Member-only story
Fiction | Horror
The Hand From Below
Robert’s swimming race took a turn.
Robert placed his goggles over his eyes. He put an index finger on one goggle, his middle finger on the other, and held them in place as he tightened the rubber strap behind his head.
His feet sunk into the sand. The smell of pine trees and grass drifted in from behind him.
A brief dull howl of autumn wind came and went, sending a chill down his arm. Around him, swimmers gathered in lingering groups, shifting around nervously before the start of the race.
“You aren’t going to lose to a woman again are you?”
Hearing the deep but feminine voice of his longtime friend, Amanda, he turned around.
“If I do, I hope it’s to you,” Robert said with a smile.
They’d swam together in college twenty-five years prior. Both were accomplished and once consumed by the sport, stopping just short of sleeping with their goggles on. Today, lake races were more about motivation to train than attempts at old glory.
Robert swung his arms in alternating circles to stretch and get the blood flowing.
His short brown hair and broad strong shoulders were all that remained of his once statuesque swimmer physique. Parenting and…
