Rubbing his eyes, Graham sighed and got to his feet. Next to the cabin, a wooden rowboat and two oars were leaning against the side of the building, covered with a tarp. Graham pulled the boat and oars down to the water and tied the rowboat to the small, six-foot dock made of wooden planks, then headed back to the cabin. He came back a few minutes later carrying a smallbeer cooler, the urn, and one of the storybooks, and placed them in the boat.
Graham hadn’t been in a rowboat since the last time he visited the lake with his grandpa. He was a bit unsteady climbing in, but he quickly centered himself, untied from the dock, and started to row toward the center of the lake… the water rippling all around him.
3
Graham sat cross-leggedin the boat as the sun dipped low, opening the storybook resting on his lap. He sipped a beer and slowly flipped through the pages, reading about how Mikey first met Lochlan and their instant connection. In the tale, Lochlan communicated mentally with Mikey, revealing that he had crash-landed on Earth from the stars and had no way to return home. His loneliness overwhelmed him… until Mikey became his friend.
This was his favorite Lochlan Lake story, the one where Mikey and Lochlan first met. Graham wondered if such strong, unbreakable bonds actually existed in real life. He had felt that connection with his grandfather but not with his friends—or even his girlfriend.
Graham rubbed his eyes, feeling them damp. He sniffed and raised his beer can towards the urn. “You were the best, Grandpa,” he said thickly. “I miss you so much.” He wiped tears from his face. “You were my best friend... I’ll never have another friend like you.” Graham cleared his throat, then drank the beer. His throat worked as he blinked back tears and opened a second can. He gazed at the storybook, its colorful illustrations of Lochlan and Mikey blurring through his tears. “I wish Lochlan was real.”
Do you really?How would he react if a realalien sea creaturesuddenly appeared before him?Panic and shit my pants?Graham smiled and shook his head. Still, deep inside,it felt like he had always believed in Lochlan. He remembered vague childhood dreams where Lochlan was actually real... living right in this lake. In those dreams, Graham would play in the water alongside Lochlan, his grandpa’s secret friend and the guardian of the lake.
Graham gazed out over the water, a wave of sadness overtaking him. He didn’t know how he even remembered those dreams, but he found himself holding onto them to prevent them from fading. Something about them made him feel joyful—the kind of happiness a person can only experience as a child. The kind of “happy” he’d only ever felt while spending time with his grandpa… here at the lake.
“What am I going to do, Grandpa?” he whispered, finishing the second can of beer in just a few swallows. “I feel lost… and I don’t know why.” His chin trembled. “Maybe something’s wrong with me.” Was he developing chronic depression? Maybe he needed to see a therapist. Would he end up on antidepressants for the rest of his life?
Don’t overreact. You miss your grandpa, you’re feeling sad and lonely. It doesn’t mean you’re depressed.
Graham opened another beer and continued looking through the storybook. The cans in the cooler began to disappear, piling in a crushed, empty heap on the bottom of the boat as his tears fell and his mind wandered.
When he finally closed the storybook and set it aside, he felt both lightheaded and like his head was filled with cement. He picked up the urn and whispered, “Wherever you are, Grandpa, I hope you’re happy,” his voice trembling. He offered a faint smile, eyes heavy. “Maybe where you’re at… Lochlan exists. I hope so.” He sniffed, wiped his eyes, then opened the urn. Tears streamed down his face as he leaned unsteadily over the edge and sprinkled the ashes into the water. “Rest in peace, Grandpa.”
Graham hung on the side of the rowboat and watched the ashes drift across the lake's surface, barely visible in the twilight. Tears fell from his face into the water, alcohol intensifying his sadness and feeling of loss. When a strong ripple rocked the boat, Graham fell back awkwardly onto his back and lay there, tears streaming into his ears as he looked up at the darkening sky, stars blinking at him. His foggy thoughts wandered to the universe and the possibility of life beyond the stars, momentarily distracted from the water's ripples that swayed the rowboat.
The fine particles hit the water softly, like a gentle farewell, settling on the surface in a pattern of sorrow—caught between two worlds—before falling into the depths below. As they drifted downward through the dark water, the lake shuddered with reverence. The creature's heart, if such a thing existed within its alien anatomy, seized with profound recognition as the dust—remnants of a beloved life—rained over its form. Each speck clung to its flesh like fragments of a shattered dream, dissolving into its awareness with the painful sweetness of reunion. It knew this essence... thisflavorof the one who loved it through years of quiet companionship—the soul it valued above all.
Its thick tentacles began to quiver and shake with heartbroken reverence, disrupting the water’s calm as it desperately gathered every sacred particle, terrified of losing even a single fragment of its beloved’s remains. Amid the familiar presence, a faint brine emerged, tasting of raw anguish and deep loneliness—the unmistakable flavor of human sorrow—that reflected the hollow cavern of its own existence, now cruelly deepened by the realization that its wait had ended in both reunion and eternal loss.
Deep within its consciousness, a profound grief erupted into a low keening—not just the cry of a sorrowful soul, but the primal wail of a being facing the inescapable reality of loss. The creature’s entire being trembled under the weight of this grief, each cell crying out in anguish against a universe cruel enough to reunite them only in death.
It reached toward the surface, through particles and salty droplets of human tears that absorbed into its tendrils. These tears—the essence of the boy's raw anguish—mingled with its own devastation, creating a terrible intimacy that sparked its nerve endings with both agony and desperate hope. It stretched upward with the crushing devastation of bereavement, and the wounded hope that perhaps—impossibly—something of its beloved might live on in this descendant whose loneliness echoed its own like a reflection in dark water.
Graham was drifting aimlessly, both mentally and physically, in the rowboat. His mind was hazy from alcohol, and he had lost track of how many beers he’d drunk. Looking up at the night sky, the stars appeared nearer, almost within reach. Graham extended his hand, fingers spread wide, as if he could pluck them from the darkness. His eyelids drooped, and a faint smile formed on his face.
“Are you up there, Grandpa?” he slurred a bit. Tears stung his eyes. “Is Heaven real? Or do you justdisappearinto nothing when you die?” His heart felt heavy at the thought that this life was all there was. If that were the case, then Graham found it pointless. Somewhere in the far reaches of his mind, he remembered a Bible verse he’d heard somewhere:‘If our hope is only in this life… then we are men most miserable.’Orsomething like that. He hadn’t really understood it before, but now he did.
The boat started to rock as if it were riding waves. When he had rowed out to the middle, the lake was perfectly calm. Even a strong wind—though there was no wind—wouldn’t have created heavy waves. Confused and curious in his drunken state, Graham grabbed the side of the boat and pulled himself upright. He leaned unsteadily against the small craft’s edge and looked down at the water. Something was swirling beneath the surface, causing a slight disturbance. Graham blinked, his vision hazy from tears and alcohol.
“What…?” he mumbled, leaning further over the edge to see what was below. He caught fleeting glimpses of something darting through the dark water, illuminated by the moonlight as it swirled near the surface before diving back down. His drunken mind didn’t consider fear as he dipped his hand into the water, pressing his torso against the side of the rowboat and causing it to tilt. “What… are you?”
His clouded mind conjured images of eels or fish. He wriggled his fingers in the water, still warm from the afternoon sun. Something brushed his hand, sliding smoothly between two fingers, then sped away. Graham pulled back in surprise, then plunged his hand deeper into the water, feeling around for whatever touched him.
“Come on,” he slurred. “I won’t hurt you.” His other hand gripped the edge of the boat tightly as he leaned forward slightly, unaware of the boat tipping toward the water. “Let me see you.” He dragged his hand back and forth, creating ripples. When nothing surfaced, he sighed and hung over the edge of the boat, his hand still and floating in the water. Gazing into the dark depths, the ache dulled by alcohol started to creep back into his heart. He rested his chin on his outstretched arm as tears streamed down his face and dripped into the lake. “Do you misshim, too?” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “He loved you. This was his favorite place on earth. This lake… You were so special to him.” Graham tucked his face into his arm, sobs catching in his throat. “I miss him so much.”
Something thick and slippery slid over his hand. Tiny, fleshy mouths clung to him, sucking at his skin. Startled, Graham jerked back more forcefully than he meant and fell onto his back against the opposite side of the boat, causing it to rock wildly and lift out of the water slightly. One of the oars slipped from the rowboat, carried away by the waves.
“Shit,” Graham muttered and awkwardly twisted around, feeling his head spin. The boat and lake tilted as dizziness swept over him. He leaned over the side of the boat, his arm straining to grab the oar. He splashed water with his hand, trying to pull the oar closer. Nothing worked. “Comeon.” Graham reached further, and suddenly the boat turned over, dumping him, the cooler, and the storybook into the water.
Panic gripped him as he reached for the upside-down craft but sank below the surface before he could grab hold. Water rushed over his head, filling his ears and muffling all sound as it surged into his nose and down his throat. Suddenly, he thought about his dad, who nearly drowned when he was fifteen. The fear his dad must have felt now flooded Graham.
You know how to swim—just use your fucking arms and legs!
The alcohol dulled his senses and motor functions. His limbs only flailed in panic, unable to move properly. His fear escalated into pure terror as he sank further into the dark depths, and the little air left in his lungs escaped in a flurry of bubbles from his mouth and nose.
I’m gonna die… I’m gonna die…
Graham didn’t want to die. As lost and alone as he felt, he didn’t want to stopliving.
