I dislike lakes with a passion. I am quite happy if I am on one or by one – fishing, boating, sunning, or what have you – but I am most certainly not fine when I am in one.
Have you ever read Stephen King’s short story “The Raft“?
If you have, you know what I’m talking about.
If you haven’t, let me summarize it for you: There is a raft. In a lake. And people die on it.
I have a memory of standing waist-deep in a lake when I was about six, and feeling something on my leg, and looking down to see some sort of whitish sea-cucumber-y thing wrapped around my ankle. I’m not sure that this is a real memory – it may very well have been a dream – but still. Nothankyou.
And on the odd occasion that I’ve ventured into a lake as an adult, I have been nipped at by fish. Another thing that I do not enjoy.
Scary stuff, lakes.
Via.
