Here, the water below was up to her waist, but Billie was jumping over the line of buoys. Moira followed, feet splashing cold against the lake. “We’re not allowed to go past the swimming line,” she said.
“We’re not swimming.”
“But what if we fall?”
“Then I guess we have to test it. Give me your hands.” Lake water dripped off Billie’s fingers, but her icy grip was strong. “Okay, now we jump.”
Moira pulled her hands back. “Jump?”
“What, so you’re gonna run back to Denise, tell her we’re walking on the lake, and huddle into your sleeping bag?”
Moira wondered if another girl had been awake, if she’d be the one out here with Billie. Or if Billie would be by herself. All day Moira had been sussing out the rest of the girls, all paired off and whispering, though they’d just met that morning. No one had paid much attention to her, though she’d tried to show them a song at lunch to pass around their plastic cups. Denise had made her stop; said she’d get the cups all dirty.
“Okay, let’s jump,” said Moira, and she grabbed Billie’s hands.
