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The Lake Part One

Ironically enough, when the Johnson’s 6-year-old Beagle Petey disappeared suddenly one hot August summer night, no one noticed, not a single soul.  Not even after the sun crested over the tree line and the thick fog had burned off the lake as it did every morning.  Or when Petey’s half-eaten, waterlogged carcass lay partially submerged merely a dozen feet from the sandy shoreline.

No one became alarmed at the strangled sounds of high-pitched yelps that he made as the slimy tentacle raised out of the water with barely a splash and then wrapped around his neck tightly to stop his wild barking.  As it halted his alerts to his people, it stopped for a moment to curl a second dark grey tendril in the air as if it was checking for something before the first quickly dragged poor Petey to his watery grave. The scariest part of all of this was the fact that no more than a mile away in her log cabin home in the middle of the woods, slept Anne Smith a 15-year-old with fair skin, curly, long blonde hair, and the bluest eyes.  They are a strange shade of blue that can only be compared to the pristine waters of the Caribbean with its white sand and its greenish blue water. 

While she lay silently, she tossed and turned, dreaming of something reaching for her in the darkness.  That something was always merely just a few inches away, but never touched her until right before she woke up suddenly.  When she bolted up in bed and sat there staring into the darkness of her bedroom, she squinted, while listening for anything. 

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