Free The Year's Best Dark Fantasy and Horror by Paula Guran

nearly get eaten by a mutant possum, and this is the thanks I get?” I shake him by the hair and glare into his blue eyes. “You think I’m an hors d’oeuvre ?”
    “Calm down. Wait—possum? Is that what happened to my nose? You let a possum eat my fucking nose?”
    “Focus, Barry. Seriously, do you think I’m going to drop you in the all-healing, all-fixing pond so you can serve me up to that lot?” I shake him again and he winces. “Or are you gonna snack on me yourself?”
    “Don’t worry about it. Once I’m whole again, no one’s going to mess with you.”
    “You didn’t answer me!”
    “I might need a little blood when I’m done,” he admits. I give his head a good rattle and a few choice profanities, and he yells, “Not much! Not much! Just a little to top up. I promise!”
    “What are we talking? A thimbleful? A shot glass?”
    “Just a—bit. Terry, I promise I won’t drain you, I won’t turn you.”
    What choice do I have? The devil I know or the ones I don’t.
    The pool is at the bottom of the slope, in roughly the center of a small cavern. The liquid in it is milky-white with the same sheen as mother-of-pearl, and the smell is a little like household cleaner. A bit bleachy—more Domestos than Dettol.
    “What’s that?” I ask, trying not to breathe too deeply.
    “Stuff. You know—stuff.”
    “You knew about this how?”
    “Stories, Chinese whispers, old diaries—your lot aren’t the only ones who keep records, you know. Nothing precise, nothing exact, just hints.”
    “You read our diaries?” I shouldn’t be surprised.
    “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m a bad person. Throw me in.”
    “But what if it doesn’t work?”
    “Not really in a position to be picky, am I? Fountain of youth, a wellspring, a cauldron of plenty. There are legends and they all say it brings life.”
    I don’t point out to Barry that strictly speaking he has been for some time well and truly beyond the usual span of any creature. Well and truly outside the spectrum of what we call “life.”
    “So,” I say, “life?”
    “Life. Now hurry the fuck up and toss me in.”
    I walk around the edge. It’s about five meters across and bubbling enthusiastically. If I drop him, maybe he’ll just drown—this is a bit deeper than the esky—which still leaves me with a problem.
    “Here’s the deal, Barry: I’ll put you in but in return you let me go. I’m no one’s lunch, I’m no one’s slave, I’m gone. I’m out. I do whatever I want.”
    “Terry . . . ”
    “You want life or not?”
    “Yes, fuck it!” He gives a growl of frustration. “Alright. Agreed. I can find better than you at the local whorehouse anyway.”
    “Touché.”
    I kneel beside the pond and lower Barry in, resisting the impulse to drop him from a height to see how much of a splash he’ll make. Some of the fluid leaps up like a nipping fish and lands on my fingers. It stings like ice. I grit my teeth and keep going, don’t release the head until he is thoroughly submerged.
    I try to straighten up, withdraw my arm, but I feel sharp teeth in my wrist. Barry, you bastard. That, however, is the least of my problems: the water has me. Blood spurts from my nose and turns pink as it hits the milky pond. It’s like I’m in the grip of an electrical current. It tugs at me and tugs at me until I over-balance and it pulls me beneath the surface.
    I feel as if I’m dying forever.
    My last sight before I’m overwhelmed is Barry’s head tossed and churned, jumping about like popping corn. Angry fingers of fluid force their way into my mouth and race down my throat, filling my lungs like inhaled fire. My skin seems to peel off, each hair follicle is a tiny pin in my scalp. Surely my eyes burst.
    When it stops hurting, the water lets me go.
    I crawl out and lie on the surprisingly warm rock. I’m whole, intact if somewhat soaked. I rub a hand against my shin, right where the possum bite was and feel . . .
    And feel . . .
    Nothing.
    I