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    Greenteeth
    Greenteeth
    Greenteeth
    Ebook68 pages1 hour

    Greenteeth

    By Simon John Cox

    ()

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    About this ebook

    When three university friends travel to an isolated lake to investigate reported sightings of an alien big cat they expect yet another hoax, but when footage from their remote cameras appears to show someone emerging from the water in the dead of night they realise that the lake may hold stranger secrets than a phantom panther.

    In a local history book they read the tale of a sunken village lurking forgotten deep beneath the surface, and when they dive the lake to investigate they discover - too late - that they have disturbed something that was better left in peace.

    Inspired by the English folklore of Jenny Greenteeth, Peg Powler and the Grindylow, Greenteeth is a modern horror story with ancient roots.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSimon John Cox
    Release dateDec 30, 2015
    ISBN9781310688232
    Greenteeth
    Author

    Simon John Cox

    Simon John Cox was born in Tunbridge Wells, has a degree in chemistry, a job in marketing and a black belt in Taekwon-Do. He has been writing fiction for as long as he can remember. He has had various short stories published, and is editing his second novel whilst trying to interest agents in his first. Simon is a founder member of the Tunbridge Wells Writers group, and is currently starring as the protagonist in his autobiography.

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      Book preview

      Greenteeth - Simon John Cox

      GREENTEETH

      By Simon John Cox

      © 2016 Simon John Cox

      All rights reserved.

      No part of this short story may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

      The cover image was kindly provided by pumpkinrot.com and is used with permission.

      I would like to thank Beth Parnell-Hopkinson (@BethP_H) for reading the first draft and providing me with invaluable feedback.

      They drove for an hour through remote, uncaring woods before they finally reached the cabin. The tarmac had crumbled away miles back and the track that squirmed out from beneath it was rough and had been cut by tyres that left deep, unhealing scars. At every rut the truck lurched from side to side as though the track itself were trying to shake them free. Cormac wrestled with the steering wheel like a man cursed and Heather and Polly clutched at whatever parts of the interior that they could in an attempt to prevent themselves from being thrown out of their seats.

      They'd picked up the keys to the cabin from the owner in Ostry, a blunt, bovine old man in wool and corduroy who'd seemed bemused that someone would show any interest in the cabin whatsoever.

      Bit cold up there this time of year, he'd said, rubbing the front of his thick cable-knit sweater with a slabby hand as if to emphasise the point, Don't usually get much interest in the cabin past September, truth be told.

      They'd told him that they were scientific researchers, and he'd nodded in a far-off way that suggested that he was long past caring what brought people to the area. They hadn't told him what they were researching.

      Well, I hope you like peace and quiet, he'd said as he’d dropped the bunch of keys into Heather’s hand, You'll be the only souls for miles around.

      On the other side of a sharp bend the trees thinned and the track abandoned them to a small clearing that clung to the edge of the lake. The land sloped gently from the forest towards the water's edge, where mean, weather-bitten grass yielded to mud the colour of cooked liver. Around the lake black-clad firs marched in ranks towards the water's edge like exiled soldiers.

      In the centre of the clearing sat the cabin: a wooden building constructed after tradition, just one storey high, with a shallow sloped roof and a porch that stretched out from the front of the building over decking that, in summer, would have hosted drunken fishermen or families with disposable barbecues. At this time of year it was empty, and its bare, cold boards seemed melancholy. Near the decking a narrow wooden jetty prodded out from the shore. It, too, was bare.

      Cormac parked the pickup truck beside the cabin. The atmosphere inside had been thickened by the sweet fug of marijuana that hung habitually on his clothes, and the freshness of the air that met the three of them as they stepped out of the truck was like the edge of a blade.

      The old man hadn't been exaggerating: the solitude hung thick about the place. The trees creaked and sighed before the late autumn wind, and the surface of the lake shivered as it passed. Bald black hills watched over the lake from the distant shore, rising steeply from the water's edge like buckled iron, and the angles at which their wind-scoured faces met the lake hinted at the unseen depths that lurked beneath the surface. Apart from the cabin, nowhere was there any sign of human habitation.

      This is perfect, said Heather.

      No people, lots of places to hide, I'm guessing plenty of food, Cormac rubbed his beard and looked around, If you wanted to find a big cat, this is the kind of place you'd look.

      No signal, said Polly, holding up her mobile phone and squinting at the display, Not that it matters, I suppose.

      Heather unlocked the front door to the cabin and tried the light switch inside: nothing. No power either.

      I think I saw a generator round the back when we drove in, said Polly, I'll go round and get it started.

      While Polly went around to the rear of the cabin, Cormac and Heather unloaded the luggage from the back of the truck. They hauled their suitcases down and stacked them on the decking in front of the cabin, then they pulled out the packing cases of electronic and videographic equipment and placed them carefully beside their luggage.

      They heard the throaty growl of an engine, and inside the cabin the lights glimmered into life. Polly appeared from the rear of the cabin, cleaning black grease from her hands with a handkerchief.

      There's a few cans of fuel around there, but I'd say we use it only when necessary, she said, Save it, just in case.

      I brought candles, said Cormac, holding up an old wooden cigar box.

      There's a stack of logs by the hearth, said Heather, We can get a fire going.

      That's more like it. Nothing like a fire to warm the cockles.

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