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Note: Submitted to Ad Hoc Fiction‘s 150-word limit, weekly microfiction contest (Issue 181: Chill).

Under the crazed diving board not far below the surface persisted a pocket of concentrated cold. Unfazed by sun or moon, ‘twas known by young and old alike—they referred to it, almost reverentially, as The Chill. A treasured mystery, a supernatural perk of membership. Lifeguards closed the diving board only when attendance ebbed lest crowds flutter and tussle near the pool’s end just to touch the phenomenon. Invisible and not even the size of a football, it elicited goosebumps and giggles, leaving those it touched with a brief sense of transcendence. Local researchers had poked and analyzed The Chill to no end for years. None could remember a time before it.

Decades later when the pool had been closed, the grounds were eventually bulldozed. The remains of a small, missing child freed from his now broken concrete tomb were scooped up directly underneath where the board had once been.