Free Creatures: Thirty Years of Monsters by Clive Barker, Robert McCammon, China Miéville, Joe R. Lansdale, Cherie Priest, Christopher Golden, Al Sarrantonio, David Schow, John Langan, Paul Tremblay Page B

Like the time we set off a smoke bomb in biology class. Crazy-ass shit, you know. Always preceded by a few hits off the bong or hash pipe. It made Kenny all moon-eyed and mystical. Not the crazy-ass shit; the drugs. Turned him all gooey and sentimental.
    Another time we snuck into the observatory, after hours, so Kenny could use the giant telescope, so he could peer up into the night sky. Bastard was always looking up at the stars, expectant. It wasn’t like he was watching for something, no, it was more like he was waiting for something. Him and his gooey eyes.
    “There’s something out there,” Kenny said, wistful. “Something else.” And he turned to me, shaking, his voice all syrupy. “There has to be.”
    Last time I saw the crazy fucker was when we went down to the marina in the dead of night and broke into the main clubhouse, took out that ring of keys and found that sleek boat, the Cat, and, yeah, took the damn thing out onto the lake, the water all dark and shiny, full of green mystery, and shards of moonlight sparkling of its surface. More crazy-ass shit. Kenny and me surging along the water, throttle thrown open, the spray rising up, soaking us, and us laughing, neither one of us ever having driven a boat before, you know, and it’s funny, really funny, because this is stupid, but we don’t care, because, yeah, we’re high or drunk or both. Pirates. That’s what we are. Fucking pirates. Adventurers on the high seas. And I tell Kenny that, I say, “We’re on the high seas. Get it?”
    And Kenny, sweet doe-eyed Kenny, screws his face up, thinking. Thinking real hard. Then he gets it, you know, high seas, and cackles like, well, a peg-legged pirate with one good eye and a foul-mouthed parrot. Like any respectable pirate. A hearty chortle. Avast ye matesy!
    We take turns at the wheel, shooting along like the madmen we are, turning circles, doubling back, jumping the wakes. Up, then thunk. Man, it’s some funny shit. Really. At least for a little while.
    Soon we are so wet and stoned that it’s not fun any more. You know the feeling, right? You’re high, and pretty much anything seems like a good idea. Anything. But that feeling, like all feelings, dissipates, fritters away. So we stop the boat. And now we are floating on the lake, and the boat starts bobbing. And I’m reminded of when I was a kid and the one time my dad took me fishing, before he decided that a wife and kid were too much for one man and bailed on us. Dad got me to cast a line out, and attached to the line is a small red and white ball, called a bob, oddly enough, and I get a bite, and the bob starts, well, bobbing. Up, then down. And the boat, this slick little thing we’ve, um, borrowed, starts sort of going up and down, like that little red and white bob, you know? And my stomach is doing the same, rising, falling, and the bile in the back of my throat is like corrosive acid.
    Kenny looks green. He jumps up, wobbles to the edge of the boat and leans over. He gags and a stream of yellow puke shoots from his mouth. He straightens, wipes his mouth, turns and grins at me. Puke-eating grin, all green and yellow and crusty. He’s a sight, yeah.
    “How about another hit?” he asks, reaching into his wet pocket and retrieving a small foil pouch. And then this huge tentacle reaches up, all scaly and slimy and smelling of puke. I blink. Yup, there is it, rising up, a huge fucking tentacle, dripping fish guts, and it wraps around Kenny’s waist, yanks him off his feet, and his puke-eating grin vanishes, and his eyes bug out, fish eyes, and then, briefly, he’s smiling, eyes and mouth wide and I’ve never seen him so happy, so animated. Then whoosh, he’s gone, overboard, and all that is left is a small foil package on the boat’s floorboards, you know, and the smell of dead fish guts and vomit.
    So, being the friend I am, I stand there and blink. I’m good at that. I blink again. Still no Kenny. Still gone. But I blink, shake my head,