The lake stayed flat after the wind died. Dana had come out because the lights on the far shore looked wrong, too low, too still. She had walked the public dock with the flashlight low so it would not bounce off the water and blind her. The boards were wet, the smell of the lake sat heavy, the way it does when the water has not moved for hours. She stopped at the end of the dock. Something broke the surface thirty feet out.
It rose without a splash. The head was long. The eyes caught the light and held it, flat and dark. The body behind it was thick and smooth. It did not look like a fish. It did not look like anything that should be in the lake. Dana raised the light, the shape turned. The mouth opened. The sound that came out was low and wet. It carried across the water and stopped. She stepped back.
The shape stayed where it was. The head dipped once. Water ran from the jaw. Dana turned the light off. The dark closed around the dock. She heard the water move. Not a splash, a slow push, like something large sliding under the surface. She clicked the light back on. The shape was closer. The head was higher. The eyes were still on her. She raised the rifle she had brought for the coyotes, the safety clicked, the shape did not dive.
It held. The first shot struck the water in front of it. The shape flinched but did not go under. The second shot hit the shoulder. Dark blood ran down the side and into the lake. The shape kept coming. Dana backed toward the shore. The boards creaked. The shape reached the end of the dock. One long flipper came up and slapped the wood. The boards shifted. She fired again. The shot went into the neck.
The shape pulled back, blood mixed with the water around it. Dana turned and ran for the path. Something hit the dock behind her. The sound was heavy. She did not look. The path was short. The car was at the top. She reached the door and pulled it open. The shape was already on the shore. It moved low and fast across the grass. The head stayed level. Dana got inside and locked the doors.
The shape stopped at the front of the car. The eyes were level with the windshield. Blood ran from the wounds and dripped onto the hood. The mouth opened again. The same low sound came out, quieter now. Dana started the engine. The shape did not move. She put the car in reverse. The tires spun in the gravel. The shape stayed, the eyes stayed on her. She backed onto the road. The shape turned and moved back toward the water. The head dipped once more before it went under. The lake stayed flat. The smell stayed.
