The Phantom Fish

 By Hadassah W.

Jem filled his lungs at the edge of the swimming hole and shot the other boy a hard look. Will Sterling always thought he was better than him. Maybe, sometimes, he was. But not today. With adrenaline surging through his veins, he plunged into the water. It was cold but restoring in contrast to the furious summer heat.

Thirty seconds went by—then a minute. Jem’s lungs tore at his chest, and he kicked up from the sandy earth. Exploding into warm air, he breathed once again. Slapping dark, shaggy hair out of his eyes, he swiveled to peer at Will.

He was snickering with laughter. “I stayed under a full two minutes,” he taunted from where he crouched on the bank.

Jem scowled, spitting. “Fake,” he accused, “No one could do that.”

Will jutted out his chin. “I could.”

Jem swam to the edge of the hole and reached for the vegetation growing along the rocky incline. “Prove it.”

“Alright. I will.”

Splash!

Alarmed, Jem twisted and hunted the shore, then the heaving surface of the swimming hole. There was no trace of Will. “Where’d you…” Before he could finish, a head darted up and Will beat the water, spraying him with freezing liquid.

Jem sputtered, tearing at his eyes. “Roasted rattlesnakes!” He glared. “Will you ever grow up?”

Will smiled impishly, treading water with easy confidence. His unruly black curls were saturated, and he tossed them back with a flick of his head. “Not if it means I get to watch you turn purple trying to beat me.”

Jem lunged for him, and in an instant the swimming hole churned with splashing arms and sharp yelps as the two of them grappled like half-wild pups; neither willing to give an inch.

At last, still gasping but grinning despite themselves, they hauled their soaked, shivering bodies onto the bank, letting the sun do its work.

Will regarded him grimly, and he met the look, feeling his resentment ease, replaced by shame. “Sorry,” he said simply, then added inwardly, Forgive me, Lord? I shouldn’t care so much about Will’s boasting.

Will shrugged. “Me too. But I still think I can stay underwater longer than anyone alive.”

Jem shook his head. “You can’t.” He winced. There he went again, still quarrelling. I need your help, Lord.

Will’s eyes flashed. “Yeah? Well—”

“I should probably head home,” he interrupted quickly, hoping Will would let it go. “Ellie’s gonna throw a fit I didn’t let her come with us today.” He started to rise but Will caught his wrist. He looked down, worried the other boy was still upset. “What?”

Will hesitated. “I saw something in there earlier.”

“The water?”

Will nodded.

“What was it?”

Will bit his lip. “Something big and dark.”

Jem frowned. “You mean like a phantom fish?”

This brought terror into Will’s face; he wasn’t as brave as he made himself out to be. His grip on Jem’s arm tightened until it became painful. “We were in there with it, Jem,” he gasped.

Jem frowned. For once, the boy was right. “Show me,” he urged, sliding his protesting limb out of Will’s reach.

Will gulped. “If you insist.”

Together, they dove back into the water. The lake closed over Jem’s head with a cool, muffling hush. At first he saw nothing but wavering green light and the white glint of Will’s feet ahead of him. Then, as his eyes adjusted, the bottom settled into pale sand, shelves of stone, and a tumble of old branches lodged in a deeper pocket near the far side of the hole.

Will pointed with a trembling hand. Beyond the branches, something moved—slowly, almost lazily—yet it was far too large to be any trout Jem had ever seen. Its shape slid behind a curtain of sediment, long and dark, with a glimmer along one side that caught the sun like a dull coin.

Don’t let it be dangerous. Jem booted forward before he could think better of it. Behind him, Will seized the back of his shirt as if to stop him, then lost his grip. The dark thing seemed to pause among the branches, and for one strange moment Jem had the wild notion that it was watching them.

He reached the sunken tangle and grabbed a branch to steady himself. The shape turned. It was not a fish at all, but an old rowboat lying on its side in the deep pocket, one end buried in mud. Waterlogged weeds streamed from it like hair, and trapped beneath a rib of cracked wood, a creature thrashed, silver scales flashing in frightened bursts. In the uncertain light, the boat’s broken shadow had made the fish seem enormous.

Jem wedged both hands under the splintered plank and heaved. It shifted only an inch, but it was enough. The trout shot free in a blur and vanished into the murk.

Startled, Will nearly swallowed half the swimming hole in relief, and the two of them thrust hard for the surface. They burst out of the water, coughing, and clawed their way back onto the bank.

Will let out a shaky laugh. “Phantom fish?”

Jem might have laughed too, if he had not glanced back at the water and seen, just for an instant, the edge of the old boat rocking, though everything else was still. He wiped his mouth and stood. “That boat hasn’t got there by itself,” he said quietly.

Suddenly the swimming hole did not feel like a place for games anymore.