Found by the Lake Monster - Lillian Lark

Dear reader,

Found by the Lake Monster includes lying, breeding, accidental oviposition (eggs), knotting, male heat, being lost in creepy woods, fertility discussions, painless cervical penetration, and a child in the epilogue.

There’s also a lot of cum.

Be kind to yourselves,

L. Lark



“What am I doing here?” I mutter, jumping when something hoots back from the oppressive darkness.

The light from my flashlight doesn’t give me near enough illumination, only hitting the surrounding trees and leaving long, creep inducing shadows. Leaves crunch under the snow boots I’d pulled out from their spot under my bed and only use when I make my annual trips back home for Christmas. I’m not an outdoorsy person with a closetful of hiking boots and fleece.

When I’d agreed to this adventure, I hadn’t thought about the logistics of wandering around creepy woods at night. I’d only had a mind for not staying at home for the millionth time with my expertly shaped toy collection.

Go find a lake monster, they said. It will be fun, they said.

I’m a fucking idiot and am totally going to walk into a spider web. A shudder of disgust travels down my spine, and I squeeze the flashlight harder.

But… it’s a Friday night, and I didn’t want to rewatch Stranger Things or read a monster romance that inspired another toy purchase. The ten oddly shaped artworks of dildos would already be difficult to explain to the person unlucky enough to clean out my cozy apartment when I don’t make it out of this spooky forest.

Wait. I won’t have to explain the sex toys if I’m dead. It’s all about the upsides.

Great-Aunt Wilma always told me that my need for new adventures would get me into trouble. She’d say it with the gleam of kinship in her eyes. She had been quite the rabble-rouser back in the day.

I’d scoffed at the notion that any of my adventures would get me into more trouble than I could handle. I’m not an adrenaline junkie or anything. I don’t go jumping out of airplanes for a thrill. I just want to experience more new things than the town I’d grown up in could provide. Harmless adventures.

I’d rather eat her year-old fruitcake than admit that this time, Great-Aunt Wilma might be correct.

The walkie-talkie at my waist spews static and I fumble the flashlight, the beams of light travel every which way as I steady it again. The voice of Rob breaks through the static.

“Anything on your side, Amy?”

I unclip the walkie-talkie one-handed and press the button before I do something else clumsy like drop it… Because if it broke in this place with spotty cell reception… and I got lost…

I’m not going to think about that.

“Uh—all clear over here. I don’t see anything that looks… out of the ordinary,” I say as if I’m an expert on how the woods look at night.

“Have you been making sure to check for tracks?” he asks.

“Um, yeah…” I peer down at the ground of pitch-black foliage. The moon had been behind clouds for the majority of the night and we’re miles away from any civilization for light pollution to make the darkness any more friendly. I haven’t been checking for tracks because the flashlight lighting the trees is what’s keeping me from losing my nerve.

Just lie. If the tracks were important, we wouldn’t be hunting for them in the dark. It’s just a little lie—

“It’s a little hard to see the ground unless I have the flashlight pointed directly down,” I say.

Dammit. I curse the part of me that is a stickler for honesty.

“We need tracks to prove this thing exists. I went over everything before we started.” His frustrated tone of condescension makes my cheeks start to burn. Everyone else on this expedition is on this channel.

I’m the only “civilian” of the group, a term that doesn’t make sense because this isn’t some organization of military personnel; this is a small group of people hunting after supernatural things. They are professionals in that they get paid to put cameras in people’s homes to catch sightings of ghosts… or cats that tip over water glasses.

I know this because I’ve seen their invoices. I’m an accountant, and not the sexy kind of accountant that people mean when they don’t want to explain what they really do for work.

And currently, I’m their accountant.

I work for a lot of different businesses. It helps keep the boredom of numbers in line, but sometimes the monotony of my life gets to me, and I find myself accepting offers of