Written by Arcahan

As the breeze of daytime silently died away alongside the last rays of the sun, so did the lake and the river quiet down as well. The loud splashing of wind-blown waves was replaced by the sound of sleepy water idly lapping against the wooden frame of an age-old pier. Every now and then the peace would be disturbed by a mournful croak of a frog or a sharp plunk of a fish brushing at the water’s surface. The pale, yellow glow of the moon was muffled by a heavy layer of clouds, yet the night-time lake reflected the light brightly like a mirror.

Weathered wood planks groaned quietly under the feet of Culgan McBruaich as he shifted uncomfortably on his improvised guard post. Muttering something disrespectful about the people who had decided that he would be the one to take care of the darkest and coldest of watch-hours, the grizzled man drew deeply on his pipe. Tobacco smoke warmed his insides nicely, but it could do little to ease the chill harrying his toes and fingers.

Over the course of past few weeks, someone had been tampering with the village’s fishing boats. At some mornings a fisherman would arrive to the lakeside only to discover that either his boat’s tap or one of the oars could not be found anywhere. Others had hung out their nets to dry and then discovered them either hopelessly tangled or downright cut full of holes. Some of the ropes had been nibbled to the point where a good tug could snap them in two.

A few of the first incidents had been merely frowned upon and then dismissed as random mischief. As days passed, however, and new trouble seemed to arise every few mornings, the villagers had begun to get concerned. A meeting had been called, and all local fishermen – Culgan among them – had been invited to attend. After much pondering, discussion, bickering, arguments, shouting competitions and one barely avoided fistfight, it had finally been decided to set up a watch to keep an eye on the boats at night. All fishermen would be taking a part in the arrangement, and watch-hours were agreed upon.

It had originally been decided that the watchman would be standing guard a little distance away from the shore, in the shadows of trees and bushes where he could observe the arrival of possible culprits without notice. Culgan, however, had concluded that if people wanted him to spend his nights in the cold catching fever and offering easy dinners for gnat swarms, he would definitely do it more comfortably than by lying on mud and damp leaves.

So there he was, sitting on a barrel on the very peak of the village’s old pier, a fuming pipe in hand and a homemade spear leaning against shoulder. While his silhouette could be easily distinguished against the moonlight, he also had a fine view over the entire lake and the fishing boats he was supposed to be guarding. And – although Culgan was not very quick to admit it himself – he found the sound of lapping waves oddly soothing. Placed next to the barrel was an ignited oil lamp, its glow quelled entirely from sight by a heavy leather mantle. A quick yank, however, would remove the covers and flood the entire pier with light.

The grizzled fisherman yawned and shifted his spear to lean against his shoulder in a more comfortable angle. As time passed and the night grew deeper, so, too, did the mood of Culgan McBruaich grow fouler and fouler. The muttering about people who made the decisions in the village became grumbling about the unfairness of life in general. Why had his catches been so insignificant lately, at least when compared to the amounts of fish hauled in by his neighbors? Why was his boat smaller than those of most other villagers’? Why had his wife turned so darned ugly?

And why did he, of all people, have to sit watch on this god-forsaken lake for the darkest and coldest part of the night?

It was all the fault of those rascal kids from the neighboring village, just upstream. Yes, while the other fishermen at the meeting had bickered and pondered and scratched their heads, Culgan had immediately guessed the culprits guilty of the blasphemy done to their boats and tools. Those good-for-nothing boys in that other village, they were the ones to blame for all this! It had been them who had come at the night to sabotage the boats. It had been them who had cut up the nets. And oh yes, it had been them who had made Culgan sit watch out here, in the cold and the dark tonight!

But old Culgan McBruaich knew! He knew the guilty ones, he could even imagine how their sleepy faces would twist with fear and horror as he would personally arrive to the neighboring village to pay a little tribute to their backsides, come the first light in the next morning…

A sudden splash that broke the normal rhythm of waves made Culgan lift his gaze. That had not sounded like a fish. The motion that had caused it had been far too slow, as if someone would have been… swimming…

Culgan's brow furrowed. Were those rascals trying to sneak onto the shore by circling around through the lake itself?

Squinting, master McBruaich leaned forward and peered through the moonlight-mixed darkness. His free hand fell down onto the lantern, ready to snatch the covers off and reveal the brilliance underneath. For several breaths he sat there, frozen, watching and listening.

Nothing.

All he could see were the dark bulks of fishing boats bobbing lazily in the water and the moon gently reflecting from the surface of the lake. All he could hear were the tranquil lapping of water, quiet creaking of the boats' mooring ropes and -- although Culgan refused to admit it even to himself -- the ever-increasing beating of his own heart.

After several more minutes passed and nothing happened, Culgan finally began to force himself to relax. Straightening his shoulders again, he lifted his pipe, drew deeply… and almost choked on the smoke as the water splashed again -- this time right behind his back! The pipe clattered to the pier. Coughing and sputtering did he whirl around, one hand grabbing the spear and the other yanking the cover from the lantern. Yellow light burst out from underneath, flooding the night with brilliance so abruptly that even the old fisherman himself had to blink his eyes fiercely several times before he could see.

And what he saw made him stagger a step backwards, to gasp for breath both in awe and fear.

It was a woman. No, a girl of such beauty that Culgan did not even know that it could exist in this world! Her eyes sparkled like a pair of clearest of emeralds. The green shade was repeated in her hair that fell in dripping-wet cascades onto her bare, white shoulders and floated like seaweed on the water all around her. Her jawline arched gracefully upwards, its lines turning into smoothly curving cheekbones. She looked up at the pier from the midst of the dark waves, blinking her eyes at the sudden burst of light.

"Don’t be afraid!" the girl uttered urgently, yet with soft tones as if fearing that wrong ears might hear her voice. "I mean you no harm!"

"What in the blazes are you?" Culgan huffed hoarsely.

"Shh!" Hastily the girl lifted a finger to her full lips. In the ensuing pause, her pretty eyes darted first to the shore, then across the lake itself, perhaps to ascertain that they indeed were alone. "Not so loud! They might be listening to us!"

"They?" the fisherman repeated, quietly this time. Nervously he glanced at the night around them, fully aware of how far the glow of his lantern could be seen in the dark. His imagination conjured little, gleaming eyes that stared hungrily at him from the shadows. "What are you talking about?"

"The kelpie!" she responded, her voice quivering as if the word would give a bad, fearsome taste to her tongue. "They have come to this lake."

Culgan blanched. He had heard tales of the kelpie back when he was still but a boy. Cunning, malicious creatures of the water, they haunted dark streams and still lakes. Their skins covered with fish scales and their mouths filled with cat-like fangs, they drew delight from mischief and preyed upon children playing in the water. Often appearing in fables and faery tales, the kelpie were the stuff of stories used to scare young boys and girls to keep out of the water. However, despite being an oft-repeated theme in gloomy tales, there were more than enough proofs that they, indeed, did exist in the real world as well.

If there were kelpies in these waters, it was not a wonder that Culgan’s catches had been so small recently!

"They have been here for some time, now", the girl continued softly. "My sisters and I have been watching how they have crawled to this shore night after night, doing their evil deeds. But they won’t be satisfied by mischief alone for long. Soon they will start hunting for children – children, good lord!"

Culgan’s brow furrowed. He had thought himself too old to be budged by pretty women anymore, yet there was something in the girl’s pleading, terrified eyes that stirred the heart of even the old fisherman. Whatever made so beautiful eyes darken with sorrow would have to be punished. "They must be stopped", he growled.

"Yes, and that is why I am here!" Hope lit the girl’s eyes like tiny sparks. The mere sight of it warmed the grizzled man’s soul. "My sisters and I cannot fight them, but you can! The strength of the kelpie lies in skulking and sneaking around in darkness, but they are cowards against foes who dare to face them directly. With you spear and experience and strong arm, you are sure to succeed!"

Culgan hesitated. Yes, the girl was beautiful and there were few things in the world he would have wanted as much as to see her lovely eyes brighten with joy and admiration, yet the old fisherman had lived so long because he had never been the first one to jump into danger. And despite the maiden’s reassurances, fighting with the kelpie did not sound like a very safe nor easy task to accomplish. "Wait here", he said, straightening his back. "I’ll go gather the others and then we’ll go hunt for these kelpies, together!"

"No!" the sudden urgency in the girl’s voice made the fisherman flinch. Drawing his eyebrows into a puzzled frown, he turned back at the maiden. After taking several deep breaths, she finally continued: "My sisters and I have lived peacefully in this lake for a long time. We have been left alone because nobody knew we are here, and that is our only defense against the dangers of the world! Merely by appearing to you I have taken a great risk, but I know I can trust you! Not like those other evil men in the village, you have a good heart. Our secret will be safe with you, won’t it?" The last words were said with a shade of uncertainty in her voice. Her hopeful gaze could have turned a heart of iron into a molten pool. "Won’t it, good lord?"

Culgan gave her an assuring smile. Taking a firmer grip of his spear, he responded: "It will."

Again, the hope returned to her pretty eyes and this time it was accompanied by a smile that was like a bright moon peeking over the dark clouds. Her teeth gleamed white like polished pearls. "I knew you would say that!" She slid one of her slim arms from the water and extended it at Culgan. "Come, there isn’t much time! The kelpie are now resting in their lair at deepest part of the lake, but they can leave any moment. If we hurry, we can surprise them unaware!"

Again Culgan hesitated, staring down the smooth, slender length of her bare arm. The maiden might trust him, but he was not all that certain about going down into dark, kelpie-infested waters. Not to mention fighting those kelpies down there… Scratching his chin, he slowly asked: "Won’t I… drown down there?"

Again the maiden smiled. The light of the moon shone around her, making her wet hair seem to glow with silvery light of its own. Her eyes twinkled like the stars, her teeth sparkled like jewels. "Trust me…" she whispered softly.

Culgan had heard stories that water maidens could bestow humans the ability to breathe under water through the power of their kiss alone. Perhaps this maiden was planning to do such a thing…? Slowly his rough and calloused hand rose, reached out towards the softness of her waiting hand…

A hand that grasped his with a startling strength, a clawed hand that was covered with slimy, silvery scales not much unlike those of the fishes Culgan gutted and cleaned every day. Gasping with terror, the fisherman stared at the emerald-like eyes that were now dull yellow and gleamed with malice, at the pearl-white teeth that were now long and sharp like those of a cat, at the full, soft lips that were now thin and twisted into a malignant grin. "Aye, trust me to drown you down there!" laughed a hissing, hoarse voice.

A horrified shout burst from Culgan’s mouth as he was yanked forward. His legs and one free hand flailing furiously, he flew over the pier’s edge in great arch. His wailing was cut off by a mighty splash that sent the waters showering high into the air.

When the next guard came to relieve Culgan McBruaich from his post, the only trace he found of the grizzled fisherman was the pipe lying alone and forgotten on the age-old pier, fire long since died out from the tobacco bowl.

It was not until the next morning, after the sun had risen well above the horizon, when the people of the village dared to return to the shores of their beloved lake.

The creatures known as the kelpie were taken from Scottish folk tales, although I must admit I used a very heavy poetic license to alter them to better suit my needs. In the Scottish folklore, the kelpie are water faeries that are usually seen as young horses, but sometimes they appear as hairy men. They haunt rivers and streams, letting men mount them, after which the kelpie dash into the water and dunk their riders.

The kelpie introduced in Night on the Lakeside would fit more to the description of the näkki, a creature of Finnish mythology. A malicious spirit that dwells under bridges and in murky pools, näkki takes special delight in pulling young children into the watery depths should they wander too close to his domain.

Then why did I call my water fiends kelpie instead of näkki? Well… Let's just say that I happened to like the name better…