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“Jashaun?” Kelsey spun in the water, droplets flying. The lake was empty. The shore was empty. Only the sighing pines answered.

Then she saw him.

An old man stood at the water’s edge, hunched and thin, wearing a dirty fishing vest and trousers held up by rope. His face was a mess of wrinkles and gray stubble, and his eyes—yellow as a coyote’s—were fixed on her. He smiled, revealing crooked brown teeth.

“Evenin’, miss,” he croaked. “Fine night for a swim.”

Kelsey sank lower into the water, mortification flooding her cheeks. He can’t tell I’m naked. It’s dark. He can’t tell.

“Uh, yeah,” she stammered. “Just cooling off.”

He cocked his head. “Without a stitch, looks like.”

Her blood turned to ice. He could see. Of course he could see. And something was deeply wrong with him—the way he didn’t blink, the way his bony fingers twitched at his sides like spiders.

“I should go,” she said.

“No need to rush,” he grinned wider. “I like watching.”