Prologue:

                                                The Deep Is Best Left Deep

            The lake is calm, too calm. In the distance, a sign which reads K, M, & L Contractors shimmers in the afternoon sun. Cedar Creek Lake, I find myself thinking, well it is pretty damn deep. We've been pumping this damn thing for near a week and a half now and only half of the lake is gone. Course, the pumps breaking down and the two accidents haven't helped. The pumps have stopped and once again and none of us have even a damned clue as to why. At this rate, we'll still be draining this God-Forsaken lake by the time these "Boomer Kids" grow up to be old men and women.

            I used to fish on this lake, back when I was young; but here I am, in the Summer of '52, draining the lake knowing that my kid'll never fish in it. Okay, when I said that I fished "on" this lake, I meant I fished the lake from the shoreline. I never went out on the lake in a boat, only a tourist or a total idiot would do that. Close to two-hundred, TWO-HUNDRED have drowned in this lake over the years, makes ya wonder if it was worth floodin' the damn place to begin with. Settlers did that, ya know. Way back in the 1700's, they cut down trees to dam the Conococheague, as the natives called it, and flooded the very valley we are draining. More water for farming the foothills they chose to live in, I guess. Most think that it may have been that first Spring that lead to the building of the first dam. Something about how rains melted all the snow in the foothills, the creek swelled over spilling its banks, and wiped out half the settlement of Conococheague (named after the creek in honor of the natives that helped them survive the first Winter, later renamed Williamsport after the Revolutionary War). Damming the creek changed its course, shortening it some quarter of a mile. It dumps into the Potomac River at a distance that would have been safely away from the town then; but now the town is creeping up on the river on account of the "Boomers."  The dam was replaced with a stone one just before, and again shortly after, the Civil War. And now, he we are draining it. Good riddance, I say. Hopefully, we can make some headway now that the creek has been diverted away from the lake. With no more water coming in, we should be but those damn pumps keep breaking down.

            Mind you, I haven't been all around this here world (I'm only thirty and all); but if there was ever any reason to think a place was cursed, Cedar Creek Lake is that place. Too many queer accidents have happen here over the years… Damnit, I'm startin' to sound like one of the old-timers. Guess I'm just old for my years.

            "Tim!" The Foreman yells snapping me from my thoughts, "Get your ass over here!"

            "Yes Sir," I answer automatically before heading off in his direction. The Foreman is about my height, five-nine, though older and broader across the chest. He has dark brown hair, all though the Summer sun has begun to lighten it. Some of the guys say he has black eyes, like coal, and that when he gets all-riled-up, his eyes burn bright blue with fury. That's bullshit, if you ask me. No man has black eyes, do they?

            Hoping to have more luck, the lake is now sectioned off, but all six pumps managed to go down within minutes of each other. It's almost like something doesn't want this lake drained. Five roars to live near the back of the lake, the part that faces the neighboring township of Cedar Grove. Cedar Grove isn't as old as Williamsport and local legend says that Cedar Grove was founded by religious radicals that thought that the Spanish Inquisition was the greatest idea that the Church ever had. Legend says a few of those families were run out of town for stoning two young girls for being 'witches.' Needless to say, over the years, the towns became bitter rivals. Strange, now, that they're working together to drain this lake to build more housing. I guess it's 'cause neither town owns the land and neither town is going to own the new development. The Village of Deep Creek, they're going to call it, if it ever gets built.

            The Foreman stands near a boat in section 6. Section 6 sits on the shore closest to the road and is the side of the road that I'm standing on. Section 5 is opposite 6 and contains the creek's run-off. That run-off is where our hoses empty.

            "Turns out 5 didn't breakdown," the Foreman says, "They shut her down to move the hoses, 'cause they found something. I want you to come with me, Tim, and check it out."

            "Sure thing, Boss." I answer climbing into the boat right behind him. I begin to row the boat out to section 5. All the boat motors have been broken since about the third day, so we use the oars to get around. This is just another one of the many delays. Two men have drowned, though we never found their bodies. The police think that they washed into the river. Four other workers are missing. Only about fifteen of us are left now, most others quit after the second drowning. I'll be damned if I'm going to give up 75 cents an hour just because a couple guys got careless. And that's all that it was too, carelessness. After about five minutes, we reached the border of section 5, not bad time if I do say so.

            What you find that's so damned important?" The Foreman barks at two of the guys standing in the dry part of five. One of them points to his left. I follow his arm and see a large blue stone sticking out of the earth. The side facing us looks highly polished. I said that the stone was blue, but that doesn't do it justice. That stone looked like the very water had turned to stone. I swear that if you stood on the damned thing, you'd fall in and drown. The polished looking side looks just like the surface of the lake did before we started to drain it.

            "How the Hell do you think it got there Boss?" The one pointing says. "The damn thing looks like someone cut it and shined it."

            "To Hell with how it got there," the second replies, "How much do you think that thing's worth?"

            "Enough to dig 'er up." The Foreman shouts back.

            One of the men in that hole walks over to the stone and starts to wipe it off with his hand before shouting, "Son-of-a-Bitch!" His hand is bleeding as a sharp edge of the stone has cut him.

            With God Almighty as my witness, I swear I saw he blood sink into the stone like that stone really was water. Then I saw something like a shadow move INSIDE the stone, and then it happened. Something hit he boat from under the water. The boat shook violently and the Foreman fell in. What happened next will stay with me the rest of my life. I heard two sounds, each more sickening than the last. First was the sound of 6 roaring back to life.

            "Shut the damn thing off NOW!" I scream at the pump house, but it's all ready too late. The second sound was the sound of the pump passing air. The blue water in section 6 began to turn red. We have just had our third reportable accident, and like the two before it, this one is also a fatality.