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Loch Ness by Bits of Kinky

Short story By: BITSxOFxKINKY
Non-fiction



Most of us have heard of the Loch Ness Monster Believe in Nessie or not that lake has a strange atmosphere around it this is a short story about a visit to the loch quite a few years ago now ...


Submitted:May 27, 2012    Reads: 66    Comments: 1    Likes: 2   


Loch Ness

Staggering out of the tent my bare foot catches the lip of canvas at the partially unzipped door. My hand squishes into the cold dew covered grass keeping me from crashing down face first. Standing, I rub my hand down my jeans to wipe off the dewy damp and cold. Shivering in the early morning freshness, I rummage as quietly as possible amid the pile of shoes just inside the tent flap. Sliding cold wet feet from the grass into the trainers that are even colder from the nights chill. Shivering I grab the nearest coat, and wrap it around me. Dad's coat is way to big, but folding the way to long sleeves up, my hands can reach out the sleeves.

Swathed in dads big fleecy coat, I waddle to the boxes near the stone ringed fire pit we had made. Only a heap of ashes remained inside the stone ring, grabbing a small branch from the gathered log pile I rake at the ashes hopefully, and I'm rewarded with a few steamy embers. Breaking up some smaller twigs trying to be as quite as possible, not wanting to awaken my still sleeping family inside the tent. Snap, Snap, how can you snap wood quietly? I look back at the tent with each snap.

Finally, a small pile of small twigs are nested over the hottest part of ash and ambers. I bend as close as possible my nose almost brushing the wood. Taking a deep breath, I blow onto the hopefully still living fire. Dead ash wafts everywhere, shutting my eyes to the billowing dust cloud I keep blowing as I crack my eyes back open a bit. Slitted eyes watch as the embers glow under my exhaled breath. Gulping in ashy air I blow again and again, dizziness rewarded when I see a flicker of tiny flame. Blowing gently I watch as my breath fans the fire back to life.

Tiny flames catch hold of the small twigs and hungrily leap over them. Squatting on my heels I slowly feed more twigs and then slowly bigger branches onto the fire now alive with new life. Only when I place a few large logs on top and I'm sure it wont go out do I stand again stamping a numbing cramp from my legs. The heat radiating against me feels good.

I find a plastic mug and grimace at the old tea with a spider swimming in the dregs at the bottom. Moving the kettle around I swirl the contents as I take it and the cup to the waters edge where I wash out the spider. "Oh dear, spiders can't swim, what a pity." I smile wickedly pleased, I have never liked spiders. As I dip the kettle into the water the gurgling, glug, glug, of the water as it fills the spout sounds so cheery almost a beat I could sing to.

Balancing the metal grille mesh on the big stone ring I place the kettle on top. It will be nice for them to wake up to a cuppa. I pour myself a cold limeade drink from a large bottle, its flat and stale no fizz left in it, but its wet and sweet. I stuff two chocolate biscuit bars in the coat's pocket and holding a packet of crisps I carefully balance the cup so not to slop it as I go. I scramble my way up a finger of rocks sticking out into the lake. Finding a large flat stone I sit munching and slurping my breakfast as I stare at the water and the tents.

Our two family's had set off at dawn the day before driving in two cars. It had been fun the first two or three hours Dad's playing the overtaking game, us kids waving as we did, then playing the normal travelling games you do as a family. Then the long drive became tedious only broken with toilet and stretching leg breaks.

The day was ending as we pulled into the field where we were going to camp, it was raining lightly and threatened more. We pitched our tents, and then the kids were sent into the woods time and again, gofforring as we called it .. go for this go for that. I think it was just to get us out of the way, because we would never burn up all that wood we stacked.

We feasted on fish and chips that the dads got for us in a small village somewhere nearby. Soon after, we were in our sleeping bags listening to the rain beat a tattoo on the canvas above us as we drifted to sleep. This was our first holiday our family's had spent together. My cousins are about our ages and this was to be a fun trip. Enough of that, I scrunch the empty wrappers into Dad's coat pockets, swallow the last dregs of pop, and that goes into another pocket with some difficulty. I must remember to remove them or dad will have a surprise.

A high pitched chirp from the Scots fir tree behind me made me swivel looking amid the thorny green needles for the bird now happily warbling away. His cheery song seemed to be the wake up call the trees around came to life with bird whistles and chirps. The warning cries of dawns arrival, instead of the light slowly creeping across the water in front of me it seemed to flow outward with a rush. Where gloomy darkness had reflected onto even gloomier dark water, the light lifted up the gloominess shredding it into early morning lightness. Misty tendrils swirled over the water clinging on to the surface as long as possible until the suns rays would finally cast them away. A tentacle of damp foggy fingers reached towards me, its soggy chilled breath stroking across any exposed skin. Warning me that night was still with me and the promised hot summers day wasn't quite here yet.

The shrill sound of the whistling kettle shook me from my thoughts, I jumped down from the rocks and ran to the fire. Using dads sleeve I push the kettle off the hot flames and the whistle slowly peters out from a scream down to a weary moan. I busy myself setting up cups for teas or coffee preferences and butter bread ready for bacon sandwiches that I knew Mum had planned for breakfast. Peeking into the tent, the sleeping humps of my family hadn't stirred with the noise of the kettle.

The sun had been waiting until my back was turned before it showed the top of its bright head over the mountain. Catching me out. My feet crunched over small pebbles as I descended down the gentle slope of the stony beach to the lakes shoreline. My eyes slowly climbed up the steep slope on the other side of the lake, where the mountain standing guardian over that side cast its shadow over the water into a deep reflection of its forbidding height. Trees clung to its lower slopes but they petered out as the mountain's slope changed to bushy ferns with rocky outcrops and eventually to the craggy rocks and grass at its summit which was bathed in the morning sunlight. Back framing behind this lakeside mountain were peaks and summits of even higher ranges, just their tips bathed in sunlight shone bright.

Early morning mist was burned away by the strength of the sun's heat, revealing a gorgeous blue sky. Just a few fluffy cotton wool clouds hung over distant summits, I followed the flight of a bird souring on a thermal its path bringing it low down to the rippled surface of the water. The lakes depth kept the waters surface appearing dark and it held the reflection of the bird as a mirrored image as it lazily flapped its wings the mountains captured clear as a backdrop.

With the toe of my shoe I kicked amongst the smoothed stones at my feet, looking for a nice and flat rounded stone. Scooping up a likely candidate, I run my finger over its weathered smooth surface. Bending low my arm swings back with the pebble held flat in my hand. With a fast slinging motion my finger tips clip it into a spin as its released from my palm. The stone sales away in a flat trajectory out over the water, plink, plink, plop it skims the surface. It touches the water ricocheting off again in jumps repeating again until it clips a ripple and with a small splash it sinks into the depths.

"Two-er not bad for first go." The sound of my voice startles me, it sounds strange, as if the water had caught hold of the sound in its wet hands, held on to it for a short while, then threw it back at me. Similar to the echo in an empty room or underground cave, but this didn't repeat off into the distance it just got swallowed up after the first echo. My skin broke into goosebumps even though I didn't no why.

Probably just the spooky story's Uncle Bob had told us last night. Those scary tales of the Loch Ness monster. "Well you don't scare me Nessie," I call out over the water bravely as my arm builds to a rhythm as I skip stone after stone. "I bet you cant skim a six-er," not to sure if I could either my best was a five-er. Even with my courage of challenging a sea monster to a skimming game, I kept a weary eye on the lake for any unusual splash moving ripple or floating object. I knew Nessie didn't exist, but well, you never knew for sure. That is just a log floating out there, isn't it.

"BOO" I jumped out of my skin as my sisters hand slapped on my shoulder as she shouted in my ear. Laughing at my spooked face, "Ha Ha Scared you did you think I was the monster coming to gobble you up."

Turning away so she wouldn't see the truth in my eyes, I flick a stone lazily across the water and am rewarded by five jumps. My sister takes up the challenge and so do the others as our camp site slowly comes to life and the kids join in a very noisy and fun competition. The smell of bacon soon pulls us away from the lake.

We washed in the cold lake, but the heat of the sun removed the worst of the chill and the novelty of washing outdoors made the water fun. We shut up the tents and in a chattering group headed around the shore hiking up towards the ruined castle. We kids ran, scampering ahead then back to the slower adults only to be attracted by something and charging off again.

We assaulted the castle, a noisy riotous group of play battle warriors, branches for swords as we went unheeding shouts from adults ringing in our ears. As the war gained momentum, the attack went downhill. It drove us back to the lake's stony beach. Needing the advantage of height against my foes taller stature, I climbed on to a fallen tree at the waters edge. I was a fearless warrior, I danced my way backwards parrying the thrusts of a sword that my cousin wielded.

The tree wasn't very high off the ground so the fall only stunned and winded more than hurt. I looked at my cousins face and laughed waving her concern away. Reaching over the tree she offered me her hand to get my butt of the ground. I couldn't move, releasing her hand I feel under my thigh, pulling it out when it found a very tender spot. Red blood coated my fingers, glistening wetly in the sun as I wiggled my fingers at her.

The Rusty old long nail protruded four inches out of the plank of wood, that was jammed tight under the tree. No other nail or sharp object anywhere near this area, but my thigh had found and became embedded into me. I was stuck, the nail that was going through the long plank had the weight of a tree across it. Only one thing to do, making sure the plank stayed down, I was pulled up off the nail. Yes, the hills echoed with my scream.

I was only ten years old. I was rushed to a local town hospital after we found out there was one. They cleaned me up, bandaged me, then the needles of anti biotic and tetanus peppered my ass cheeks. I emerged from the car's back seat when we got back to the tents. My leg swathed in bright crisp bandages, my mum just hugged me and said ."If there's an accident waiting to happen our Tracey Trash-can will find it."

I was installed on a chair lounger with my foot propped up, close to the fire so I could feed it wood. I felt a little hurt when the two mums and the rest of the kids moved off, up the beach to where a small river fed into the lake having great fun splashing and swimming without me. Uncle Bob disappeared to their tent. He came back carrying a long fishing rod. Dad and I watched as he moved up to the rocky outcrop that I had sat on this morning. He took up a stance and flicked the rod back and forwards until the line grew long whipping back and forth above his head. His arm swung forwards and the line whipped out over the water the hook and weight far away from the bank.

He reeled the line in, and cast again this time talking to Dad over his shoulder, telling him how to do it. He reeled the line in again, and passed the rod to my Dad, Uncle Bob then moved well away from the rock and stood near to me, but back a bit so I could watch. "The hooks are dangerous and in your Dad's hands they could fly anywhere." he whispered to me laughingly.

We watched as my Dad's arm starts moving in the steady overarm sway back and forth. The long thin whip like rod high above his head. The speed of his arm whipping back and forth caused the line to grow longer and longer. Unlike Uncle Bob's line his had stayed moving in a tight S shape in the sky. Dads seemed to coil around in a large figure of 8 circles of fishing line flashing through circular orbits faster than the eye could follow.

The scream from Uncle Bob, occurred at the same time as Dad's hand holding the rod stopped suddenly. Dad thought he had hooked a tree and reeled in fast, Stopping only when a squeal and curse ripped from Uncle Bob as he hopped around on one foot, hands flapping around his waist. Dad had hooked a big fish a Bobby Backside Fishy. Dad cut the line near Uncle Bob's bottom. Uncle bob refused the offer of pliers from the car's tool box, and instead, we took him to the towns local hospital again. It helped that they knew where it was.

Five days later our family climbed halfway up the highest mountain in the United Kingdom. We sat at the edge of an ice glacier eating a picnic. As we sat there a heard of deer roamed nearby. I still have the smooth rounded pebble of white quartz that I took from the foot of that glacier. Oh and I still have a tiny circular scar just below my butt and so does Uncle Bob the last time I talked to him.


By Tracey Owen & R.B.Rueby

copyright April 2010





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