Ghosts of Manitowish Waters

by G. M. Moore

  Cain looked dumbfounded and what he said just then took her completely by surprise. “You know I don’t care, right?”

  Her mouth dropped open and words wouldn’t come. He started to speak but a look of anguish overtook him and he fell silent instead. Thoughts raced through Tess’s mind. She couldn’t let him see the scar, just couldn’t. No one saw the scar—not even her father. She had tied a scarf around her neck every morning since she was nine years old—every single morning since leaving the hospital—only taking it off before bed when darkness could hide it.

  A tense silence fell between them and both teens looked away, avoiding the other’s eyes. Then very quietly, in an almost inaudible voice, Cain spoke. “You have no idea how pretty you are, do you?” He let out an exasperated sigh, and his voice grew louder. “You definitely have no idea. Do you know that guys at school talk about you all the time?” Tess slowly shook her head no. She lifted her eyes slightly, catching his before darting them away again. “They all want to know what your story is. You’ve got them all mystified.” He paused before unabashedly adding, “Me included.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “I don’t care about any scar, Tess. Really, I don’t. Whatever it is, whatever happened, it makes you different and different isn’t bad. Not to me, anyway.”

  Tess finally looked directly at him. She could see nothing but sincerity on his face. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to remove the poncho.

  “Come on,” he gently coaxed. “We need the poncho to wrap up some of this stuff. I’ll turn it into a backpack for you.” He motioned to the array of items on the ground. “How else can we carry all this?”

  She searched her mind for a better solution and couldn’t find one, but still she didn’t move. Cain pulled her bloody scarf from his pocket. “You can have this back if it helps.”

  Tess scoffed, quickly finding her voice. “I’m not tying a dirty, bloody scarf around my neck.”

  “Good, because if you did, I’d really be worried.” He smiled. “There’s different and then there’s just plain weird. You know?”

  Yeah, I know, Tess thought, forcing a grin. But I am just plain weird. Her hand tentatively moved to her throat.

  “It will be OK,” he promised.

  A thought Tess had had yesterday before all this began suddenly popped into her head.

  Moving forward was not something the O’Brien clan does very well.

  She had been mad at her father for that, unfairly, she thought now, because she was doing the same thing. They were both letting scars from that horrible accident control them. His scars were emotional, hers physical, but they were still the same. What she needed to do was help her dad heal, not explode on him at every turn. But I can’t do that if I’m not healed myself, she thought. The teen took in a deep, pensive breath. I’ve got to let it go if I want him to. How bad could it really be? She contemplated the question, hand still at her throat and eyes still on Cain. No one else was here. There was no one to laugh or make fun of her. No mean girls, just him. She heaved with determination and without saying a word, slowly walked over to Cain and handed him the dog leash. Stepping back, she breathed in again, reached up, and undid the hair tied at the nape of her neck.

  “Baby steps,” Tess said aloud, a thin, rueful smile on her lips. As she shook out her hair, Cain gulped and stared at her, seemingly mesmerize by the blond waves cascading down past her shoulders. When she began to untie the poncho hood he turned away, busying himself sorting the supplies. She loosened the hood and felt immediate relief from the sweaty heat. As she drew the poncho over her head, a breeze caught it and its coolness swept over her. She pulled at the pale yellow T-shirt and turquoise waffle shirt she wore underneath, allowing the air to flow through. Tess hesitated before stepping forward again and tapping Cain on the shoulder.

  “Here,” she said.

  When he turned she knew he could see some of the swirling red scar that webbed its way around her neck and rolled over her right shoulder before stopping midway down her back. He couldn’t see all of it, though. Her hair hid some of it, and the T-shirt/waffle shirt combo hid the rest. Baby steps, she thought, lowering her head shyly.

  Cain looked up at her. “You were in a car accident, right?” he asked.

  She nodded. “When I was nine.”

  “That’s a burn scar?” He pointed hesitantly toward her neck.

  She nodded again. “Yes. The car caught on fire. My mother, sister, and I were trapped in it. I don’t remember the accident at all, though.” Uncertainty flickered across her face as the dream she had in the Ojibwe cemetery suddenly came back to her. It was coming. She shook the thought from her mind, stammering briefly before continuing. “I made it out OK. Scarred,” she gestured to her neck, “but alive. They didn’t.”

  Cain’s body sagged. “I’m so sorry, Tess. That’s, that’s…” He shut his eyes. When they opened, pain was all Tess could see. She seized inwardly. “You must have been so afraid.”

  “I really don’t remember any of it,” she hurriedly replied. “It was just one of those stupid accidents, you know. An SUV full of teens. The driver texting instead of watching the road. I think his last text was something inane like, ‘K,’ before he hit us head on.”

  “I had heard some of that,” Cain said with a pained shrug. “People talk.”

  Tess nodded. Now comes the silence, she thought. Her body tensed. This type of conversation, she knew from experience, could only end one way: agonizing silence. She was prepared to settle into the uncomfortable emptiness of it when Cain stunned her by adding, “So there goes any chance of a cell phone, huh?” He eyed her cautiously, waiting for a reaction. She couldn’t help but smile and could see the relief wash over him when she did.

  “You got that right,” Tess laughed darkly. “So does all this still make me interesting or just pitiful?”

  “Pitiful is not a word I would ever use to describe you,” Cain answered matter of fact. “Pigheaded, maybe? Pitiful, never.”

  Tess pursed her lips together tightly, then stuck her tongue out at him.

  “Hey, you asked,” he admonished, then motioned to her with his hand. “Don’t just stand there pouting, help me load up this stuff.”

  ****

  About ten minutes later, Cain paced about with the albino fawn waiting for Tess to return from a trek in the woods to use the restroom. They had wasted enough time here, he thought, and he was anxious to get moving again. Tess wasn’t the only one who would be facing an angry parent at the end of all this. In his case it would be two angry parents. No, he corrected, make that three angry parents—and very likely the police. After this, Tess’s dad would want his head on a stick, and the police—well, they’d likely want it there, too. A journey he had thought would take a few hours would now be taking a few days. Cain sighed. He was so close to completing his ninety-day probation. His parents knew nothing about the crime or the sentence. They seemed to have given up on him, and these days, as long as Cain didn’t get in their way, they didn’t get in his either. Cain had talked his godfather into posing as his guardian for the first court date. Now he would be a no-show for his second appearance on Monday, and his parents would be involved for sure. The teen groaned. There was no way they would look the other way on this one. A $500 fine and jail time were likely in his future, a lengthy and severe grounding, definitely—but he didn’t care. This is where he wanted to be, where he needed to be.

  Balance. Oneness of all things, he thought, turning his head up to the clear blue sky and taking it in with a deep, satisfying breath. When he looked down, the albino fawn was standing motionless in front of him, staring. Cain smiled at the odd creature so revered by his people. “This is freedom, right little guy?” he said, kneeling down before the animal. “True freedom. No cage for you. No curfew for me.” Had he really thought that he could rescue this fawn and make amends with nature in a couple of hours? Cain chuckled at his f
oolishness. How could he have doubted and held himself back from his we-eh’s teachings? My parents, he concluded. They dismissed the Indian ways as nonsense, and a part of him must have dismissed them, too. He had let his parents influence him, but no more. Not on this subject. He would—

  Tess’s startled scream suddenly filled the woods. His head jerked up and turned toward the sound. “Tess!” he called out, leaping up and scanning the area. He saw no movement. He locked the fawn on a shorter length of leash and ran with him at his side. The two moved with gazelle-like speed through the trees and brush toward the scream. “Tess,” he called out again, his eyes darting frantically across the woods searching for her. He finally spied a blur of yellow zigzagging toward him, and his grip on the retractable leash eased. The fawn sprinted ahead, running up to meet the girl. Juggling a roll of toilet paper, Tess awkwardly scooped him off the ground. Her fearful eyes met Cain’s.

  “Poacher,” she heaved breathlessly, nodding over her shoulder at the vacant woods behind her.

  Then Cain saw him.

  A second of panic overtook him, and he could feel himself stepping back, hesitating. He had no weapon. He had nothing to defend them with. What should I do? What should I do? The question looped through his mind but was abruptly stopped when the answer calmly surfaced. Fight. If you’re going down, do it fighting. A cool fearlessness settled over him. He handed Tess the leash and stepped protectively in front of her and the fawn. He looked to the ground, saw a thick branch, picked it up and began tapping it slowly into the palm of his hand like a club. Thud. Thud. Thud. He stared menacingly at the approaching stranger.

  “Whoa!” the man called out, stopping a few yards away and waving a hand in front of his body. “Whoa, now. No need for that. I’m no poacher.”

  Cain said nothing, just continued tapping the club into his palm, sizing the man up. He did not appear to be armed. Good, Cain thought. That evened the playing field a bit. The man was maybe in his early thirties and obviously of Indian descent, with dark eyes and long black hair. He had the top half of his hair set in a single braid that ran down the center of his head; the bottom half of his hair flowed loosely over his shoulders and back. He wore tan coveralls unzipped to the waist, showing the gray T-shirt he wore underneath. The T-shirt had the arms cut out so Cain could see the sides of the man’s flabby abdomen. I can take this guy, he thought. He watched the stranger’s eyes fall to Tess and the albino deer she held in her arms. Cain smacked the club down hard, and the man’s eyes immediately returned to him.

  “Seriously,” the stranger pleaded. “I’m no poacher. I’m a trapper. Just out checking on my traps.” He paused, waiting for a response that neither Cain nor Tess gave him. “Listen,” the man said sounding exasperated. But he didn’t continue on; instead he paused for a moment, then raised up his right palm and said, “How.”

  Cain stopped his club midair. How? Did this guy seriously just say How? The club in his hand lowered to the ground, and Cain burst out laughing. He turned to Tess who looked completely baffled but then burst into laughter as well. The fawn squirmed in her arms, and she let him jump to the ground.

  “That breaks the ice every time,” the stranger said with an impish grin. “I’m Sam Littlemoon.” He touched his right hand to his chest. “Friends call me Mooney. I’m an ADC trapper.” He paused, searching their faces for acknowledgment but found none. “Animal Damage Control,” he explained. “Sort of like an exterminator.” He reached into his coveralls. Cain’s eyes hardened, and he raised the club, pointing it directly at the trapper’s chest. Mooney’s hand froze. “Whoa,” he pleaded to the boy. “I’ve got nothing on me but a few vials of acetone. You’d have me knocked out cold before I could even get the needles and syringes together.” Mooney snorted and wiped his nose. “We good.”

  Cain nodded, but he still watched the man warily. He didn’t like how his eyes kept drifting to the albino fawn.

  “I was just going to show you these,” Mooney said and pulled out a stringer of skunk pelts.

  Tess’s nose wrinkled. “You skin skunks?”

  “After I euthanize them, yeah. Brings in good money. I kill some but relocate a lot from town to out here.” He motioned to the surrounding woods. “There are a lot of dens in these woods. Watch out.”

  “Who would want a skunk pelt?” Tess asked, her nose still wrinkled.

  Mooney laughed. “Hippies, that’s who. They make all sorts of stuff with them. I sell a lot to these artists down in Makanda. That’s in Illinois,” he clarified before leaning in conspiratorially. “Listen, I didn’t mean to spook either of you. I made myself known because I thought you might be in danger and, now, seeing that guy,” his gaze drifted to the albino fawn again, “I know you are.”

  “What do you mean?” Cain asked coolly.

  “You are being followed.”

  “Again!” Tess cried out. Cain grabbed her arm, silencing her with a shake of his head. He didn’t trust this guy, not yet.

  Mooney snorted. “Now I know why you two are so jumpy. Yes, it would seem you are being followed—again. I spotted a guy on an ATV a ways back. He was tracking something. I wasn’t sure what, but he just didn’t look right, didn’t feel right.” Mooney glanced over at Cain. “Know what I mean?” Cain nodded. “I threw him off course, messed him up a bit, but he’s good. He’ll be back on your trail in no time.” The trapper’s eyes came to rest on the albino fawn. “I know the Indian stories. Seeing a woods ghost has great meaning to me.” A wistful smile surfaced on the man’s face and his eyes misted. “My being here, I feel, is no accident.” He reached out to Cain, who recoiled, but the man grabbed his shoulder and squeezed it anyway. “I will help you on your journey.”

  “Um, OK,” Cain said. He wasn’t sure what this guy had in mind by help, or if he wanted it, but he definitely would take some information from the man. “You mentioned a town,” Cain said. “Where are we?”

  “Not far from Winter’s Dam,” Mooney replied. “Do you know it?”

  “Yeah, sort of.”

  “Good. I’ve got a canoe there.” Mooney reached in his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. “It’s chained and locked to a tree.” He took a key off the ring and held it out to Cain. “Look off the southwest bank about fifty yards up from the dam. You won’t have any trouble finding it. Then take the east fork of the Chippewa River as far as you can. You’ll move faster on the water and be more difficult to track.” Cain took the key, a sly smile surfacing on his face. “You best get moving,” Mooney continued. “Believe me, that guy was gaining on you fast.” He pointed into the woods. “Head northeast. You’ll be well on your way before dusk.”

  Cain gave a confirmation nod, reached out, and shook the man’s hand enthusiastically. “Thank you. Thank you, Mooney. We’ll get the canoe back to you, I promise.”

  Mooney shrugged. “No worries, man.”

  As the two teens turned to leave, Cain hesitated. “Another favor?” he asked. Mooney dipped his head. “As soon as you can, would you call her dad and tell him she’s OK?” Cain looked triumphantly at Tess, who groaned inwardly.

  “You got it,” Mooney said. “Just give me the number.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Tess lay under the poncho lean-to looking out at the silvery water of the Chippewa River. The full moon above lit the dark water, and she watched reflections of the surrounding woodlands ripple across it as her head rested wearily on Cain’s backpack. The day’s events had exhausted her and had obviously drained Cain as well; she could hear him softly snoring a few feet away. Just as Mooney had said, they found his canoe easily and had paddled—not so easily—up the river, stopping only when the setting sun and hunger had forced them to. The albino fawn slept nestled against her. She is of the Deer Clan now, Tess remembered the Mide saying. She could feel the rapid rise and fall of the animal’s chest. He seems so scared, she thought. Tess closed her eyes, laying a comforting hand on the animal
, and let the steady lapping of water on the riverbank and the steady snoring from Cain lull her into a deep, deep sleep.

  Hours later she raised her head groggily, looking out from the lean-to toward the river. But the lean-to and the river were gone. She could see nothing but billowy waves of fog. Where am I? she wondered, rubbing her eyes and slowly standing. She staggered sleepily through the rising white tide. There’s so much fog, her mind fretted as the waves engulfed her. She struggled to see through the thickness but couldn’t. Then the sharp pangs of panic overtook her and she froze. Something was out there, something in the rolling fog. She had to get away—she had to get out before it was too late. But her legs wouldn’t move—she couldn’t move them.

  Move, move! she pleaded to her unyielding limbs. But they stayed trapped by the thick forest fog.

  It was coming. It was coming.

  Tess watched in horror as the ground around her began to glow. Flickers of orange light wicked at her through the white mist. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

  Oh God, please. Help…

  The cool damp fog that had surrounded her turned unbearably hot. The air scorched her lungs, and her skin shriveled and blackened.

  Oh, God. No. No.

  Out of nowhere an eagle swooped at her, its high-pitched screech exploding violently in her face. She felt herself rock backward and then something pulled her forward and into… Tess jerked awake screaming loudly and twisting wildly in the arms that held her. The arms squeezed tighter, and she felt herself rock back and forth.

  “It’s OK. It’s OK,” a soothing voice chanted.

  Tess pulled back and found herself in the arms of Cain Mathews. “Wha—Wha—” she stammered.

  He hushed her, sweeping blond hair now damp with sweat off her neck. Tess’s hand instinctively went to shield the angry red scar there. He pulled it gently away. She watched as he guided her hand into his lap and held it there clasped in his. “You had a nightmare. A bad one,” he said.