Slasher Summer(13)
Like a human hand.
She tried to twist to see what—or who—had gotten hold of her. Was Jen playing a prank? They used to horse around in the lake in high school, having chicken fights. Tiffany would sit on Jason’s shoulders in her bra and panties while Jen sat on Patrick or Freddy’s, and the others would egg them on from shore. Jen always won, needless to say. Who else would it be? The summer camp kids wouldn’t swim out this far, and anyway, Uncle Vic would never allow them in the lake at nightfall.
In the murky dark of the lake’s bottom, Tiffany got an impression of a bare chest and a white face.
A blank white face, as if they were wearing a mask.
What the fuck? Who would wear a Slasher mask underwater? Tiffany kicked desperately, windmilling her arms with furious strokes. She was going to get away from this weirdo. She was petite, but she was strong. She’d been on the swim team. She performed gravity-defying cheer routines with her squad and had the trophies to prove it.
Tiffany broke the surface, lungs sucking in air. The hand tugged urgently again at her ankle and she expelled the breath she’d just greedily stolen.
“Hel—”
The scream cut short as the lake closed over her head. Her limbs thrashed. Her thoughts dissolved into panic. There was a wild animal inside her chest, straining against her breastbone, clawing to get out. It begged for oxygen. It told her if she just relaxed, opened her mouth, and let herself breathe, everything would be okay.
It was a liar.
She kicked and a hand clamped around her other ankle. Robbed of the use of her legs, her body convulsed in helpless spasms. Dark static overtook her vision, or maybe her struggling had kicked up the sand and gravel at the bottom of the lake.
Another hand clamped around her wrist. How many hands did this guy have? Tiffany shook it off, but then strong arms threaded under her armpits and hauled her upward. The grip around her ankles loosened and slipped away.
Her head resurfaced and she gasped like a dying fish, the sweet, sweet air filling her aching lungs.
A pale face peered down at her. It wasn’t a mask. Carrie was treading water behind her, holding her up as if Tiffany were a toddler at her first swim lesson. Tiffany should’ve felt indignant, but instead she was grateful. She gulped more air, unable to speak.
“Do you think you can stand? The lake should be shallow enough here,” Carrie said.
Tiffany nodded. Carrie loosened her death grip. Tiffany’s knees buckled as her toes touched the lake bottom, but Carrie looped an arm around her waist and kept her steady.
“She’s all right!” Carrie yelled as they hobbled for the beach. Patrick stood on the dock, wielding the barbecue spatula like a weapon. As if that could’ve helped Tiffany. Maybe it could’ve chased away the man who’d grabbed her. Patrick could’ve—flipped him to death?
A giggle burst from Tiffany’s lips, and then her shoulders started to shake. The lake’s surface was only at her knees now, and the night air rushed in to chill her wet skin. Her eyes burned and stung from the water running down from her scalp, and then she realized she was crying. Crying and shaking like a leaf in the wind, with Carrie of all people stopping her from blowing away.
Jen came running down from the cabin with a couple of towels. Tiffany’s feet hit sand and she would have collapsed if not for Carrie. Jen threw the towel over Tiffany’s shoulders and Carrie let go of her at last.
Freddy popped out of the cabin, the giant bag of chips under his arm. Jen handed Carrie the other towel. Shockingly, Carrie was only in her tank top and a pair of white bikini underpants, near-transparent from the water. That was a change. In high school, Carrie had been the kind of girl who got dressed in a bathroom stall for gym class. Now she plucked her discarded jeans and hiking boots off the scrubby grass, not caring that everyone could see her sticking her panty-clad ass in the air. But then the whole town had already seen her naked. She had nothing left to hide.
“Let’s get you by the fire,” Jen said, hustling Tiffany to the fire pit and sitting her down on a boulder.
“What happened?” Patrick asked, jogging toward them with Freddy trailing after him. Patrick collected her clothes and phone from the dock. Freddy offered the bag of chips. She shook her head. There was no room for food alongside the dread in her gut.
Jason and Mikey appeared, drawn by the commotion, Mikey striding out from the back door and Jason from around the front. Mikey had showered and put on a clean polo shirt—to impress Carrie, obviously—but Jason’s bare chest glistened with sweat and his hair was tousled and damp. He held the axe over his shoulder. Clearly they’d interrupted his log-splitting.
Tiffany opened her mouth and discovered she couldn’t form words properly. “S-someone tried to d-drown me.” Her teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. “He g-grabbed my ankles when I was swimming and tried to hold me under.”
The others gave cries of shock and dismay. “You’re shitting me,” Jen said, looking out across the lake.
Everyone followed her gaze, except Tiffany, who glanced at Jason. Her body trembled, though not from the chill. Was he sweaty, or was his hair wet from swimming? No, that was crazy. Jason would never hurt her.
The old Jason would never hurt her. She didn’t know about this Jason.
Carrie bit her lip. “I didn’t see anyone out there,” she said almost apologetically.
Tiffany swallowed. Jen rubbed her back. The fire was comforting, as was the ring of concerned friends around her. Warmth slowly seeped back into her body, inside and out. They’d all come to her aid. Even Carrie.