[Rough Draft] Whirlpool

[I'm sorry I haven't been posting much here! Right now I have this strange paranoia that people might steal my rough draft ideas, or I might lose the right to them if I decide to finish and sell them later. Unfounded, I know, but the internet is a scary place.

Anyway, this is my rough draft for a short story called Whirlpool. I'd really appreciate any feedback on the characters, plot, anything that's unclear, etc. Otherwise, hope you enjoy it.]

Last week, my friend and I had to take a different route to school. See, these bullies in the next grade were starting to pick on Ben, so we decided to walk on a path none of the other kids did for school. It took us a bit longer and the new road was spooky, but we kept our lunch money this time - and it’s a good thing too, because we had a lot to discuss at lunch that day.

“Those jerks,” Ben complained, kicking rocks along the new route with added enthusiasm. “Who do they think they are? I can hang out with a girl if I want to, doesn’t make me weak,” He assured himself, looking at the me for encouragement.

“I can’t do anything for you. Those eighth-graders,” I sigh, “They don’t even listen to girls.” I ignore the rest of Ben’s complaints and self-reassurances while taking in my new surroundings. The only other way to school was full of huge old trees, this old mans house, and lots of broken stuff like children’s toys and shopping carts. The junk on the side of the road, tucked under the overgrown bushes looked like bones of old things forgotten, they gave me the chills.

Which is why the others wouldn’t follow us - no one takes this route. Stories have been around this old neighborhood for a long time, adults and kids talked about the creepy old man and his dog. Ben and me though, it was either this or the bullies. “Hey Ben, what’s that sound?” I asked him, stopping to quiet my footsteps.

“I’m not sure,” he replied, “Running water, maybe?” We both look at each other while trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. “It’s coming from around Old Man Walter’s house,” Ben sighed. None of the kids in our school would go by Old Man Walter’s. Actually, no one would go around Old Man Walter’s without a reason.

“But, there aren’t streams or nothin’ around here,” I recall, “That’s weird - we should check it out anyway. In and out, Old Man Walter’ll never know!” I quietly exclaim, checking Old Man Walter’s windows for signs of life.

“No way, we have to go to school,” Ben stated firmly, crossing his arms and continuing the onward march. Ben was more scared of Old Man Walter than me. The eighth-graders told weird stories about boys disappearing around Old Man Walter. I know they were just made up to make Ben nervous after the fat-jokes lost their impact, but he believed them anyway.

“It’ll just take a second,” I assure him, “C’moooooon, chicken.” Ben doesn’t respond much to begging, but he couldn’t stand to be called a chicken. He turns to face me, checks Old Man Walter’s house, and nods.

“In and out. Let’s go,” he commands. The area around Walter’s house was especially overgrown. Large mangled trees, bushes with long nasty thorns, weeds as tall as my legs! The trees were what gave me the creeps. They all looked darker than they should’ve been, the leaves, I mean. The branches twisted like they were reaching for every direction at once, trying to escape something horrible that happened there.

I shuddered at the thought, but my curiosity won my body. Pushing aside a thin branch, Ben was the first one through the small opening behind Old Man Walter’s fence. The opening faced away from Walter’s house, the trees and weeds were overtaking the area around this swampy area, with deep water in the center. It wasn’t much bigger than a kiddie swimming pool, and had loads of dolls, clothes, and a thing like a bicycle corpses sticking out of the ground around it. Moss was growing on everything, with slimy moss on the trees, and it smelled like my uncles basement after it flooded.

The ground was spongey and soggy - like the water covered more of the ground once, but it filled in with the muck and trash around it. The atmosphere was like we stepped into an alternate world. A really thick mist covered the high area around the trees branches, and the white mist extended downward toward the very center of the water.

“What...?” Ben stood staring at the funnel of mist. It was the question that brought my attention to the source of the running water sound. A really small whirlpool was visible in the middle of the water.

“Uh...” I aptly replied. “I don’t know what this is, a whirlpool or something? I didn’t know there was a lake here, either,” I said, unable to stop staring at the spiral.

“It’s not a lake, it’s too small,” Ben kindly corrected me. He too, couldn’t stop staring at the spiral in the water.

“We gotta get to class,” I remind us both, going back through the small opening that we made. Neither of us said anything the rest of the way to school. I thought about the whirlpool and our little secret Spot through all of my morning class, wondering why it was there. It looked so neat, swirling and spinning. The mist was really weird, too.

“Judy, it’s probably a vortex,” Ben informed me at lunch. “I went to the library instead of class. There were books on whirlpools - but, whirlpools are caused by two tides crashing into each other in the ocean, or something like a reverse tornado at the bottom of a waterfall. There aren’t any tides or waterfalls in that area at all.”

“So then, what’s a vortex? How’s that different?” I ask. I really didn’t know anything about these things.

“Well, a vortex can be caused by swirling air as well as water, and with that mist spiraling above it, it makes sense,” he stated. I didn’t question him, but I was secretly curious how swirling water and air could end up in this little swampy area.
“So, what does it do?” I ask, growing painfully curious about our phenomenon.

“I don’t know,” Ben admitted. “We should go back,” he stated, very seriously. Ben wasn’t one for spontaneous adventures, but when he makes up his mind - that’s it. I was actually eager to get back to the are as well, so I didn’t argue.

“I’ll bring my moms camera,” I told him, trying to be helpful. “Maybe we can get pictures of the mist and stuff to show Mr. Allen,” I offer.

“Alright, after school we’ll go to your house first to get the camera, then go back to The Spot,” he confirmed. Neither of us ate much of our lunch, just kind of picked at our macaroni and cheese. Our minds were too busy to think about food.

We got to The Spot just before dark, and took a bunch of pictures of the spiraling mist and vortex in the water. The area was unnaturally bright for how thick the trees were, like light was being forced through the mist instead of air.

We found some dry rocks to sit on, and watched the water. “What do you think it really is? I don’t feel any wind in here,” I observed aloud, really wondering what could cause this.

“I have no idea,” Ben said, “I couldn’t find anything about this specifically. Well, not in such a short amount of time. Maybe we can show those pictures to Mr. Allen soon. Your mom can develop the pictures tomorrow, right?” He asked. I nodded in response, feeling around me for some rocks or something to throw into the water.

I break off a branch from some dead wood sticking out of the ground and toss it toward the water. It doesn’t make a single sound when the branch hit the edge of the water, and the dead wood didn’t float, either. It was sucked beneath the surface while we watched.

“Uh,” I mutter, raising an eyebrow at Ben. “What does that mean?”

“It means one more question for Mr. Allen,” Ben offers. “C’mon Judy, let’s go home before it gets too cold,” he suggests. I hadn’t noticed the April air sneaking up on us, but it was definitely there. I agreed, and we headed home.

I took notes in my journal about what we discovered, and went to bed early. I didn’t sleep well, and wanted to call Ben to talk about it, but I didn’t.

On our way to school the next day, we couldn’t help but peek in on The Spot. We didn’t go all the way in this time, though. Old Man Walter let his dog out right after we stopped to look through the opening we made. “Hey, What’re you kids up to?” Walter demanded over the barks of his little shaggy grey dog. We both jumped pretty high.

“Nothing, Mr. Walter,” I lie. Ben stands up straighter than usual. His eyes widen and he begins to shift his weight, looking around nervously.

“I better not catch you in my yard, you,” Old Man Walter threatens, pointing at the tall grass.

“What yard, Mr. Walter?” I offer. It wasn’t a complete lie, the shabby fence and overgrown grass wasn’t exactly a yard.

“You snotty brat!” Walter shouted at me. Ben turned red and started to run toward school immediately. I followed quickly, snickering at Walter’s response. Ben was mad at me, and didn’t say anything during lunch, or on our walk home.

The silence had me a little stressed out. I felt bad for egging on Old Man Walter, but it happened and I couldn’t take it back. At dinner my family was a little tense, too. My dad asked me how school was, while my mom stabbed at her meatloaf.

“What is ‘The Spot?’” my mom asked after I went over my mundane school day. “Did you ditch school to go buy drugs at some secret place?” she demanded.

“What? What are you talking about, mom?” I asked, unsure what she was even going on about. She’s usually a normal person, but when she goes into evil-mom mode, she’ll go on forever like this.

“The Spot, Judy” she repeated sternly. “You wrote about it in that journal.”

I didn’t know what to say at first. I was really mad she went through my things, but she also accused me of lying and ditching school, and even doing drugs! I couldn’t decide what to be angry about first, so I just asked her, “What difference does it make? I went to class, but why is the name “The Spot” making you so weird? And who said anything about drugs?”

Her face turned red before she could speak. She didn’t like when I point out when she’s mad for no reason. “You’re making up stories and skipping school, that’s what! Where is this Spot at, anyway?” she shouted. She must have thought I spent the whole day actually at the spot, not just thinking about it.

“I didn’t skip to go down by Old Man Walter’s! And I am not making up stories! Why do you think it’s made-up?” I demanded, barely realizing I gave away our secret spot.

“There is no lake behind Mr. Walter’s house. You shouldn’t go around there! That old man is dangerous!” she shouted. My dad just looked at her, unwilling to draw her wrath he minded his own business and continued eating.

“It’s not a lake, mom, it’s too small - it’s a pond,” I corrected her. “And anyway, it’s none of your business,” I finished.

“That old man is bad news, Judy. You need to stay away from that house,” she went on like this for twenty minutes at least, I ignored most of her nagging and didn’t finish my dinner. I went straight to bed after I did the dishes, reminding myself that we had proof on the way so I wouldn’t even have to drag her down there to prove I wasn’t lying.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Ben when we met up before school. At first he didn’t respond, just looked like he was sulking.

“For what?” He finally asked.

“For the thing with Old Man Walter. I didn’t mean to make him mad,” I said.

“Fine,” Ben said. I noticed he was directing us toward our old route to school. It wasn’t until I saw the kids from class that I said anything.

“Why are we taking this way, Ben?” I asked, feeling more ashamed of getting Old Man Walter’s attention.

“Because we can’t go the other way. Walter will be waiting for us,” he suggested. Obviously his imagination had blown things a little out of proportion, probably my fault.

We were almost at school before the eighth-graders showed up. “What do you want, Derrick?” I asked the leader of the pack. He was taller than me, but skinny and full of ugly acne.

“Your money,” he responded, smirking. “And interest for the last two days, too,” he said. His two shorter, equally ugly friends laughed. Ben glared at them and tried to walk past. I followed, pushing through the two smaller guys.

“Not so fast,” Derrick said, punching Ben in the stomach. “I hear Old Man Walter wants a piece of you - but he only likes boys,” Derrick taunted. Ben fell to his knees, and the two short guys rummaged through his backpack, throwing papers and supplies all over until they found money.

I was next. “You got attitude, little girl,” Derrick said to me, standing close to me so he was looking down. “I wonder who wears the pants here? Maybe it’s you Walter is after,” He said, laughing at Ben still clutching his stomach.

Derrick slapped me, and pushed me over. My long brown hair covered my face, and my backpack rolled away from me. The goon squad repeated their daily ritual. No lunch for us, and it was my fault. Ben got up, but didn’t say anything to me. We picked up our things, and went to school.

Lunch was aggravating after I didn’t finish my dinner last night. “Sorry, Ben,” I repeated to my best friend, who’s stomach was rumbling as loud as mine. We discussed a way to get to school and go home, where we wouldn’t have to run into Old Man Walter or Derrick and his goons. We decided that showing up early, and going home late was the best option.

We didn’t discuss The Spot much, but the book “Maelstroms, Whirlpools, and Myth,” in Ben’s lap told me it was still on his mind, too. I sat in class drawing pictures of The Spot, thinking about how that vortex got there. I met Ben in the library and asked him more questions.

“Well, where did it come from?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied.

“What is it doing there?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied.

A lot of questions that even the book he was reading didn’t answer. Ben told me about the old myths that ships would get sucked into Whirlpools in the ocean, that there were monsters under the water making it swirl, and that they were believed to be portals by some superstitious people.

“But then, what is our vortex? It doesn’t look like any of these. It’s extra weird,” I said. Ben’s face told me I’d asked an obvious question that he simply can’t answer. We had no idea what it was.

At 5pm, two hours after the school day ended, we finally decided to head home. The day was lighter for longer, so we risked a peek at The Spot. It was still swirling, and still mushy. Nothing much had changed, except life had moved in since the days warmed up. Frogs, snakes, butterflies, and a few gnarly black birds were around now, making their home as the humidity rose with the temperature swampy Spot.

“Well, I don’t think it’s a portal,” I said smartly as we walked home, “Animals are sensitive to magic stuff, right?”

Ben rolled his eyes at me. “Portals aren’t Dungeons and Dragons style magic, Judy,” he stated, not offering any other solution.

We walked up the hill to my house and parted. My dad met me at the door with an envelope with pictures in it and warned me to be quiet at dinner. I guess mom was still in one of those moods. Dinner was silent, and I went to my room immediately after I cleaned my plate in record time. That reminded me why we needed our lunch money in the first place.

I got on the phone and called Ben as soon as I was alone. “Hey Ben, I got the pictures!” I told him, I was really excited to get some answers with our proof.
“That’s great!” he almost shouted into the phone. “Bring them to school tomorrow, we’ll show Mr. Allen.”

I agreed and hung up the phone. My stomachs butterflies were excited to learn more, half hoping this would prove that magic is real, or something like that. My dreams were of portals to other lands or between areas in the city.

Ben was walking really fast to school, he barely stopped to glance at The Spot as we walked by. I decided to speed things up and started running, Ben laughed and followed. I had the pictures in my backpack, but I hadn’t looked at them yet. I thought it wouldn’t be fair to look without Ben since they’re his Spot, too.

At lunch we grabbed a sandwich from the line and went immediately to the science wing. Mr. Allen’s office was at the end of the hallway, and he always ate in there. We knocked on his door, looking nervously at each other.

Mr. Allen is really slow, so it took him a minute to open the door, and when he did, Ben blurted out a million questions without even saying hello. I grabbed Ben’s arm suggesting he slow down, and greeted Mr. Allen.

“Hi, Mr. Allen. Ben and me have some questions about Whirlpools we’d like to ask you,” I said.

Mr. Allen chuckled, “So I guessed by Ben’s outburst. Come on in, let’s see what you’ve got.” Mr. Allen was always really nice to talk to. He wasn’t our science teacher this year, but whenever we had a problem, Mr. Allen was always willing to help.

In his office there was a padded couch, a large cluttered desk, a chair, and a small library of really old books. The first questions Ben asked, we already knew the answer to. Mr. Allen explained what Whirlpools are, and how they’re formed. He discussed Vortexes, and said that most of them are much more powerful than whirlpools, but caused in the sky instead of in the water, using tornadoes as an example.

When we got to the part about The Spot, Mr. Allen scrunched his forehead in thought. “I’m not sure, guys. I’ve never heard of a vortex appearing in a pond, or a tame tornado in a swamp,” he said. I smiled, ready to reveal our ace.

I pulled out the photos from their envelope and separated my mom’s pictures from ours. When I got to the pictures of The Spot, my stomach jumped. Ben stared at me in horror, like we’d messed up or something.

Each of the pictures merely showed a mucky, littered swamp. Trash and logs and things sticking out of a deeper bed of water - the small pool. Only, there was no mist, and no vortex in the water. The trees were still ominous, and the bushes were still thorny, and there was still really tall grass - but no vortex.

“Uh, well, I,” I stutter, really disappointed at the photos. Mr. Allen looks over his glasses at us.

“If you’re trying to pull an old man’s leg,” he began, “Good job!” He laughed. He was amused that we’d learned a bit about Whirlpools, and tried to stump him with a made-up phenomenon.

Ben’s face turned red and his eyes swelled up with tears. I slouched and tucked the photos away. “Mr. Allen, it’s not a joke,” I said, too shocked by our photos to really fight back or explain anymore. We left Mr. Allen’s office more disgruntled than we were before.

“What now?” I ask Ben, who’s face is stone still.

“I don’t know,” he replied. Ben liked figuring things out. When he’d get a bad grade, he was like this. This was his bad grade.

“Maybe we can figure it out,” I offered. I wanted to know more, too, but I’m not as smart as Ben. Maybe we could still do it, though. Ben just looked at me. “We can go take some notes, and observe tomorrow. Let’s go there, instead of school,” I suggest, hardly aware that I was suggesting we skip school.

We went to our afternoon classes, and it wasn’t until our late walk home that Ben responded to my offer.

“Yea, let’s come here tomorrow,” he said out of the blue.

“Really? What about Old Man Walter?” I ask, thinking about my moms warnings, and the fact that I agitated the old man the other day.

“Who cares? This is important,” Ben stated. His mind was made up.

We approached the opening to The Spot first thing in the morning very cautiously, keeping an eye out for Old Man Walter and his dog, or someone who might tell on us at school. When we made sure the coast was clear, we snuck through the entrance we made. In the daylight the mist looked blue, the water was a bright murky green.

I brought my journal from home since I couldn’t trust my mom with it. I took notes on everything we could see in it, and even things we couldn’t see but should have. Each piece of garbage, each branch and rock, what animals were around, and noticed that there was nothing floating in the water around the vortex.

I also described the area in detail, picking up everything from the color of the leaves, to what brand the shirt on the ground was, types of animals around, even the color of the slime on the trees. I started drawing pictures of the pond and the mist as best I could, when Ben started asking me things.

“What have you got down?” He asked first. I read him my list. “That’s good,” he said. “When you’re done with the sketch, I want to do some experiments,” he told me. I agreed. I finished the mist - it was darker with pencil, but I didn’t bring any colors with me.

Ben started gathering stuff around us. Mostly trash around us seemed easiest to throw in, I wrote them all down. First, Ben threw in an old red shoe that we found nearby. The shoe made no sound, and sunk out of sight.

“Shoe, no splash, sinks quickly,” Ben recited. I wrote it down. Next, he threw in a pedal from the bicycle. There was a faint sound, but no splash. It, too, sank quickly.

“Bike pedal, small sound, no splash, sinks quickly,” He said. Ben kept throwing things in the water trying to get a drastically different result. Even the handful of leaves I threw in weren’t floating in the water.

“Weird,” I said, just watching him throw things.

“We need something else. Something alive,” Ben said. Noticing the horrified look on my face, he just said, “It’s for science. And a frog can kick to the surface while a log can’t. Maybe we’ll figure something out.”

“Don’t throw it too hard,” I warned, allowing the experiment to go on. Ben spent about fifteen minutes trying to catch one of the frogs around us without making too much noise. I eventually helped, after a few failed dives for a frog left ben extra muddy.

We cornered a big fat frog inside a hallowed log. I didn’t want to touch it, so I just blocked one side so Ben could reach in and grab it.

“Gotcha,” he said triumphantly. “Now, let’s see how this is. Ready?” he asked me. I grabbed my pencil and now-soggy journal that I’d left on a log to help with the frog catching.

“Yea, go ahead,” I said. Ben threw the frog into the water. The big frog made a faint sound, and started kicking frantically. It’s legs were thrusting under the water quickly, but we couldn’t see it’s feet any longer. Ben turned green, and I felt especially guilty for the frog.

“Big frog, faint sound, no splash, unable to escape the current in spite of frantic kicking and natural buoyancy,” Ben recited, his voice cracking a little. I wrote down the information.

“Can you grab him, Ben?” I asked, wanting to help the frog. Ben kneeled next to the water, holding onto the biggest rock next to him. I stood up to help, anchoring myself behind him. Our clothes were soaked and covered in stinky mud, but Ben tried to grab the frog anyway.

He grabbed a hold of the frog, but couldn’t lift him from the water. He pulled as hard as he could, but the frog was stuck.

“I think he’s caught in something!” Ben almost shouted, “I can’t get him,” he let go of the frog. It took less than five dreadful minutes for the frantic frog to completely disappear in the water.

“Well, what does that mean?” I asked, still shaken and feeling bad for the poor frog.
“Uh,” Ben choked, “I think that means it’s stronger than it should be. Those books said vortexes were almost harmless at this size, like when you empty your sink and water spins around the drain,” He stated. He was obviously nervous about what we were dealing with.

“Maybe a log will float? Like, a big one,” I offer to help toss a large log into the water with him. Ben nods and starts looking for a large log that we can still carry.

“One, two, three,” Ben counts before we let go of the log. The mist crackles a bit when the log passes through, and it’s sucked beneath the surface of the water faster than the frog. I rush back to my journal and get ready to write down what Ben tells me.

“Large log, crackles in mist, sinks quickly without any other sound,” Ben recites. I write it down, wondering what the data will lead to. Ben seems unsatisfied with the same result over and over again.

“We need something bigger,” he suggests. He sits on the only other dry rock in the area, thinking about what else they could throw in. While he’s thinking, Ben leans his elbows on his knees, pushing all of his weight forward on his feet.

“What’re you kids doin’ back here again?” A voice startled us from behind. Old Man Walter was poking his head over his fence, watching us.

“Uhhh,” Ben blurted, “Nothing, Mr. Walter, just sitting here talking.” Ben said nervously, trying to stand up to leave. His shoes had sunk in the mud while we were thinking, and he couldn’t get out. We could hear the dog on the other side of the fence running back and forth. Old Man Walter stared at me and Ben’s muddy clothes.

“I told yew not to come ‘round here no more,” Old Man Walter scowled. “I guess Frost will have to get yew to leave now, won’t he?” He said, unlatching the gate to unleash the mangy dog.

Ben struggled harder with his shoes, trying to pull them out of the mud to get away from the dog. I stood up and tried to pull Ben free so we could both run, but his feet were thoroughly suctioned into the mud. I dropped my journal, and Ben was more concerned with that than himself.

“Don’t lose our research!” He shouted at me, now trying to untie his shoes. The small grey dog charged us, baring his teeth and barking rapidly. Old Man Walter was laughing over the fence as loud as he could. I grabbed for the notebook, and started kicking at Frost the dog.

“Get away, Frost, Get down!” I shouted, kicking at him.

“Hey, don’tchew kick my dog!” Old Man Walter shouted over the fence. He got off of whatever he was standing on and disappeared behind the fence.

“What do you want me to do, Ben?” I frantically ask, unsure if I should run or stand our ground.

“Go get my dad!” Ben shouted at me, still tugging his feet out of his shoes. Before I could leave, Ben’s feet came out of his shoes in a sickening slurp, and he tumbled backward toward the water.

“BEN!” I shout, rushing toward him, kicking the yapping dog into the thick mud of the swamp. I grabbed for Ben, but my muddy hands slipped from his, and he continued to tumble backward into the vortex.

The mist crackled when Ben’s body hit it, sending off small sparks before Ben hit the water. I turned away at the bright flash, while still reaching for him blindly.

“Ben, NO!” I dove toward the water once the flash disappeared, reaching for Ben’s outstretched hand. His eyes were terrified, but he couldn’t make a sound. I could see him shouting, but no noise made it through the mist. He had a strong grip on my wrist that hurt. I screamed in pain but kept trying to pull him out anyway.

After a few moments, Ben’s body disappeared below the surface of the water and his grip went limp, releasing my wrist. I sat in the mud, staring at the vortex until Old Man Walter’s voice snuck up behind me from somewhere - it was too dark to see now. I ran down the street and found a pay-phone. I called 9-11 and waited.

The police came, and asked me questions. None of them believed anything about a vortex. Why would they? Old Man Walter was there, they were questioning him as well. My best friend was swallowed by this vortex and now it’s gone. What’s worse, we didn’t learn anything to know how to get him back, or know where he went.

My mom told the officers that I’d been acting out and was making up stories, probably egging on Old Man Walter. I gave them my muddy journal and agreed to go home. I didn’t speak to my mom or dad, I just sat in the car staring at the flashing lights after the paramedics bandaged my bruised wrists.

Ben’s parents showed up, his mom was crying and his dad was yelling. They put out a missing persons report, told me I was lucky. They arrested Old Man Walter, saying all those crazy stories I heard since I was little were true, but only I knew what really happened.

Copyright © 2010 by Katrina Pawlowski