Their bare shins took the brunt of the chill from the foam Lake Erie pushed-pulled along the shoreline. These days when they 
haunted Cleveland, they’d spent more time on the Cuyahoga River, the West Bank, disappearing into the mass of flesh packed into the Flats—anywhere that was out of sight of the lake. There were nights, though, when the lake called them; daring or pleading or simply waiting, each ultimately bringing them back. They stood now safely on the shore, heels sunk into mud and algae, even as the water shoved and tugged at them mischievously. A little farther, a little deeper, it whispered.
Twice a year, the lake churned water from its depths. Water above swapped places with the water below. The turnover was necessary for all life in the lake to survive. The smell of the turnover, the reek of sulfur gases and displaced decaying matter, dissuaded tourists, but reminded monsters to come home.
They felt tired, in need of the companionship in abundant supply across this great city. Murky waters, up to their hips now, gentle rocked them like they were in the hands of a playful lover. Survival depended upon coupling, and the men and women who came and went contributed to a lifecycle that seduced, energized, then drained.
Daylight began fading and they were shocked to realize they were in up to their chest. Waters had gone still; on the surface, shadows shimmered like ghosts, and in the distance, they heard the whine of Herring gulls. They fought their way back to shore, resisting the call of the lake. But they’d be back. Creatures from the water, as big as muskellunge and so small as to hardly be known to exist, all returned to its darkened depths and hushed center, and maybe—who knew?—swirled down there for the rest of their lives.
“Someone for Everybody” appears in the anthology That Which Cannot Be Undone, edited by Jess Landry and now available from Cracked Skull Press. Click here to order.
