The Feet Eaters
By Paul Abbamondi

t night, the lake appeared to be made of oil. Rippling waves of black and white faded toward the shore in mesmerizing murmurs, glistening like wet onyx. Marie perched on the dock, her feet dangling off its edge and dipping into the cool, black water, swaying to the beat of light waves breaking against dirt and rocks.

Mother told her no more swimming at night. Too many feet eaters come to the water’s surface then, with webbed hands curled like claws and tongues as long as eels.

“They’ll eat your feet in one bite,” she had said, “and you can’t very much swim without feet. That’s when they take you below.”

Marie didn’t believe in those kinds of stories. She knew Mother just said them to scare her and her brothers. This was the fifth summer Marie’s family had been coming to the lake, and she had never seen anything in the lake other than Teeter. He was the local turtle with a medium-sized shell that had faded to a sickly yellow a long time ago. Marie liked him, and she believed he liked her.

Marie turned and looked down the dock at the cabin they always stayed at. The flicker of artificial light flashed across its curtained windows; she hated the idea of sitting inside watching television.

She shivered. She had been sitting on the dock in only her bathing suit for nearly half an hour now.

“Come for a swim,” the water murmured, bubbling at her feet.

Marie shook her head. What was that? Teeter?

Another gush of cold air blew past her, pushing at her until she jumped in.

Splash.

* * * * *

The water stung at first, but Marie treaded water until it felt like she was in a tepid bath. Pieces of grass resembling silver snakes in the moonlight floated next to her. Marie swam out to the middle of the lake using all the techniques she had learned at her swimming lessons for the past three years. The breaststroke, the backstroke, the butterfly.

Then she was there, floating on her back, letting the water bob her body up and down. She looked up into the night; only dim stars winked back at her. Out here, in the deep chill of nature, she was alive.

“Enjoying the swim, lovely?”

The water was murmuring to her again.

Marie had been raised on proper manners.

“Be wary of strangers, but if you have to speak, be polite,” Mother had always taught her.
“Yes, I’m enjoying the lake quite nicely, thank you,” Marie said. Then, when all she heard was the gurgle of water against her skin, she said, “Who are you?”

Something brushed past her in the water, and Marie yelped. She hadn’t meant to, but she did. She turned to look at the cabin, but its door remained shut, lights flashing inside at rapid speeds.

“We’re the keepers of the lake.”

“Hello,” Marie replied.

“Welcome to our home, lovely.”

* * * * *

Marie forgot about the water murmurs when Teeter suddenly paddled over to her. In the night, the turtle looked like a pitch-black bowling ball motoring toward her at an elaborately slow speed.

“Teeter!” she exclaimed. At the sound of her squeal Teeter submerged himself, disappearing into the blackness that was the water below her. “Where are you going?”

Then Marie felt a sharp pang flare up her left leg, and for a moment, she was pulled under. She spat water out of her mouth and wiped her eyes dry; what was that? Some kind of fish? Teeter?

The feet eaters?

“Welcome to our home, lovely,” the water murmured, waves gurgling like laughter.

This time Marie was pulled farther under the water, and then the pang scorched her legs again, starting like a tiny fire at her ankles then exploding at her thighs. Something held her down. In the darkness, she saw nothing but flashes of red and green. A scream exploded in a rising tower of bubbles. The water around her turned warm, and though she could not see it she knew it was either urine or blood. The pain in her legs told her it was the latter.

Something rubbed her feet. Marie kicked, trying to knock whatever it was away and push herself to the surface, but nothing happened. She didn’t move. The pain numbed, her legs no longer on fire.

Marie felt her chest grow heavy, her lungs filling with murky water. She began to sink, and as she did, Teeter swam up to her and nipped affectionately twice at her neck.

* * * * *

Ten minutes later Marie opened her eyes, saw the world beneath the lake, and breathed. She was alive. Her feet were gone, the stumps now wrapped in seaweed. In her new home, feet were obsolete.

“Welcome, lovely. Are you happy here?”

Marie was sitting on top of Teeter’s shell at the bottom of the lake. From here, the world was a different place: what she used to think was just muck and seaweed was now beautiful and elegant.

“Yes,” she said. Tiny bubbles projected out of the slits Teeter had bit into her neck. “Though my family will be missing me soon.”

A push of water brought Marie’s hands up to her face. She watched as her fingers curled in, webs connecting each digit and green-blue scales growing over her light pink skin. Sharp nails grew out of her fingertips.

“Bring them home then, lovely,” the water murmured. “Take their feet. Bring them home.”

Marie took another look at the world underneath the lake. It was quiet, and dark. Teeter moved slightly, stirring up a thin cloud of dirt. It swirled with a grace she had never known.

"I will,” Marie said, pushing off Teeter’s shell. She floated facedown to the surface, ready to wait for Mother to come, ready to take her away from the death glow of the television and to the elegance that rested below.

Discuss this story in our forums