Beneath Still Waters Read online

  Then an answer. He began to detect things flying through

  the air, inside the water. Dark, lumpy things. And long,

  twisted shapes. Strange things shooting out with the water.

  Shooting over him.

  But one of the shapes got caught up in the wall, caught

  up by a bit of ragged rock. It tumbled down the waterfall

  instead, and over and over, flopping around—

  (All too blurry to be seen.)

  Over and over until it plopped at Herbert’s feet.

  It stood up. It looked at him.

  ( Do I know you? )

  It opened its mouth and came close to Herbert.

  It grabbed his pudgy, out-of-shape body (he really had

  let himself go lately) and began munching on it.

  (Like a piece of chicken at the county fair.)

  Pretty hungry, fellow, Herbert thought, still—

  amazingly—feeling nothing. Not quite grasping just what

  the hell was going on.

  He watched until everything somehow started to go

  black.

  The water flooded the town. Seeped into homes, under

  doors, down to basements. All electricity was out, and all

  the phones too. People desperately tried to start cars, but

  the water formed rivers that flooded the streets and stranded

  the drivers.

  But much worse than that, worse than the water and the

  panic, were the things that now came with it. Some dressed

  in clothes, almost like people, others with blackish, oily

  hides that resembled nothing anyone had ever seen before.

  And the poor people—stranded in the town of Ellerton—

  struggled to keep the visitors from the reservoir out of their

  homes.

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  Just outside!

  Claire wanted to cry out. Go away! Or I’m here, you found me, now leave me alone . . . leave me!

  Joshua stirred.

  (Did he smell that salty, sick stench now beginning to

  fill the cave?)

  Samantha licked her lips.

  Someone looked into the open cave.

  “Momma.”

  It was Samantha’s first word in over an hour.

  She struggled quickly away from Claire’s grasp, crawl-

  ing out of the cave.

  Toward her mother.

  “No!” Claire yelled.

  Joshua blinked awake. “Mommy?”

  Claire grabbed at Samantha, a sturdy seven-year-old

  using all her muscles to crawl out.

  “Momma . . .” she kept mumbling.

  Her mother reached down for her.

  (Bits of the black stuff still stuck to her hair, her eye-

  brows, her fingertips.)

  Claire grabbed Samantha’s legs. But Mrs. Benny—such

  a nice lady—yanked her daughter out of the hole, roughly

  pulling on her while Joshua ran behind.

  Claire screamed.

  The mother held Samantha while one of the policemen

  took Joshua and held him like a sack of potatoes.

  There was another man there.

  “Hello, Claire. I so looked forward to meeting you.”

  Joshua started kicking at the policeman. His hands

  flailed at the policeman’s face.

  (Oh, God. A chunk of the policeman’s skin went flying

  down to the ground. Joshua kept struggling.)

  The man stepped close to her.

  “You are the only one I worried about, you know.”

  Another step closer.

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  “You were the only one out of the whole town. You’re

  very special, Claire, and I”—he brought his hands

  together—“know how to take care of special people.”

  (She heard a terrible roar. Like lions in the zoo. And

  there! Just above it. She could make out the sound of peo-

  ple yelling, squealing, like the sounds coming from Play-

  land’s Dragon Coaster on a hot Saturday.)

  The man’s fingertips touched.

  “I want you to meet someone.”

  Another sound. Now coming from the lake. She looked

  out there for a second. It was all funny and different.

  There were things there, floating on top.

  No. Not floating. There was a steeple—part of a steeple,

  anyway—sticking out of the water. And the very top of

  some buildings, their outlines just visible.

  “So young,” he said with a smile. “So powerful.”

  And in the center of the lake a terrible churning began,

  like water going down a bathtub drain, but so loud. She could see the white flashes of the water as it began to spin around.

  Samantha yelled out something.

  (It’s a dream. Just another dream.)

  Drops of spit—dark, purplish stuff—dribbled out of

  Mrs. Benny’s mouth.

  Then, from the bubbling lake, things began popping to

  the surface. Darkish shapes that floundered around for a

  moment before making their way to shore.

  The man made his fingers part.

  ( Don’t. )

  She felt things moving at her feet. Things that popped

  out of the ground, opened up, and circled her bare legs.

  She cried.

  “Claire, please—” Samantha’s voice sounded so hope-

  less.

  Mrs. Benny lowered her mouth to Samantha.

  Claire turned sharply. She looked at the monstrous

  woman.

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  ( Don’t! )

  It was an order.

  The mother howled. She blinked in confusion and

  looked at Claire, then at Parks, then back to Claire again.

  “It’s coming now,” Parks said. “There’s nothing you can

  do about it.”

  Claire’s breath made a steam cloud in front of her.

  The leaves took on the whitish sheen of frost, freezing

  into crinkly shapes. Her cheeks felt cold.

  “It’s coming,” he said.

  Something large, lumbering its way up.

  Toward her.

  The policeman let Joshua slip out of his grasp.

  He ran over to his sister, trying to tug her down and away.

  “Now . . .” Parks said.

  ( It was winter here. Surely it would snow soon. )

  She looked past Parks.

  There was someone there.

  “Mom . . .” Claire said. The love, the relief—all almost

  overwhelming.

  Parks turned.

  “Too late, friends. You’re just too . . . late.” He sneered.

  Dan ignored him. He carved a circle in the dirt.

  One of the policemen lumbered over. Dan kicked the

  creature in the chest, and it staggered back like a rag doll.

  Then the star.

  ( So fuckin’ cold. )

  Parks came toward her, his hands moving oddly. Susan

  grabbed a rock, a big heavy rock, and brought it down on

  the side of Parks’s head.

  ( Then the symbols. The names. The crosses. )

  She hit Parks hard, and he turned toward her, blood run-

  ning down his cheek. His hand flew out quickly and knocked

  her to the ground.

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  Claire screamed. But Dan couldn’t stop his work.

  He stepped inside the star.

  He flicked his light on and aimed it onto the paper. And

  read the words.

  It got—by God�
��even colder.

  The flashlight started to flicker yellow. C’mon, c’mon,

  stay on . . . stay on!

  Parks came toward him again, his hands moving.

  Dan knew if it was going to work, it was now.

  Parks came closer.

  Susan was up, and she barreled into Parks’s back, send -

  ing him sprawling down to the edge of the circle.

  He looked up, crazed now, right at Dan.

  And then it was there. Still wet from the bottom of the

  lake. Looming over them. Massive. Alien . . .

  ( “As close as your breath. As far away as the end of the

  universe.” )

  The master of the Club. The real king of Gouldens

  Falls.

  Parks tried to get up.

  “By all that is holy,” Dan said.

  He brought the knife down.

  Steady, careful, oh so steady. Driving it home.

  It pierced Parks’s shirt. (Parks brought his hand up to

  stop it.) Then through the shirt and on into his chest. And

  on. Deeper. Deeper.

  To the heart of the Beast.

  A warm breeze blew. Parks screamed. (Or did Dan sim-

  ply imagine it?)

  Parks twisted on the end of the knife, like a worm being

  cut for bait. Twisting, kicking, as his skin seemed to ripple

  and gather, till it seemed to start to pull away from his

  skull.

  Parks’s hands fell to his side, useless, skeletal.

  Dan dared look up now.

  It was gone.

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  They were alone.

  Samantha collapsed onto her mother’s dead body. The

  two policemen were curled up on the ground.

  Susan held Joshua and Claire close to her, the three of

  them crying, arms encircled.

  He let the knife fall onto the pile of twisted garbage at

  his feet.

  (Like a week-old road kill.)

  He walked over to Samantha and picked her up from the

  lifeless body. He crushed her to him.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

  He said it over and over.

  As much for myself as for you. He whispered, eager

  again, to her heaving body, “It’s all over.”

  E P I L O G U E

  Susan shielded her eyes from the glistening October sun.

  It’s all over.

  Time was working its ancient magic of forgetting.

  And just like the first warm breeze in April that an-

  nounces that, yes, winter will end, flowers will bloom, and

  grass will grow, time brought its simple message. . . .

  If you’re still here, still in one piece when the clock

  ticks, your life goes on.

  She looked at Claire, hammer in hand, standing next

  to Dan. They were building a fence for the pony he had

  promised her.

  “A real pony!” Claire had said, her eyes alight.

  (Both she and Dan hoped it would be one more thing to

  help her forget.)

  It was Indian summer. The night before had been cold

  and they had built a fire in Dan’s small but cozy house. And

  the crackling wood and the rich smell made her feel safe

  and secure, while winter seemed so near.

  But that day it was summer again. The last dwindling

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  days of warmth and light before the land finally gave way

  to cold.

  Claire laughed, so loud and clear, her voice carried eas-

  ily on the wind. Dan was always telling her funny things,

  making her laugh. She loved him for that, and for what he

  now meant to her.

  He was totally irresponsible. Bills were to be avoided,

  and he always had trouble with a deadline.

  But he was a good man to know when all hell was

  breaking loose.

  They both couldn’t believe what had happened in those

  days following that Thursday night.

  More than a hundred people were dead or had vanished.

  Nearly a thousand others had needed treatment for shock,

  exposure, and, unbelievably enough, frostbite. The news-

  papers were generally vague about what possibly could

  have happened.

  When Joshua and Samantha’s father came to pick them

  up, his eyes were red and blotchy from crying.

  That was something else she’d remember forever.

  The damage to the town of Ellerton was estimated to be

  over $100 million. The flooding eventually stopped when

  the reservoir reached the level of the hole. And while it

  looked like the dam itself might give way completely,

  somehow it held. A battalion from the Army Corps of En-

  gineers worked around the clock to seal both sides of the

  wall, while an upstate crew temporarily diverted the flow

  of the water.

  But before that was all gone, people got their first look

  at Gouldens Falls. The sunken town . . .

  Dan waved at her. Winked. She smiled, the wind blow-

  ing her long hair behind her. Claire went on dutifully ham-

  mering.

  Gouldens Falls. Only the top of it was ever seen, but

  that was enough. Like some quaint Atlantis, the roofs of

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  the sunken village popped up, glistening with a grayish-

  green color. It was as if it had struggled to be born again, to

  crawl once more to the light.

  And in that first morning people saw the bodies dotting

  the peaked roofs and tar-papered ceilings. Friends of hers

  at the paper said that positive IDs were made on Tommy

  Fluhr, Emily Powers, and the two cops from New York,

  Flaherty and Raskin.

  Some of the others were beyond recognition.

  Gradually the water was allowed back into the reservoir.

  The official story spoke of the event as if it were some

  kind of natural disaster laced with mass hysteria.

  But she—and hundreds of others—knew better.

  And so did Dan.

  He offered his home in Pennsylvania to her to get away.

  (“Small but mighty comfy, surrounded by acres and

  acres of land. Claire will love it.”)

  Land. That’s what I needed.

  She agreed, hoping he wouldn’t read more in her agree-

  ment than she intended.

  But he gave her space.

  While she was officially on leave from the paper, she

  knew she’d never go back, despite the new, tall barbed-

  wire fence, complete with U.S. government warning signs.

  Never.

  She’d stay here. Write a book about it.

  (Or maybe not. Maybe she’d write about something

  else. A children’s story. Filled with hope and light.)

  She’d stay with Dan. For now. Maybe forever.

  Thanking him. Thanking God.

  It was all over.

  And they were alive.

  Claire shielded her eyes from the sun’s glare.

  “C’mon, sprout, give that nail a good ol’ whack!”

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  She smiled at Dan. We’re almost a family. Doing things

  together, having fun, just like the families she always envied.

  And her mom seemed happy now, not too busy to talk

  with her or play games.

  She waited
till her mom went back inside to ask Dan her

  question.

  The one she’d been thinking about (over and over) since

  they’d arrived.

  “Dan . . .”

  He was trying to fit another split rail through the top

  notch of the post they were working on.

  “Yes, Claire.”

  “Dan, do you think, I mean, is it possible that it could

  happen again?”

  He gently lowered the rail into the notch. And slowly he

  crouched down beside her. He was close to her; his bright

  blue eyes and powerful arms made her feel safe.

  “Claire, whatever happened back there is over. I can’t

  pretend to understand it, but when that man was killed, it

  broke the spell.” He mussed her hair. “Like in one of your

  fantasy books. The bad magic was licked, over. It’s just

  another lake now . . . that’s all.”

  She looked at him for some flicker of doubt.

  He believed it. Completely.

  She nodded.

  “So you have nothing to worry about, okay, sprout?

  Nothing. Okay?”

  “Okay.” She smiled.

  He stood up. “Now get back to work.”

  A lone cloud moved across the brilliant sun, cutting off

  the heat.

  Nothing to worry about.

  ’Cause it’s all over.

  The bad magic is gone.

  Whack. She hammered the nail.

  Then why, she asked herself, why do I still have dreams?

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  Different dreams now . . . late at night.

  Dreams of the town as it used to be, with old-fashioned

  cars and kids with ice-cream cones that melted too fast.

  And then—whack.

  Dreams of the town as it will be.

  Whack.

  She told no one. Not her mom. Not Dan.

  But she knew this one fact as sure as she knew anything.

  (The single puffy cloud moved on.)

  She hit the nail home.

  It’s not over.

  Document Outline

  Cover Page

  Titles by Matthew J. Costello

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Part One: 1986 Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Part Two Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Part Three Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen