DISCLAIMER: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.
BETA READER: silverbluewords
CHALLENGE: Construct a character who is not present, who is off-stage for the entire piece. 800 words.
SHORT STORY #2: ABSENT
The first time he heard the story of the monster that dwelled in the lake, he looked his friend in the eye and curtly told him to pass the salt.
"I'm telling you, mate, it's real," Theodore insisted. "I saw it with my own eyes!"
After supper, Theo hauled him down to the shoreline and pointed him towards a scattering of greenish, eerily luminescent scales, accompanied by jagged ruts along the sand, suggesting that something large and heavy had been dragged across it.
"There was a girl swimming in the lake the other night," Theo recalled. "About our age. Brunette. Bloody gorgeous little thing. And naked. Reckon she might've been a wee bit daft in the head. She just kept swimming around in circles, singing to herself. When the old man told me to get my arse out here and tell her to quit her trespassing, she dived down and this huge, snakelike thing rose up out of the water!" He wriggled his arms in an absurd attempt to illustrate the motion. "It slithered after her, and two ticks later, they were gone."
Theo eventually wandered off to other topics, such as the bandy-legged, ginger cat with the squashed nose that was always skulking about. After loudly proclaiming that they should truss it up and feed it to the beast, Theo sauntered back inside, leaving him alone to ponder the waves, and the fate of the dauntless, mysterious girl that floated underneath.
When he awoke the following morning, the sun was just starting to climb over the inky surface of the lake. Theo continued to snore away, so he abandoned his friend and snuck back down to the shore.
True, he'd never actually seen the girl, but the notion that someone had died in these waters, so close to where he slept, haunted his dreams. He squinted at the waves, knowing it was likely futile.
He swore that there was a suspicious ripple out in the distance, but before he could even consider making a run for it, a screech-like yowl on his right knocked him onto his bum and scared the living shite out of him.
It was the stray puss that was always prowling about, rummaging for scraps. He shooed it away, only to narrowly avoid its hissy swipe. The furry menace then resumed stripping the bones of a plump fish that was almost thrice its size.
It couldn't possibly—no, someone had to be feeding it! But who? A person would have to be blind, mad, or a bleeding saint to take pity on that hideous, nasty creature…
Scowling, he bent down to inspect the damage on his clothes and swatted away the disgusting mats of fur that still clung onto the fabric. He'd gotten most of it, except for a longer, thinner strand that hung loosely from his shin.
But it wasn't fur.
It was hair.
Brown. Soft. Lustrous, with a distinct curl. Its scent was a pungent blend of damp fur and the sticky-sweet dankness of the lake.
Two nights and seven nightmares later, he'd arrived at a conclusion. There was no sodding lake monster. There was no dead girl. In fact, she was very much alive, and he was going to prove it. He did not fancy being made a fool of and he refused to remain chronically sleep-deprived for the duration of his stay. She was nothing but a filthy little prankster, and he was determined to suss her out.
Every evening, he waited by the shore, and every morning, he woke up to find that she'd fed and groomed the horrid cat that everyone else wished dead and had left all of the books from his knapsack in an alphabetised pile by the water, the pages ruined with her soggy handprints and her favourite quotes highlighted with algae. Where did she even find the time to read them all?
On certain days, she left him odd little trinkets, undoubtedly designed to provoke and confound him, such as a purple shell or a dried underwater plant. How the hell was he supposed to interpret these?
As the days passed, it became clear that he was no longer satisfied with the 'how.' He needed to know why. Why did she do it? Why didn't she leave? What did she see in that blasted cat? And why was she hiding?
"You're barking," scoffed Theo. "It's not a she, it's an it! And it is a shitting sea serpent, dossing down in my lake, yet here you are, enticing it like it's some bloody mermaid!"
That was when he realised the answer.
He waited until sunset and threw himself into the lake. He kept his eyes open for as long as he could, but he never saw her.
He awoke with a gasp, coughing and shivering from the clamminess of his clothes. He was alone, save for the tinkling laughter that sang in his ears and the tingle of a kiss that lingered upon his lips.
She was real—of that, he was certain.
TO BE CONTINUED