The Locker by Richie Tankersley Cusick Page A

bridge. Broken boards sagged beneath the weight of the car, and in the glare of the headlights I could see what looked like a deep ravine yawning below. Shuddering a little, I drew back inside and watched as the dirt road sloped up a gentle rise, and wound through another stretch of woods, widening at last into a shadowy clearing, where it promptly dead-ended.
    â€œThat’s our place,” Tyler said.
    I looked out at the small wooden cabin, its roof and porch and stone chimney practically swallowed by the surrounding trees. Dormer windows jutted out from the second floor, all of them heavily shuttered, and the encircling yard was tangled with weeds and dead leaves and fallen tree limbs.
    â€œThe Taj Mahal it’s not,” Tyler added. He stopped the car and turned off the ignition, glancing over at me with a shrug. “But we like it. Once we get it cleaned up for the summer, we spend lots of time here. It’s a great place to bring friends. Lots of privacy.”
    He shoved open his door and climbed out, motioning me to follow.
    â€œThat’s the river down there,” he said, heading around to one side of the cabin. “It’s high right now—we’ve had a lot of rain.”
    I could see now that the cabin was built at the top of an embankment. As Tyler walked to the edge, I came up behind him and gazed down into the muddy water below. A flight of wooden steps led down to a narrow dock, but I could hardly see it for all the overhanging trees. The place looked dark and spooky, and I pulled back nervously, all too conscious of the spongy ground underfoot.
    â€œBe careful, it’s slippery,” Tyler warned me, reaching out for my hand. “You’d think we’d be safe here, wouldn’t you, being up this far? But the truth is, a few good storms set in, and it’s nothing for that water to come right over the bank. I’ve seen it flood so bad, we’ve had to leave the car way back down the road and paddle the boat in over the bridge.”
    I couldn’t even picture the river rising this high. As Tyler let go of my hand and turned back toward the cabin, I lingered behind, taking another peek at the dock. The bank was matted with weeds and twisted clumps of tree roots, and as I stared, something slithered out of the shadows and into the murky water. Nervously I redirected my gaze to the middle of the river, where I could see a slow, lazy current swirling along. But down there along the bank the water didn’t seem to be moving at all—just lying there deep and thick and stagnant …
    Dead …
    A chill crept up my arms.
    Suddenly, more than anything else, I wanted to get back to the safety of the car.
    I started to turn, and to my horror, felt my foot slipping in the mud. Panicking, I whirled around and gasped.
    I hadn’t heard Tyler come up behind me. I thought he’d gone into the cabin.
    But now, as I locked eyes with him, I also felt something hit my arm, shoving me off balance.
    I grabbed wildly for something— anything —to hold on to.
    But there was only the wet ground dissolving beneath my shoes, and the shrill echo of my scream, and the endless rush of dank, dark air as I plunged into nothingness.

8

    M arlee! Are you okay!”
    I might have been out for a second or two—I’m not really sure. There was just that endless sensation of falling, and the bone-jarring impact, and then everything finally began to focus again, all blurs and slow motion.
    I tried to move but couldn’t. I felt like something was trapping me—something huge and alive—and sucking me down into a bottomless hole.
    The first thing I saw clearly was Tyler sliding down the embankment after me, and I remember thinking in some weird corner of my mind that it was a miracle he was even staying on his feet at that crazy angle. The next thing I saw was his face above mine, and he looked scared to death.
    â€œMarlee—can you hear me?