––––––––
Unable to get his rowboat to move in the soupy water, Lester Tarbell pulled in the oars that were coated with algae and wished he was closer to the bank of his property. He took stock of his situation; he was stuck in the middle of the lake and the bottom of his boat had caught on something.
The long shadows of twilight was creeping across the water. The air felt thick as syrup and smelled like rancid meat. Even while sitting absolutely still on the cushioned bench, sweat poured from his body. It was like being in a fetid sauna.
Light shone like beacons through the windows of his cabin that sat back from the water about fifteen yards. Night was falling quickly and the woods around the lake were being swallowed in blackness. Pinpricks of white stars dotted the moonless sky.
