‘Ah … ah … I’m here.’ He grabs on to me. ‘We go … gotta go. That thing’s ge … ge … getting closer.’ He can hardly speak with the cold. He starts to swim for the shore, then stops. ‘Wh … where’s Suzy?’ As he says the name, there’s a thumping from inside the upturned canoe.
‘Suzy!’ cries an anguished Iggy, and before I can say anything, he’s bobbed under the surface.
Seconds go by while I feel my clothes getting heavier and I am properly scared.
‘Iggy!’ I shout, and I turn a circle in the water. ‘Iiiiiggyyyy!’
I’m ready to scream again, when there comes a splash from beside the canoe. Iggy’s head reappears and next to it are the sodden red feathers of Suzy, who looks very startled.
I have ended up closer to the jetty than Iggy, and I’m finding it easier to swim than he is because he’s carrying Suzy. I heave myself up the slippery iron ladder, weighed down by my soaking clothes. I look back and that is when I notice the strange, half-visible shape on the surface of the water moving and getting closer to Iggy.
Iggy is only about fifteen metres away and I can see the look of sheer terror on his face as he realises what’s going on.
‘Swim, Iggy. Swim! D-don’t look back. Just swim!’
But he does look back and I think he’s frozen in terror for a second. Holding Suzy’s head up, he starts thrashing with his other arm and kicking with his legs.
‘Come on, Iggy! Come on – you can make it!’
Ten metres. Five. I can hear the humming noise now as whatever is making it cuts across the surface, getting closer with every stroke Iggy makes. I stretch out my hand.
‘You can make it – come on!’
Then he screams and, with a gurgle, lets go of Suzy and disappears below the black surface of the water.
Iggy reappears above the surface a few seconds later, making terrified noises. ‘It … it … got … got …’ He seems to struggle with something below the surface as if his legs are tangled.
Amazingly, his glasses have stayed on. He manages to get hold of Suzy and, one-armed, flaps the last two metres to the jetty, where I haul him up by his arm.
‘My … m-my le-leg,’ he moans. ‘It go … got me.’
Iggy left his bike light on the jetty. I grab it, shine it on his leg and recoil in horror.
‘Is … is it ba-bad?’ he says.
I nod. A huge, treble-barbed hook has embedded itself into his calf and has ripped out a long portion of flesh as he struggled. Somehow his leg got entwined in our fishing line and as he swam it hooked him as securely as any fish. Blood, mixed with the water draining from us, forms a red channel trickling back into the water. He reaches his hand down and moans again when he feels the warm blood.
‘Ca-call my mum,’ he croaks.
‘Sure, Iggy. Hang on. You’re going to be fine.’
I fumble in my soaking jeans pocket for my phone.
It’s not THAT bad, I keep telling myself. He’s not going to bleed to death right here on this jetty.
I jab the start button on my phone.
Smartphones and water are not a good mix. I try again. And again.
‘Where’s yours?’ I ask Iggy, whose breathing has become shallow, little pants.
‘My mu … mum’s confiscated it.’
That I can believe.
In desperation, I get to my feet and shout, ‘Help! Help!’ while Iggy pants and moans, lying on his back on the jetty.
‘No … no one’s going to hear you,’ pants Iggy at my feet, then he groans in pain again.
‘I’m going to run up to the road,’ I say. ‘There might be a car I can stop. Wait here.’
What am I even thinking? There are hardly ever any cars on that road, just forestry trucks now and then. Am I panicking? I am halfway up the steep path to the road when I realise that leaving an injured person, soaking wet and freezing cold, on a jetty in the dark is just stupid.
For a few seconds I actually hop from one foot to another, trying to work out what to do, until eventually I turn and scramble back down the path towards the beach. I can see Iggy lying where I left him, and then I stop and let out a small yelp.
Someone has just appeared on the jetty before me.
I know that sounds crazy, but it’s just like a magic trick or a special effect. One minute there’s only Iggy lying there. The next, this … this figure is there as well. It can’t have come from anywhere. I mean, there’s no other approach to the jetty than the route I took, and I didn’t pass anyone.
It is quite dark, though …
I am standing on the shore-end of the jetty when I hear the person speak. He or she hasn’t heard me approaching, is facing Iggy, and I don’t think Iggy has noticed me coming back either: he’s got other things on his mind, what with freezing and bleeding half to death. The person makes a weird snuffling, squeaking noise, followed by words.
‘I heard you. I will help.’
Iggy, who’s been facing the other way, propped up on his arm, spins round and then scuttles back in shock, slipping in his own blood.
I hurry to Iggy, passing close to the person on the jetty, who seems to be wearing a shaggy fur coat, but that’s all I notice at first: I’m more interested in getting to Iggy.
‘You OK?’ I say. ‘Sorry I left you. This person can help. That’s good, eh?’ I’m gabbling a bit and I don’t really understand the look of terror on Iggy’s face as he squints past me through his smudged, wet glasses at the figure who is still standing there.
Iggy can’t speak: ‘Tai … Tait. What … what …?’
His gaze is fixed on the person behind me and so I turn to look as well. What I see shocks me so much that I too stagger and slip, falling hard on my backside. I continue to scramble backwards to the end of the jetty, unable to take my eyes away from what I see, and – at the same time – desperate to put as much distance between me and it as possible.
Iggy cranes his neck around, but is unable to move as fast as me and so lies there, panting with terror.
This thing has a head, with a shining mass of long, silvery hair and, below it, a face. A human face. Well, human-ish: it is face-shaped, except hairy, with widely spaced pale eyes and a huge nose, twitching like a hamster’s.
I’m so scared that I think if I’d been a bit younger I’d have wet myself, but I don’t, thankfully.
It is definitely like a human. It’s got two legs and two arms for a start. Apart from the long head hair, the rest of its body is covered in a light, greyish, downy fur that seems to be standing up. From its back curls a long tail that moves like a cat’s. So, both like a human, and not at all like a human.
It stares at me with its large eyes for a bit and then casts its gaze about the forest, raising its nose to sniff the air. Then it turns back to us and takes a step nearer. Iggy and I both cower but it stops and carries on staring and sniffing. Then it shakes all over: a massive shiver that ripples its fur. Its top lip draws back, revealing long, sharp, yellow teeth.
I