The mother sat on a rolling chair by the window, as the wind howled against the lake house. The window panes rattled as the fierce storm raged on. Even though her breathing was steady and her eyes drooped from exhaustion, she sat stiff with worry. Her eyes kept flicking to her husband asleep on the bed beside her.
He was sleeping like the dead. Like he always does.
She tried to stay awake, tried to fight her heavy eyelids until she finally let them drop, letting the sleep claim her.
Across the hall, her seven-year-old son tossed in bed. He wasn't sure if it was the storm but he always loved storms. He always slept best when it was raining heavily. But today, his legs were tangled in his sheets after all the twisting and turning.
That's when he heard it. The slow humming.
He suddenly pulled himself up to look out the window. The hum called to him, slow and heavy, from out in the storm which had now turned to a light drizzle of rain.
He slipped out of bed, running down the stairs after making sure he tiptoed from near his parents' room. His mother was a light sleeper, always catching him during his late-night ice cream stunts.
He ran all the way out of the open front door to the end of the pier, the smell of wet lavender following him. He was sick of it now. His mother was crazy about lavender and planted it in every nook and cranny of the lakehouse. The house was always filled with the smell either from the dried petals or from drops of essential oil she kept dropping in every candle.
The fat drops of rain fell over his shoulders as he peered down at the murky dark water illuminated by the full moon. His parents never let him get close to it by himself.
The hum seemed to surround him now and the lake called to him. His reflection smiled.
And then he felt the prickle. It started in his arm, running all the way up to the back of his neck, making the hairs stand up on itself. He quickly turned around and froze.
A large hooded figure stood dangerously close to him, its face completely masked under the shadows.
Before he could scream, its gloved hand shot out and wrapped tightly around the boy's left forearm. Pain exploded in his arm, searing through his blood. Like nothing he'd ever felt before.
That's when he screamed. His voice blared through the night as the figure's hand burned into him like electricity. His eyes filled with tears, dribbling down his face and chin staining his already wet shirt.
There was so much pain. He wanted it to stop. It had to stop.
He pulled away as hard as he could, but it was useless. The boy wasn't strong by any means.
Suddenly, the figure let go, the boy stumbled back, losing his footing on the slick wood with the force, and fell right into the dark waters of the lake. As his face dipped, he could still see the hood peering down at his form, still and silent.
The water swallowed him, cutting out the sound of the rain until all he could hear was the sound of the blood roaring in his ears. His lungs screamed for air and he thrashed violently until he saw the glow.
His forearm, right where the hooded figure had clamped him, was glowing. It was glowing with a mark that he couldn't quite make out. The glow pulsed like heartbeat and then completely fizzled out, leaving behind plain skin.
He didn't understand. But he didn't want to either because his lungs had started burning again, his vision was blurring and his eyes were slowly dropping closed, his brain ready to shut down. The darkness was going to claim him any second now.
And then air.
He gasped as he took mouthfuls of air into his lungs as someone lifted him out of the water. His father's face hovered over him, face wet and dripping. His mother stood on the pier, eyes wide and her lips pressed against her shaking hand.
"It's okay, my boy. Dad's got you now. Everything will be alright."
The boy clung to him, trembling and shaking as his mother wrapped him in a soft blanket.
He didn't realise how cold it had been. The wind was still howling and lashing at the windows. But his arm still burned.