New story: "The Lake" - just in time for Halloween...

It's getting closer and there's nothing he can do about it. He can hear it out there in the dark, snuffling and shuffling ever closer. He looks down at the wadded cloth that he has pressed to his side, now completely crimson-soaked. Thinking about it makes it somehow worse and his head starts to swim.

'No time for that now' he growls quietly and pulls himself to his feet with considerable effort. He wonders for a moment why he's even bothering to run, what he could possibly have left to live for after tonight. Worry about it later, he thinks with bleak pragmatism, survive now.

From across the lake lights shine and shimmer their way across the breeze-rippled water - dazzling outstretched fingers of civilisation. His nerves fire protests through his body as he lurches forward as stealthily as he can. Stumbling almost immediately, he feels something rip beneath the wadded cloth and an unwelcome sticky warmth spreads quickly across his finger tips.

A sharp gurgling sniff sounds out nearby followed by a silence that roars in the man's ears. For a moment there is no sound. Anywhere. He holds his breath wishing he could hear that rattling wheeze, place its position. Far off a child's cry skips weakly across the tranquil lake and fades away.

He stumbles on with a queasy lethargy imposing itself more and more upon his panicked state of mind. He's haemorrhaged beyond the point of caring and crashes toward the water's edge with a clumsy primal need, stumbling his snapping way through the noisy undergrowth. He ignores the low growl of the predator padding softly after.

Splashing into the shallows of the lake he stares with unfocussed eyes at the yellow warmth of the lake houses - so frustratingly close. He falls to his knees and lets his head loll back until the clear night starlight fills his tear-choked eyes. There's a delicate splish behind him announcing the predator's arrival.

His head rolls forward in despairing resignation until he sees salvation. A row boat is drifting in the lake not ten metres away. He has no time to think it through, no inclination even. He sees a chance to survive and without further thought leaps to his feet, fighting through the water to reach the boat.

The predator, reacts to this sudden movement with practiced and ruthless efficiency. Simply instinct.

A sudden, snarling flurry of splashing activity is heard and a man starts upright in his row boat.

'What was that?' he asks.

'What was what? Oh it could have been anything, Alan.' his companion replies shortly buttoning her blouse, 'Come on, let's get back, it's getting cold out.'

'Ok,' Alan replies and sets his oars before stopping a moment. A short way away he sees a figure dragging something from the lake back into the darkness of the midnight forest.

'Now Alan,' snaps the woman, trembling.

Alan shakes the sight from his thoughts and turns his head toward the warm yellow lights of home.

By Mark Clarke

Request for autumn/winter 2008 short story submissions

Shortfolio is currently looking for more 500-word short stories, following some amazing submissions over the summer.

So if you've got a short story hidden on your hard drive or floating around in the dark recesses of your mind, now's the time to send something in. Just email it to shortfolio@googlemail.com.

Happy writing...

A friendly conclusion

For those of you who have read A Friendly Rendezvous and Friendly Drinks by Mark Clarke, you can read the slightly lengthier short story that ties it the two together, A Friendly Conclusion.

Let's hope it all ends amicably...

Email from the author: Weighing in at close to a whopping 2,700 words, the conclusion to the 'Friendly' trilogy is more than five times the size of its forebears. Indulgent editing by Mr Clarke, or a necessity in terms of tying up all of the convoluted plot lines? Only one way to find out... Let me know what y'all think.