The Curse of the Campfire Weenies by David Lubar Page A

faker,” I said, grabbing the plastic bag. Sure enough, there was a trace of mud left in the bottom. Joey must have tucked it inside his swimsuit before he swam out.
    â€œGot ya, sucker.”
    I shook my head. “You didn’t fool me for a minute.”
    â€œYes, I did. I thought your eyes would pop out when I showed you that mud.”
    â€œMaybe you had me for a second or two.” I figured I could give him that much. He’d worked hard to pull off the trick. I had to admit it was pretty clever. I wished it weren’t a trick. It would be great to touch the bottom for real. Too bad we didn’t have some kind of air tank. I looked at the plastic bag. Maybe there was a way. I opened up the bag, then closed it, trapping air inside.
    â€œI’m going to do it,” I said.
    â€œWhat?” Joey asked.
    â€œMake it to the bottom.” I took a couple of deep breaths, then swam under the water.
    As I suspected, the bag was tough to bring down, but I hadn’t filled it too much. I swam as hard as I could, pulling myself deeper and deeper. When I thought my lungs would explode, I exhaled as much as I could; then I
put the bag to my lips, pinched my nose, and breathed in the air I’d brought with me.
    The bag gave me barely enough for a short gasp. It was a lot less than I’d expected. I sucked out all the air, then let the bag go and stroked hard.
    I knew I’d never been this far before. It was totally dark. I pushed deeper, hoping my fingers would meet mud or sand or even rock. I thought about the time last year we’d found a bluegill at the edge of the lake, gasping weakly as it drowned in the air. While the adults had stood around watching, Joey had stepped forward and put the fish back in the water.
    My lungs burned. I knew I’d have to turn away at any instant—the farther down I went, the longer it would take me to get back up. I’d reached my limit. Maybe next time, or next year, I’d make it.
    That’s when I saw the glow.
    Dim, weak, barely there. I blinked, wondering whether my air-starved brain was playing tricks on me. I’d read that divers start to see stuff if they go too deep or stay down too long. But tricks don’t get this real.
    The glow grew stronger, became a light.
    The light surrounded a moving form, maybe ten feet below me.
    I nearly screamed. That scream would have filled my lungs with water and cost me my life. I clamped my jaw so hard I thought my molars would crack.
    The creature had arms and legs. But no hands or feet. The limbs ended in tentacles. It struggled upward, whipping
at the water, slowly pulling itself higher, like someone climbing a steep hill. As it got closer, I realized it was huge—at least three or four times as big as a person. Our eyes locked. It stared at me with large, round orbs of white, each speckled with a thousand pupils that dilated at the sight of me. Intelligent eyes. I couldn’t pretend this was a dumb sea creature—not when its waist was wrapped in fabric that was fastened with a wide belt. Not when it wore an intricately braided band of metal around one tentacle.
    The last tiny bubble of air spilled from my mouth.
    Below me, a stream of something drifted from a slit beneath the creature’s eyes. Mud, silt, some form of earth.
    I’d come as far as I could, as deep as possible.
    As I turned and stroked for the surface, I saw the creature do the same, heading back to whatever world it dwelled in beneath the bottom, its dense body dropping just as my buoyant body rose.
    We shared a common failed effort.
    I’d failed to reach the bottom.
    It had failed to reach the surface.
    The pale body reminded me of the time I’d been hiking with my uncle Ron. When we’d stopped to rest, I’d reached down and lifted a fallen log. Dozens of larvae wriggled on the exposed ground, blind and helpless. Before I could put the log back, Uncle Ron picked up a rock and smashed the