Matt Hults - Husk

There was something in the pool, though.

Something big, floating in the water.

Tim rode his bike off the dirt trail he’d followed from the train tracks that ran between Loretto and Mallory’s neighborhood. Although the total distance between the two locations measured less than two miles, he’d taken nearly a half-hour getting here.

“Just say ‘hi’ to her and leave,” he told himself. “It’s not like you have to ask her out on a date or anything. You don’t even know her.”

Of course he didn’t need to ask her out, but by the way his mother described her he knew he’d probably want to. Whether or not he’d find the courage to do so remained the true question.

No, he didn’t need to ask her out, but he did have the Valleyfair tickets in his pocket.

Tim rode up the Wiesses’ driveway and halted beside their Expedition. The garage door stood open, and the sound of a lawn mower revved to life around the far side of the house.

He thought about riding away while he still had the chance.

BJ stood at the summit of the deck’s steps, surveying the landscape of the backyard. His dad always told him never to come out here alone, had warned him that he’d get punished if he did, but the need to find out what had fallen into the pool overwhelmed the threat of losing cartoons for a week.

His skin prickled with goosebumps when he cleared the decorative shrubs that skirted the deck and saw Voodooman floating in the water. The man lay facedown in the middle of the pool, arms and legs hanging just below the surface. The dead man’s float his dad called it. Was that what happened? Was Voodooman dead? Did he fall in the pool and drown? And if so, how’d he get back here, who opened the—

The lawn mower roared into operation somewhere at the side of the house, startling BJ from his thoughts. He took a step backward, ready to haul ass, as Mallory would say, when Voodooman broke into pieces and drifted apart.

BJ gaped, watching in horror.

The man’s head separated from his body; his torso split away from his legs. Both gloves popped loose from the arms and floated to the surface, while his boots detached and sank to the bottom.

The disembodied head rolled in the water; its vacant eyes turned skyward.

A scream grew in BJ’s throat but died out when he spotted the stuffing inside the man’s tattered clothing. Old rags spilled out the neck of the empty head and torn towels protruded from the cuffs of the shirt sleeves and pant legs.

He stepped up to the edge of the deep end, gazing at the disentangled garments.

It’s only clothes, not a person.

BJ smirked. Was Voodooman running around naked somewhere? Was he—

Something rose up from behind him, something big that cast a dark shadow on the wobbling, reflective surface of the water.

BJ gasped.

Two strong hands gripped him under the arms, lifting him off the ground with the ease of plucking a weed. Panic seized his whole body. Then he was airborne, thrown out over the pool, glimpsing Voodooman’s empty clothes dotting the water below him.

He plunged into the pool with a huge splash, enveloped by the warmth of the water and the smell of chlorine. His feet kicked but found nothing to stop his descent. He opened his mouth and water rushed in, cutting off his scream for help.

Tim parked his bike and headed for the front door when a piercing scream came from the back of the house. He halted in his tracks. The sound had come from somewhere beyond the back door of the open garage, but the door had no windows and the noise had cut off so fast he failed to identify it.

He stood in place, listening, already uncertain if he’d heard a human scream or a dog bark. Heck, under the right conditions even a power tool could’ve—

Another shout broke through the air, this one more frantic than the first, and this time the cry contained two distinct words.

“Help me!”

Mallory had just stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel when an odd noise drew her attention to the window. Looking out at the backyard, she spotted a dark shape move cross the far side of the pool area, but by the time she wiped the glass clear of condensation the yard appeared empty.

Then BJ splashed into view in the deep end of the pool, thrashing around like a fish in a blender.

She smiled, expecting to see her dad pop up from the water with BJ on his shoulders. Then her heart froze in her chest when she realized the horrific truth.

BJ had fallen in the pool.

“Dad!” she screamed, and raced for the door.

Tim rushed into the Wiesses’ garage and grabbed the handle of the back door with both hands.

Locked.

Running outside again, he went to where the backyard fence met the side of the garage. Three black hinges marked the position of a gate, but like some maddening puzzle the setup offered no latch or handle on his side of the boards. Cursing under his breath, he jumped up and hooked an arm over the top, hauling himself higher. His shoes skipped off the smooth surface of the wood. Without a decent foothold, he only managed to get the upper quarter of his body over the top. Switching tactics, he looked around, searching for a latch on the other side of the gate. He found it almost at the top of the boards—where it would be out of the reach of a child—only an inch from his left hand.

He snapped it up and dropped to the ground. The gate swung open.

Back on his feet, Tim started through—

The gate slammed shut.

It rammed him in the face and chest, knocking him off his feet. He dropped to the ground and skidded several feet across the grass, sprawled on his back. Blood trickled across his lips and nose.

On the other side of the fence, the weakening voice wailed one last time.

With his gaze locked on the gate, Tim scrambled to his feet and ran to his bike. He wheeled it next to the fence and stepped up on the seat, using it to boost himself over the top. Searching the backyard, he spotted a young boy thrashing in the pool. He tried to find whatever had forced the door shut in his face, imagining it may have been a large dog, but the rest of the yard appeared unoccupied.

Vaulting the fence, he dropped onto a shallow mound of landscaping wood chips piled near the gate and sprinted to the pool.

Mallory raced down the stairs, still screaming for her dad when he burst through the front door.

“What’s going on?’ he asked. “I heard a shout.”

“BJ’s in the pool,” she cried.

Together, they shot to the back of the house and out the open sliding glass door. On the deck, they spotted a boy jump over the fence and dive into the water. Mallory halted at the shallow end while her dad hurried to where the stranger resurfaced with her brother. They pulled BJ out of the pool and laid him on his side, huddling over him, getting him to cough up any water he’d inhaled.

Mallory fidgeted in place, pacing back and forth. She bit her lower lip, striving to hold back the tears that came at the sight of BJ lying so still.

Someone has to call the police .

She rushed inside, across the kitchen, snatching up the handset of the wall phone and—

Instead of a dial tone, there came a voice.

“Maa-lll-oo-reee.”

“Hello,” she gasped.

Had someone already made a 911 call?

“We need help. My kid brother fell in the pool and I don’t know if he’s breathing.”

While explaining the situation into the receiver, she hurried back outside and onto the deck. “Hello? Hello?” she cried when no answer came from the operator.