A black mirror under a bruised sky, its surface rippling gently against the creaking old pier. Lake Constance. A beauty spot, it’s true, but out of the height of the season it could be a lonely, empty place. The huge expanse of ice cold water caused a cold micro-climate all of its own so that even on the warmest days, it was always chilly. Detective Neil Hodge hardly noticed as he stood at the edge of the lake, the icy breeze stinging his skin. The missing girl was all he could think about. Jenny MacRae, fourteen, last seen two evenings ago at this precise location. Her red shoes had been discovered, neatly paired on the pier. It was as if she had stepped out of them and into the depths.

"Two days," his constable, Gill said, somewhat pointlessly, since everyone was counting the hours. She stood, one hand in her coat pocket and the other cupping a cigarette next to him.

No body, no clues, no witnesses. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing visible, just, nothing. The girl was gone.

Hodge ignored the constable. His tummy felt like he’d eaten a stone. He stared out over the lake, willing her back. The locals did’nt discuss the lake. Except to point out that it had extracted its death toll over the years. Hodge had visited the lake as a kid. With his parents, with the Scouts. He recalled stories about weird objects rising from under the water, things that reached up when you least expected them. Kid’s stuff, ghost stories round the campfire. Spine-tingling fun. But then there was the issue of the bodies - or lack of them. None ever surfaced.

He turned towards Gill. You ever hear about the others?

Gill llooked at him in that way people looked at their boss when the boss said something particularly wierd and then blew out a long blue curtain of smoke. “Others?” she said, “There’s more? Are you sure? There’s nothing on recent file. Nothing computerised anyway.”

Three girls, Hodge recalled, staring at the black, oily-still surface. “Must be over forty years ago now. I was still a kid. Always right by this pier. Always evenings, always right at the fag-end of the season.

Gill stamped out her cigarette. “What are you are telling me, Guv, some ghost from your long-lost childhood took Jenny MacRae?"

Hodge said nothing. His copper’s intuition was going crazy. With the old wood of the pier creaking under his boots, he stumped down to the very end. Looking out into the gathering dark across the lake. He had a sudden recollection of what the locals called it back then. Bad water pier.”

The wind gusted, out of nowhere and shook the moorings over by the marina, causing the boats' halyards to slap. Hodge stopped, once more staring at the lake and sensed its pull, something tugging him in. Then he noticed it: a delicate gleam under the surface, like the flutter of a white dress moving beneath.

"Gill," he said. She was already right next to him, gazing down into the water. "What the hell is that?" she said softly.

Hodge bent down to probe the depths. It was Jenny's dress. It drifted gently, as though it were floating on its own, just barely under the surface. Not even a hint of the girl.

Hodge remarked, his voice tight: "Get the divers out here." But before Gill could get going, the water whirled fiercely, as though something big were churning under. The dress twisted, pushed down with an uncanny force into the abyss.

Hodge jumped back, his heart thumping. "Jesus!"

Something thumped against the pier supports with a terrible weight. Gill had the torch on her mobile phone on the water, A little, delicate, pale hand emerged and white fingers grabbed the pier's edge. The fingers couldn’t get a grip, nails dragging on the wood. Then a second hand trailed, dragging something hideous and swollen up from the bottom.

It was Jenny. Or what was left of her. Her face was gaunt, eyes wide and empty, lips parted as if in a scream. Her skin was slick, as if she’d been in the water for days. But there was no decay. She didn’t look alive, but neither could he say for sure she was dead. She was just, plain, wrong.

Hodge froze, unable to breathe. Gill stumbled back, almost dropping her mobile into the lake. Jenny - or the thing that looked like her - began to pull itself up onto the pier, water spilling from its mouth in a slow, bubbling stream. Its eyes blank, dead, lifeless. They locked on Hodge, and it smiled at him.

Not a human smile.

A smile that stretched too far, too wide, too long. Terrifying. It was as if something beneath its skin was wearing Jenny like a mask.

Hodge backed away, his breath shallow. “Stay back,” he whispered, though his legs felt rooted in place. “Don’t worry about that, Guv,” said Gill, frantically keying her radio for help. But he couldn't tear his eyes from the thing dragging itself toward him, the sound of its soaked limbs slapping and sliding across the wood of the pier.

Then, from the water, a voice. Low, guttural. It called his name. “Oh Neil…,” Sing-song. A siren’s call.

Something grabbed his ankle. Cold, wet fingers.

And before he could scream, before his constable could help, before even anyone knew what was happening, he was gone.