Tentacles & Triathlons (Leviathan Fitness #2)

Prologue

Reece

“Dammit,” my father grumbled, his eyes focused on the smoldering embers in front of us. “We’re getting low on firewood.”

We were on our monthly father-son camping trip at the campground that sat on the edge of Briar Glenn.

The monthly camping trip I dreaded because it meant alone time with my father.

Every time we were out here, it was the same thing.

He’d sit on a tree stump next to the fire and pound beers while he told me about his glory days playing football for Briar Glenn High. Until my mom’s surprise pregnancy, the one that locked him down and stole his dreams. The one that brought me into the world.

“I can grab some from the storehouse in the morning,” I offered.

The thought of walking through the woods alone sent a shiver down my spine. As familiar as I was with the campground, there were still urban legends about things lurking in the woods.

The Moth Madame of Briar Glenn was one of them.

According to the legend, she was an old crone of a monster, grumpy and coldhearted, with tattered wings and glowing red eyes. It was rumored that she lived in the dilapidated old mansion on the edge of the campground. On dark nights, she wandered the woods looking for lost children to torment.

My dad said it was horseshit, but that was his opinion on most things.

“If you want breakfast in the morning, you’re gonna go get us a bundle right now. Take the flashlight and go.” He dug through the duffle bag at his feet and tossed me the flashlight.

I flicked it on and a pale stream of yellow light illuminated the ground in front of me.

“Do I really have to go now?” I asked.

My father scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “It’s not far. Just follow the trail to the storehouse and get the damn firewood.”

“Will you go with me?” I gave him a pleading look, but I already knew the answer.

By now, he was probably so drunk, he couldn’t walk a straight line.

“Reece Michael,” he snapped. “You have been coming to this campground for years. You’re a big boy. Now go on.”

Wordlessly, I rose from the stump I was sitting on and turned my back on my father.

My lip quivered and I clenched my fists, willing the tears away. There was no way I was gonna let my old man see me cry.

Gods, I hated him. No matter what I did, it was never good enough for him.

I pointed the flashlight in front of me and set off through the woods.

Leaves crunched under my feet, the pitch black of the forest making me grow more and more uneasy with each step. For a spring evening, it was eerily quiet.

There were no crickets or frog songs, just the soft rustle of leaves as a breeze passed through the trees.

I kept following the tiny dirt path etched into the ground, hoping I didn’t lose it.

The walk seemed much longer than I remembered.

A twig snapped nearby and I whipped around, scanning the darkness for the source. Except there was nothing there.

I peered through the trees, looking for the warm glow of the campfire.

But that wasn’t there, either.

I was lost.

Panic gripped my chest, making my heart pound in my ears.

There was no way I was going to call out to my father for help. He’d never let me live it down.

Another twig snapped, closer this time, the sound breaking the quiet like a shot.

“H-hello,” I stammered, waving the flashlight through the darkness. “I-is anyone out there?” My voice wavered. I was on the verge of tears.

My question was met with silence.

I forced myself to keep moving, to find the storehouse or my father—anything to make me feel more at ease.

The sound of the leaves crunching under my feet echoed as I picked up the pace.

Was it an echo?

Or was there someone out here with me?

I started to run, racing through the woods like my life depended on it—because for all I knew, it did.

The sound was at my back now, loud enough and close enough that I could hear it over my panting breaths.

I didn’t dare turn around. I just kept running, scrabbling over twigs and rocks until the glow of the campfire came into view.

I had never been so happy to see my father.

“What the fuck, son?” he bellowed as I collapsed at his feet, my chest heaving.

“There was something in the woods,” I sobbed. “The Moth Madame is out there.”

My father tsked. “That’s just a story, Reece. There’s no Moth Madame. Now, get your ass off the ground. I’m guessing you didn’t get the firewood.”

Still crying, I shook my head no.

“Dammit. I ask you to do one fucking thing and you come back crying. You’re too old for this shit. Get in the tent and go to bed. I can’t even look at you right now.”

I used my sleeve to wipe the snot dripping from my nose and crawled inside the tent.

“Worthless kid,” I heard my father mumble under his breath.

The tears continued as I settled inside my sleeping bag. He could think whatever he wanted, but something was out there.

It was awful—and scary.

And as much as I hated being afraid, I hated my father more.