Calling at the Lake

The voices are calling and Vicky cant resist.


1. A voice, better than an Angel.


The voices I couldn’t describe, they were more than beautiful, amazing and perfect, and I had no words that could describe them, they were more perfect than an angel would sound. They came from the lake, no one had been in since the accident. When that boy, Robbie Scott, drowned. No one has been in since, it was hard for me. I was captain of the swimming team and frequently took swims here.

This night the waves were like someone beating a piece of fabric, trying to get rid of dust. They were graceful and elegant and that’s not how you describe a wave. The lake opened out into the ocean through a narrow ridge, which was now overgrown with trees and plants. I watched as the pebbles were turned by the waves, gently, but strong enough to turn them without effort.

The singing continued, the same words being repeated: 


‘Come little Clownfish, come home to us, sing to your heart’s content,

 You know all it takes, is a few little steps.

We can give you what you want, all that you need,

Just come in the water.

Just have a little dip.’


They were hypnotic and I found myself standing at the edge of the water, staring out, looking for the owners of the voices. I shouldn’t go in the water, I knew better, shouldn’t even be at the lake, anywhere near it. I couldn’t see anyone, not even a shadow. One little dip couldn’t hurt, could it?

I stared at the pebbles, brown, white, pink, all rolling back and forth. The lake was disturbed, but there was no wind.

The voices pulled me to take my first step towards the icy edge, but the water was warm. Ripples formed as I took my first step, then the next and the next until I was knee deep in the water that seemed to tingle. I let out a moan; it felt so good to be back in the lake. I crouched down, fingers gliding through the water, still listening to the singing. I saw the small fish swim round my feet, twisting and turning.


The singing stopped, and I looked around. It couldn’t just ‘stop’ they had to keep going. I was glad when they started up again, and they were even more hypnotic.


‘Good little Clownfish, That wasn’t hard,

Now swim out to us, and have a little fun.

The water is calm and the moon shines bright,

Come and find out hidden secrets, all in one night,

It will all start,

When you have a little swim.’


I walked on a bit more until the water circled my waist. I looked at my trackie bottoms, puffing out, water flooding them. The bottom of my top, clinging to me for dear life until a wave came and made water splash up the my shirt. Goosebumps ran up my arms, I rubbed them, remembering poor Robbie Scott.


Was this the same way he died? Was there singing to him, luring him out. I wanted to know but my parents would be devastated, losing two children in three years. Yes Robbie Scott was my brother, who I loved so dearly, that was why I never came to the lake. It had so many good memories, but one bad enough to cancel out all of them. He was only sixteen, three years have gone past so would be nineteen, to this day. That was the only reason I was here.


I came on his birthday, the day he died, because I seemed to remember him best at this lake. He spent most of his time here, summer he swam and winter he skated. At this lake I could picture him swimming in front of me, trying to show off with his flips and tricks. He would come running out, his sandy hair soaked until it was near brown. He would come hugging me, soaking me before pulling me into the water with him. I was four years younger than him, twelve when he died. I was devastated, and swore I would never swim in this lake again, it had taken my only brother and in my eyes, there was nothing special about it when it took him, when it drowned him in the depths, and chucked him onto the beach, and yet here I stood, little Vicky Scott, lured out into the water, by the most wonderful, magnificent voices I have ever heard. 

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