The pool stank of open graves, of maggot-infested flesh, worming down his gullet, choking him, pulling him in. He burst out again, grappling for something solid, his legs thrashing into nothing. He found the lip of the pool, clutched at it. “Not today,” said Hanson, grinding a foot down onto his knuckles. He let go, barely able to keep his head above water. “Pan, help,” he said, coughing, wheezing, kicking. “It’s too late,” Pan said. “Whatever you do, don’t forget what to deal for.” Marlow tried to reach for her but the pool held him like it had fingers. He felt something glide past his foot, an icy grip around his ankle, and he screamed. The darkness took advantage, sliding into his mouth. Something latched onto his arm, like there was an army of corpses beneath the surface, and he fought against it, floundering. “Do not struggle,” said Seth. “It cannot hurt you.” “Oh, it hurts you,” Hanson said, one foot on the edge. “It’s a nightmare in there. Did they tell you that some people never even make it out of the pool?”
