Rhett McLaughlin - The Lost Causes of Bleak Creek

“We won’t have any pullers!” Rex realized.

“We’ll figure it out!” Ben said, putting the regulator in his mouth and diving under.

Rex did the same, submerging his blood-covered body and watching as a pale blue glow spread all around him, bubbles percolating on the surface above. Using the back of his hammer, he tore a hole in his bag of pig’s blood, then watched the red fluid commingle with the bright blue of the water, breaking down into smaller strands as it dissipated throughout the spring. It was oddly beautiful.

Seconds later, the water got so bright it almost hurt Rex’s eyes, with bubbles so large and violent, they were actually creating waves. He tried to swim forward, but the entire spring had become a churning, roiling cauldron.

And that wasn’t all.

Rex felt the spirit.

It was watching him, as it had that first time.

Rex tried to ignore it, to focus on getting to Alicia, but that became impossible as he felt the dark presence completely envelop him.

He began thrashing his limbs in the water, as if he could somehow fling it off, like it was a bee.

His efforts were unsuccessful.

How could he have been so stupid? Whatever this “One Below” was, he and Ben had willingly walked into its lair. Once it took them, not only would they not save Alicia, but they would also need someone to come save them .

Rex gave a few last, desperate flails.

It worked.

The spirit was gone.

He pushed through the water, only to feel it return moments later, surrounding him once again.

This time, though, Rex had a minor revelation: the spirit was in distress. Maybe the unusual amount of blood is overwhelming it.

Whatever the cause, the presence around him seemed fragmented somehow, there one moment and gone the next. He felt the water squeezing his face, desperately pushing on his regulator and mask, then relenting.

It was almost as if the spirit couldn’t find a way in.

Screw you, One Below, Rex thought, realizing it no longer had enough of a hold to keep him from moving. I’m saving my best friend, whether you like it or not.

He battled forward through the water—finally, the fins were helpful—until he caught sight of Ben next to the spring wall, where Alicia’s head was sticking out just as it had on the video.

They could actually do this.

He expected Ben to immediately start digging her out, but instead he was pointing emphatically past her.

Holy shit.

Leif’s head was sticking out of the wall too.

Rex felt a billion things at once, all of which he pushed aside in order to begin using the back of his hammer to hack away at the rocky mud wall holding in Leif, as Ben did the same for Alicia.

The rocks were loose enough to dislodge, but most of Leif’s body was covered.

This might take a while.

—

THOUGH JANINE WAS considerably caught off-guard by the turn of events their night had taken, she wasn’t at all surprised to learn that Mary Hattaway was part of the cult.

“Was my message on your grandmother’s car not clear enough?” Mary said brightly into Janine’s ear, gripping her right arm so she couldn’t go anywhere.

“Oh, it was perfectly clear,” Janine said. “I just don’t take orders from human sludge.”

Mary reached toward Janine’s left arm—the one Travis was holding with a firm but gentle pressure—and yanked the camera out of her hand.

“Give that back,” Janine said.

“I don’t think so.” Mary looked into the lens as if she was testing it out. “Might give it to my Tammy—she’ll think it’s a riot. Or maybe…” Mary let the camera slide out of her hand and clunk onto the dirt. “Oopsy.”

Janine wanted to scream, but she didn’t want Mary to see how much anger she was inspiring.

“Oh, I’m sorry about that, dear.” But instead of bending down to pick it up, Mary stomped on the camera three times with her white Nike running shoe.

“No!” Janine said, feeling like she’d lost a limb.

The VHS cassette fell out, raw tape spilling on the ground in chaotic coils.

“Oh, come on, Mary. You didn’t have to do that,” Travis said. “That camera wasn’t hurtin’ nobody.”

“Shut up, Travis!” Mary snapped.

“You are a terrible fucking person,” Donna said, restrained by two other men next to Janine.

“Your mother would be ashamed to hear you talk like that,” Mary said.

“My mother thinks you’re a bitch.”

Mary lost her fake smile.

Whitewood, meanwhile, seemed euphoric. “We have been blessed tonight!” he proclaimed. “Those boys offered themselves to the purifying waters without us having to lift a finger. If the One Below accepts either of them, the seventh Lost Cause will have been delivered and the Prophecy will be fulfilled!”

The cult members shouted in celebration, several of them beginning to cry. This was even more screwed up than Janine could’ve guessed.

“Thank you, Master!” one of the men holding Donna shouted, causing her to turn her head in recognition.

“Dr. Bob?”

“Hi, Donna,” Dr. Bob said, pulling off his hood to reveal his glistening bald head and round, frameless glasses. He had the same caring face he’d had during each of Donna’s appointments over the course of her lifetime. “I know it’s hard to understand, darlin’. But this spring is gonna save our town.”

“You’re right, I don’t understand,” Donna said, remembering the darkness she’d encountered under that water. Her muscles tensed under Dr. Bob’s grip. “I don’t understand why my dad had to die.”

“Oh, Donna,” Dr. Bob said, reminding her of his response years ago when she’d gotten up the nerve to tell him that she thought she was depressed. “That was just a car accident. And I’m still truly sorry for your loss, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart.” Donna jerked her neck back, slamming her head into Dr. Bob’s nose.

As he cried out in pain, Janine took advantage of the brief commotion, jabbing her elbow into Mary Hattaway’s stomach, knocking the wind out of her.

Janine was just about to use her free arm to bury a fist in Travis’s stomach when Leggett Shackelford—who’d been restraining Donna along with Dr. Bob—folded his monstrous arms around her, and Donna, too, effectively locking them both in place.

“Don’t try anything like that again,” he said.

Mary stood up slowly, gathering herself. “Down here,” she said, bringing her face close to Janine’s, “we teach our girls not to hit.” She spit, the viscous substance reeking of stale cigarettes as it streamed down Janine’s cheek. “You’re lucky the One Below isn’t interested in Lost Causes your age. Because if He was, I’d throw you in that spring myself.”

Janine squirmed in Shackelford’s vise-like grip, wishing she could get loose and knock Mary in the stomach a couple dozen more times.

“What’s takin’ so long?” Whitewood said, seeming slightly panicked as he leaned out over the wild, bubbling water. “Those boys should have been accepted or rejected by now.”

The cult was silent, watching their leader like a hawk, absorbing his anxiety as if it were their own.

“Master,” Mary Hattaway said after a long moment, “do you think their masks might be…preventing the One Below from his evaluation?”

Whitewood’s head jerked toward Mary, his eyes trembling in their sockets.

“Or maybe not,” Mary said, bowing her head.

“Dammit!” Whitewood screamed at the spring. “We’re running out of time! Start untying some of the Candidati.” He gestured to the line of terrified kids. “We must have one more accepted before midnight, or all of this will have been for nothing!”