Some wingman, she’d thought, almost giggling at the odd reversal of the usual bait-and-switch, when the handsome rogue runs vanguard before inviting over his goofball sidekick.

The four of them hung out most of that night, and it had been shockingly perfect. The boys weren’t gross, or weird. They kept their hands to themselves. They didn’t mansplain how to throw darts, or push for extra drinks, or do any of the other million things a guy does when he thinks he’s being subtle about trying to get a girl to sleep with him. They were … nice. By the end of the night, it was obvious to Jessie that Blake had taken an interest in Brad. And while that would normally be awkward, given that she had absolutely zero interest in Tom, it surprisingly hadn’t bothered her. Tom was so self-effacing (and borderline nerdy) that she found herself relaxed in his company, as if they’d been childhood friends instead of strangers.

When the bar shut down, they all exchanged numbers. A couple nights later, “the boys” (as Jessie had begun to think of them) called up and invited them to a Yankees game.

And so it went for the next few weeks of the summer. Nothing romantic, nothing dramatic. Every few nights they’d meet up and do something fun, silly, distracting. They became friends, and whatever amorous leanings Blake might have had toward Brad, or vice versa, was left to the side like a dessert brought to the table early, something sweet to think about during the meal.

Having settled in as friends, it hadn’t raised any red flags when Brad mentioned his place in the Catskills. Both girls thought no more of it than if he’d mentioned a matinee of the newest superhero film, or a concert in the park.

“It’s my family’s summer home,” he’d said. “A big property with trails to walk, one very quiet two-lane road, and a funky little town a few miles away where we can get a beer and pizza while people-watching the eccentric locals. It even has a private lake.”

When Jessie’d looked at him, wide-eyed with excitement, he nearly blushed. “Well, okay, more of a pond. But big enough to fish in, or swim in. Big enough to hike around, stuff like that. There’s even some wildlife. Deer, badgers … but no bears, I promise.”

“Yeah, the house is sick,” Tom added, half-listening and half-watching the Yankees game on the bar’s widescreen television. “Like, huge.”

“Wait, are you rich as shit and just now telling us?” Blake teased, and Brad blushed again. Jessie thought how strange—how endearing—that blush looked on his classically handsome, rugged features.

“Depends what you mean by rich. My dad’s a professor. Teaches bioanthropology to grad students. Mom’s an archeologist. Always flying off to some third world country to dig up a fossil or whatever. So yeah, they make okay money, but it’s my grandparents that were actually wealthy. They were into some weird stuff back in the day. Real esoteric shit. Anyway, yeah, the house is big, that’s true. But it’s not modern. It’s probably a hundred years old. Maybe more. The property’s been private for at least that long, and since it’s a few hundred acres ….”

Jessie sat up, slapped her hand on the table dotted with life preserver water rings from beers past. “A few hundred acres?”

“Well, yeah,” Brad said, ignoring Tom snickering beside him. “But I mean, it’s the Catskills, you guys. It’s the middle of nowhere. All that land is just … I don’t know … empty. Fields and hills. But my family bought it all up so no one develops it. The last thing my folks want is a McDonald’s to pop up on the old road, or some other eyesore they have to look at every day from their bedroom window.”

“It sounds amazing,” Blake had said, and Jessie agreed. She loved the idea of taking off for a few days. Hiking through long grass on a cool morning, drinking wine on a deck overlooking a small private lake.

At no point had she been worried.

At no point had she been afraid.

“So, you’re in?” Brad had said, flashing his movie-star smile. “Next week? You won’t need to bring a thing other than clothes, bathroom stuff, and a couple good books. We’ll buy groceries in town, and all the guest rooms have bedding, towels, you name it. It’s practically a hotel.”

And just like that, it was settled. Blake asked for a few days off from her part-time waitress gig, and both girls agreed to go.

At the time, Jessie had simply thought: Why not?

PART TWO – THE HOUSE

AS THE TRUCK CROSSES THE state line, and the industrial complexes of New Jersey dissolve into the endless, rolling wilderness of upstate New York, Tom turns to Brad, looking serious. Jessie realizes she hasn’t heard a peep from him since they left the university, and she’d begun to wonder if something was wrong with him.

“Should we tell them?” Tom’s eyes flick back toward the girls.

“Tell them what?” Brad says, eyes on the road.

“You know … about the danger they’re in.”

Jessie had only been paying partial attention to the back and forth; busy watching the blanket of trees that extended like God’s green carpet in every direction, swept away by the beauty of so much undisturbed nature. But now her attention snaps forward.

“Wait, what?” she says, and turns to Blake, who appears equally alert, but not necessarily worried. At least not yet.

Brad laughs, thawing some of the chill that had settled on the back of Jessie’s neck. But her senses remain vigilant, and for the first time since they’d met Brad and Tom she begins to wonder if the two of them are—for lack of a better word—safe.

As if sensing their tension, Brad shifts his eyes to the rearview mirror, their reflection locked on Jessie. “He’s fucking with you,” he says.

But Tom doesn’t laugh along. Instead, he turns in his seat to face the women. “I’m not, I swear,” he says. “Brad just doesn’t have the balls to tell you.”

Blake shakes her head, tries to smile, but it withers quickly. “Tell us what?”

Tom glances from Jessie to Blake, his mouth set in a line, his expression stoic, unreadable.

“Dude,” Blake says, and Jessie hears a small tremor of fear in her voice.

Finally, with a tone indicating that enough is enough, Brad says, “Tom.”

As if removing a mask, Tom suddenly smiles, and he’s Tom again. Normal, funny, quirky Tom. Jessie finds herself letting go of a held breath as he throws up his hands. “Sorry, sorry. Jesus, I wasn’t trying to scare you guys. It’s just a gag.” He turns to Brad. “So, can I tell them?”

Brad shrugs, casually switches lanes. “Go for it.”

“Okay, well, it’s about the lake,” Tom says, his attention on the girls once more. “The one behind the house we’re going to.”

“What about it?” Blake says, growing annoyed.

Annoyed at being afraid, Jessie thinks. Angry for being seen as weak.

“See, there’s a sort of legend about it. Or a … what’s it called? Myth. You guys have heard of the Loch Ness Monster, right?”

Jessie rolls her eyes, looks out the window. “Jesus, Tom.”

“Oh, relax,” he says, laughing. “It’s applicable, I swear. Did you guys read the new thing? It’s all over Twitter. How creatures like the Loch Ness ….”

“Nessie,” Blake interjects, snapping her fingers. “They call her Nessie.”

Tom shakes his head. “Whatever. Point is, they just reported that creatures like the Loch Ness monster could have totally lived in fresh water. Which makes the legend even tastier because it, you know, it’s valid, man. The myth? It could have been real.”

“Tom, get to the point,” Jessie says, surprised for being such a bitch, but still irritated for having been made to feel scared, if only for a few moments.

“God, relax, you got somewhere to be?” Tom says. “Okay fine. So, the legend is that there’s something—something prehistoric—living in the lake behind Brad’s house. Well, his family’s house … whatever.”

“Gimme a break,” Blake says, finding her phone screen again.

“He’s actually not lying,” Brad cuts in, voice oddly serious. “Look, I’m not saying it’s a dinosaur, or even necessarily an animal, but there have been countless reports over the last hundred years, give or take, from people who’ve lived on that land, in that house, about something in the lake. Some folks say there’s a much larger body of water, way underground, that connects to it, and that whatever lives down there sometimes finds its way to the surface, or at least within reach of sunlight.” He shrugs. “Honestly, it’s one of the reasons most people, historically speaking, don’t spend a lot of time on the lake. They’re freaked out by this weird myth.”

“But not anymore, right?” Jessie says, trying to mask her disappointment. “You said we’d be fishing. That we could go swimming.”