Why Weren't The Ducks Calling

20250318

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

The mist was so thick she barely caught the movement. It was the gentle splash which let her find the right spot, focusing just in time to see the duck folding its wings and bobbing off across the lake.
She sighed. Maybe she should have gone bowling. While this morning the prospect of heat and noise and crowded stale spaces had seemed unbearable, the reality of being alone in damp silence painted that distasteful panorama a far more appealing hue.
At least the hide provided some shelter. She was mostly out of the wind and didn’t have to worry about rain. But her sandwich was a distant memory, and the packet of trail mix wasn’t going to last her until dinner.
Assuming everyone else wanted dinner, after presumably gorging on snacks all afternoon. And even if someone else was hungry getting the campfire relit would be a chore.
She checked her phone, filling the hide with diffuse pearly light. No messages. Needn’t have bothered setting it to ‘silent’, except to pretend that people might think to check in on her.
What was the time? Half four. She’d been out here six hours. They couldn’t still be bowling, right? And this was a good time to ask if they were planning on eating over there. Hopefully wouldn’t set off too many ‘told you sos’.
And a hot meal indoors sounded great, even one loaded with grease made by people who didn’t know how to deal with allergies.
So she sent the message and looked back at the lake. Pity the fog ruined the view. She’d heard plenty of birds land but couldn’t see them swimming around. Couldn’t even hear them call to each other.
Maybe they didn’t realise the other birds were there. Maybe they were as lonely as her.
Three minutes, no response.
Five minutes, no response.
Six minutes, no response.
Twelve minutes, no response.
She hugged her knees and grimaced back tears. Fine. She’d walk to camp. Then if nobody was there she’d find the way to the bowling place. And if they weren’t there, then… then…
She’d figure something out.
At least the trail back to camp was easy to follow. Even in the fog.
No wonder nobody else was staying here!
Maybe it was nicer the rest of the year.
Camp was desolate. She didn’t falter, simply kept trudging towards the road.
Couldn’t be far, right? It would be on the map.
She would have missed any other remnant. In fact, maybe she had. Maybe she’d walked past dozens before seeing that phone casting a pearly beacon in the middle of the trail.
How could Rory have lost his-
A step further along the trail a visibility band glinted. His left sneaker. Another step and there was the right shoe.
Then Anya’s phone. Not turned on. Screen cracked, in fact. And then her shoes…
She dashed past the rest towards the road. Looking for shelter, looking for light.
Looking for any building that wasn’t a bowling alley.

Prompt was “Open a horror or thriller story with the scene of a duck gently touching down in misty waters.”