Fright Camp(1998)

R.L. Stine

I lowered my head and started to swim slowly, steadily out to the white, floating platform. I was four or five strokes away from it when I felt something wrap around my ankle.

At first, I thought it was a piece of seaweed.

But then I felt it grip me. I thrashed the water with both hands.

"Let go—!"

But the hard, bony hand held on, tugging me, tugging me underwater.