A Dark Night in Alaska

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        Today, on a small, unnamed lake in Alaska, I am walking around my neighborhood. My neighborhood is not your, would you say, normal neighborhood. It’s a bunch of fishing shacks on ice. We live by fishing. Fish is one of the only foods in this area, and it’s free. After a while, the fish tastes cold, lonely, and bland, but I have to get used to it, even though I have lived here forever. It’s an interesting life. Making sure the ice won’t crack beneath your feet at any second, worrying about your hut falling under the cold, Alaskan waters. We must have heat in our shacks, but if it is turned up even slightly too high, the shack will sink like Davy Jones’s locker. Here in Alaska, we like our scary tales, and stories. Most of the time, they are fake, but, but this one, this one wasn’t a normal story. This one was real! I think about it when I worry about falling through the ice. I wouldn’t want to go down and see, it… It is smooth, and scaly, and slimy. Dark. Like it came from a nightmare. I’ve been told the story since I was a small child, and I think about it daily. If I fall through the ice, I would be ground up, and chewed and spit out. The tale goes that it doesn’t just exist in our lake, it exists in almost every lake. Even the one you may think is safe, may have the monster in it, lurking in the deep.

        Today, I am going out and getting some bread from the market down the way. I slip on my boots, which are cold, like the water below. My jacket, which gives chills like the air, and my pants, which tingle like frostbite. The cool breeze is whistling off the shack, like a dull, ghost like sound. I walk out of the shack, slowly opening the creaky door. The wind whistles off the door, and when I stopped holding it, the door slams shut from the winds strong, merciless blow. I step on the ice. I hear a cracking sound. Nothing out of the normal for the ice to do, and without caring, I start my trip through the shacks to the town shop. It is getting dark outside. It is always creepy here at night. Only a few shacks have lights on, and mine was one of them. It is considered very dangerous to travel on the ice at night because you cannot see weak points in the ice, but I am used to it since I have been doing the run to the store since I was a young boy. I weighed less, so it always made more sense for me to go and get groceries. I am about 100 feet from shore. I hear a cracking sound again, but this time, a little more puncturing. It sounds more like a crunch than a crack. I am not on the shoreline, and I look back to see all of the shacks, minimal lights on, and sounds of cheap radios with the news playing.

        I walk up the side edge of the lake to the shop that overlooks the lake. It is like an old shack, almost reminding of an old, abandoned building, except it has lights and a non-deceased person working the counter. I walk inside, and hear the small yellow bell jingle as the door moves swiftly open.

        “Hello there! How may I help you on this cold night?” the clerk says to me.

        I respond by saying I just need a loaf of bread, and maybe a small hard candy. He gets me a loaf of bread and throws in a small candy, and warns me before I leave that the ice is thin tonight, so be careful. I take what he said very lightly because no one has fallen into the ice in years.

        I am now walking out the door, and the bell jingles again, and the whistle of the wind against the door sends a shiver down my body. I walk across the small road, and get to the edge of the ice. I have a nervous, shallow feeling as I step my first step on the ice. It chills me again, but I continue to ignore it. I put my other foot on the ice, and I hear a cracking sound. It sounds even more vile than the ones earlier, like it will break under my feet. I am now walking back to the shack, and I hear one more crack as i’m about halfway to the shack. I stop for a second and look down to see the ice about to crack. I move off of that spot, and sit down near it to take a quick rest before the rest of my journey back to the shack.

         I hear a startling crack as I am now sitting down. I look down, and see cracks like spider webs in the ice for 5 feet in each direction. I try to get up, but my snow gear makes it almost impossible! I start to get worried! I start to move my feet and arms closer to the edge of the cracking, and now i’m only 5 inches away from the edge of the cracks when I hear another crack. I fall into the ice! I am under water! I try to swim up only to find the ice above me! I must have moved from the hole I fell in! I look down, even though it’s a known bad idea. I now see eyes. Red, nauseating eyes. I try to crack the ice for a few seconds while holding the last bit of breath I have in me! I look down again to see the eyes only 2 feet away. It’s skin is dark, and, and smooth. I’m trying to break the ice again. I’ve got a small crack now that is big enough to put my hand through! I look down again. I feel a tingling on my foot. I see teeth. Sharp pointy teeth in my leg. Red eyes staring at me like the devil stares at sinners. I can’t hold my breath anymore. I see it grabbing on my leg, and I feel it pulling me down. I….can’t…..breath……..


  • Cool writing, but to me it seems like the story is switching from past to present tense. A bit confusing but anyways the story is good.

    • Its trying to be all present tense, but here and there, it gets hard to do that.

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