Ghosts of Manitowish Waters

by G. M. Moore

  “This way,” he yelled, waving to Tess and sprinting to where the animal had disappeared. He broke out of the tree line, abruptly stopping and staring in awe at the bubbling creek stretching into the sedge meadow before him. He became aware that his feet were wet and looked to the ground to find himself standing in the middle of what had to be Lost Creek.

  “We finally found it,” he said, turning back for Tess, but she and the albino fawn were gone.

  ****

  Tess was already struggling to keep up with Cain and the agile fawn when the animal suddenly stopped running.

  “Come on little guy,” she called, catching up to him and running by.

  Tess felt resistance when she reached the end of the leash’s length and spun around. The fawn hadn’t moved from where she had passed him, in fact he had sat down.

  “Oh, come on,” she pleaded. “Let’s go.”

  But the animal didn’t move.

  She tugged on the line. “Come on.”

  He still didn’t budge.

  Tess let out an exasperated huff and pivoted to call out for Cain to wait. Her mouth fell open, and she froze.

  He wasn’t there.

  She quickly scanned the area, her eyes growing wide with fear when she still didn’t see him. She looked to the sky, but the eagle, too, was gone.

  How could Cain just run off and leave them? He had to know they weren’t following him anymore. He had to.

  She called out in a voice raw with panic. When she got no response, tears quickly rose in her. She didn’t know what to do. Tess rubbed her itching nose and closed her burning eyes tightly against the tears. “Keep it together. That’s what you do,” she whispered. The teen took in a deep breath and held it until the urge to break down subsided. Cain couldn’t have gone far, her calmer mind said, and she would find him. Tess turned to the albino fawn. “You,” she announced sternly, “are coming with me one way or another.”

  Tess stomped back to the animal determined to pick him up and carry him. As she reached down for the deer, the piercing screech of a bird filled the air. The albino fawn leaped up and sprinted away from Tess so quickly that she lost her balance and fell. She felt the leash’s handle slipping from her grip and squeezed her hand tightly around it before scrambling back to her feet.

  “Great. Now he runs,” she grumbled, then shouted, “Stay,” as if he were a dog.

  The albino fawn didn’t stay. He continued to leap effortlessly away from her. Tess tried to reel him in with the leash, pushing and releasing the lock button as she ran after him, but it was no use. The animal was too fast and too graceful, and she was too slow and too clumsy. The fawn continued to push the leash’s limits, always staying at least fifteen feet ahead of her. The mist that had been with them all afternoon began to rise and thicken, making it more and more difficult for Tess to see the ghost white animal. He would disappear into the fog, then reappear seemingly even farther away from her. She followed him through a stand of trees and suddenly found herself running through a meadow thick with mist. It billowed around her, growing denser and higher as the fawn pulled her forward.

  Then the leash went slack.

  Tess stopped short, stupefied for a moment. She heard the leash cord zooming back to her and zip to a stop in her hand.

  The albino fawn was gone.

  ****

  Bloody and disoriented, Wes Thayer staggered to a stop. He pushed his back up against the trunk of a pine tree, hiding and resting at the same time. He didn’t know how long he had been running or how far he had gone, but he knew he needed to circle back somehow and find Ben. He glanced over his shoulder, looking apprehensively into the woods behind him and listening for the rustle of a pursuing animal. None came. His shoulders slumped in relief and his head dropped to his knees. Wes remained still, waiting for his spinning head to settle. He wasn’t sure how long the cougar had followed him; and actually, now that he had stopped to think about it, he wasn’t sure it had followed him at all. In fact, he could hear nothing. The area around him was strangely quiet.

  As his body calmed and the rush of adrenaline dissipated, pain and nausea crept in and his mangled cheek and wounded leg started to throb. Wincing, he carefully probed the side of his face with his fingers. They came away bloody, and as he looked at them he became aware of blood dripping down his calf and into his shoe. He bent lower, checking the bite on his leg. The punctures weren’t too deep and looked to be clotting. He quickly scanned the rest of his body. His clothes were ripped, his shoes muddy, his legs and arms scrapped and smeared with blood. From head to toe he was covered in sweaty dirt and woodland debris. Wes’s anxiety eased a bit but still he knew his cheek and leg weren’t his only problems.

  But I have to find Ben, he thought, and the sooner, the better.

  You won’t do that if you collapse or pass out, his mind told him.

  Wes slowly reached up for the battered helmet sitting askew on top of his head. As he unhooked the chinstrap, a wave of nausea swept him, and he let the helmet slip to the ground. He had hit his head hard and very likely had a concussion. The nausea assaulting him confirmed that possibility. He waited for the sickness to pass, his back against the tree, head down and hands on his knees. The helmet, lying a foot or so to his right, caught his eye, as did something shiny lying in the underbrush next to it. Focusing his blurry vision, he struggled to make out what it was.

  “A trap,” he snorted, lowering his head again. He was seeing the thick chain anchor of a foothold trap, one that could very likely disable a cougar. “How comforting,” he mumbled.

  That brought thoughts of Ben again. He needed to find his friend. No, he told himself, not yet. First, you have to take care of yourself.

  Wes retched as he forced himself to look out at the landscape before him. He found himself on the edge of a foggy, sedge-filled meadow and knew water couldn’t be far away. He pushed off the tree, and holding his stomach tightly, staggered forward into the mist.

  ****

  Cain spun in a circle, scanning the area and calling out for Tess again and again. Where had she and the fawn gone? he wondered. He could swear she had been right behind him—or at least the fawn had been. He had heard it rustling in the foliage as they ran, but now the fawn and Tess were nowhere to be seen. He kicked at the ground. What was he supposed to do? Go off looking for them? He really didn’t want to do that. He had found Lost Creek. He was certain of it. All he had to do now was find the ghost herd. His eyes gleamed with anticipation. He wanted to follow the creek, find the sacred herd, and see what the spirits had to offer him.

  But you can’t, he reminded himself. You have to find the fawn. Deflated, he kicked the ground again. He knew finding the ghost herd meant nothing if he didn’t have the fawn. He needed the animal to complete his journey and to appease the spirits.

  “Arrggghhhh!” he yelled, turning back to the creek and into the stare of an albino buck.

  The animal stood at the edge of the creek, holding its velvety pink antlers high, its red eyes seeming to glow against the misty backdrop. Behind the buck, the thick fog hanging over the meadow began to swirl and slowly dissolve. One by one, sixteen albino deer—bucks, does, and fawns—appeared to float up from the earth and into view.

  Cain stood completely still, afraid one movement would startle the mystical creatures and they would bolt from sight. He watched the herd graze and drink, every flicking white tail, every twitching pink ear captivating him.

  Then fog began to rise from the ground again, flowing upward until the animals disappeared into its dense, protective blanket.

  “Noooooo,” Cain cried, darting into the mist. “Don’t go. Not yet.”

  The fog swallowed him, and he jogged to a stop unable to see a foot into the distance now. His heart sank. His chance had come and gone. The ghost herd had revealed itself, but he didn’t have the fawn. Cain’s head dropped to his chest and he reluctantly
turned to leave. As he tried to retrace his steps in the blinding fog, he caught glimpses of shrubs and grasses. He paused, turning in a circle. The fog was literally lifting, slowly revealing the carpet of wetland plants and the grazing deer beneath it. The blanket of white rose to his shoulders, where it hovered for a moment. Then it began to howl, dancing and swirling around his head until he was sick with dizziness.

  Cain dropped to the ground, cowering with closed eyes against the maelstrom above. He didn’t know what was happening or what to do. His failure must have angered the spirits, and now they were showing him their rage. Cain began to crawl, staying close to the ground and as far away from the roaring air as he could get. He had gone just a few feet when the noise above suddenly stopped and an unsettling calm filled the meadow. Cain glanced over his shoulder, then scrambled to his feet. Before him, hundreds of albino deer filled the sedge meadow and the sky above it. The original herd of sixteen deer still gathered there, joined now by ghostly ancestors, prancing on wispy hooves and floating like wraiths in the wind.

  Cain’s knees buckled, and weakness forced him back to the ground. He stayed as he fell, on his rear end, legs splayed outward, awestruck to the point of immobility.

  ****

  Tess stared at the empty collar in her hand. She started to yell for the fawn to come, but then stopped herself.

  He’s not a dog, dummy, her mind scolded. He’s a wild animal, one that is probably happy to be free of you.

  But she had to find him somehow. Cain needed the fawn to complete his spirit journey. She looked hopelessly out into the mist. How was she ever supposed to find a white deer in that? Her heart sank. She had lost the fawn. Tears came again, welling in her eyes and threatening to cascade down her cheeks. Cain would be furious with her. Any hope she had had of dating him—however slight that hope had been—was gone now. He would never consider dating a girl who had been the ruin of his Indian quest. A tear fell to her cheek, and she let it trickle down her face.

  Crybaby, a voice inside taunted cruelly. It stunned her, and she wiped her eyes roughly, smearing wetness across her face.

  What is wrong with me? she questioned. I don’t cry, not like this.

  But you have been, the cruel voice said.

  That was true. The past three mornings she had woken with tears drying on her face.

  This trip had done something to her, but she didn’t know what. She felt raw inside and emotionally weakened, but why? Tess stared thoughtfully into the mist. As she stood there, the mist slowly spun around her, enveloping her in a lazy cyclone. Her head rolled gently side to side as the fog around her began to glow and flickers of orange pulsed through the whiteness.

  It’s coming, she thought. The fire is coming.

  Panic rose in her but quickly dissipated, as the mist gently cocooned her and peacefulness replaced it. She was nine years old again and back at the scene of the accident that changed her life forever. She was in the burning car, her legs trapped under the twisted front seat, and flames were rising from the engine. Tess felt a surge of heat, then saw her mother and sister motionless in the mangled front seat. She screamed for them to wake up, to move, to do something. But they remained still, bodies slumped sideways, enfolded in puffy whiteness.

  They were dead, and Tess was trapped. Her nine-year-old self grabbed for her legs, pulling and screaming until…

  Tess abruptly snapped out of the trance holding her, reached for her burning face, and felt tears there. The cyclone of mist spiraled upward and disappeared. She stood still for a moment, hand resting on her cheek. She didn’t know how it was possible—not after all these years—but her memory of the accident had returned. She searched her mind to be sure and, yes, it was there. Somehow it was there, and she was OK. Instead by being shocked or traumatized, she actually welcomed and embraced it, for with that memory came the most important detail of the accident itself. Tess remembered now that her mother and sister had died instantly that night. They had died the moment that stupid car smashed into them. They didn’t die some horrific death. They didn’t suffer more than she had. In fact, they really didn’t suffer at all. They didn’t see the fire coming, didn’t feel the air scorch their lungs, didn’t feel their skin shrivel and watch it blacken as they burned.

  Only Tess had.

  The teen’s lips quivered as relief rushed through her because she knew now how to help her troubled father.

  Tess remembered everything.

  ****

  Waves of nausea and dizziness pummeled Wes as he stumbled through the foggy meadow. Still, he forced himself forward, going several yards before collapsing to the ground. He landed on his side, arms stretched out before him and hands splashing into water.

  Water? he questioned weakly.

  Wes wiggled his fingers.

  Yes, water, his mind confirmed, sending an arousing jolt through his body.

  Wes pulled himself up to his elbows and partly crawled, partly dragged himself into the gurgling creek. He lowered the top of his head into the cold water while cupping handfuls of it into his dry mouth. It was possibly the best water he had ever tasted, and its soothing effect was immediate. After a few minutes Wes felt steady enough to lift his head and rock back to his knees. He rubbed his hands together briskly in the creek, then braced himself for the pain to come. He washed stinging water over his wounded face and roared.

  “Who’s there? Who’s out there?” an angry voice demanded from somewhere in the distance.

  Wes bit back his pain and froze. The voice sounded too familiar.

  “Make yourself known. Now.”

  “Clyde?” Wes whispered. He cautiously raised his head, peeking up over the fog.

  And, yes, there was his father just a few yards away, gun raised, stalking the meadow. Wes lowered his head and hunkered at the side of the creek, the fog covering him in a protective veil. Questions battered his mind. What was Clyde doing here? How did he know where they’d be? How did he find them?

  If he should be anywhere, Clyde should be in Manitowish Waters. This is…Wes paused, throbbing pain slowing his thoughts. He wasn’t sure exactly where this was. He was in a meadow, by a creek, likely somewhere near the town of Powell.

  “Oh my God,” Wes murmured. The creek.

  This was Lost Creek. He had found it, but that didn’t explain how Clyde had. Then the answer came to him. Ben. It had to be gullible Ben. His friend must have snuck off during their stay on the reservation and reported in to Clyde. Not surprising, Wes grumbled. Clyde would have worked all the angles. And showing up here? Well, that was textbook Clyde. Let everyone else do the work, then swoop in at the last minute to take the glory.

  Not this time, Wes thought. Not after what’s happened out here to Ben, to me, to the others. Wes mustered a sly grin. You’re going down, dear ole dad.

  He had a plan.

  ****

  Tess heard something rustling in the grass. Maybe it’s the fawn, she thought. Her attention focused back on the mission at hand, and she crept quietly toward the sound. The fog had thickened to the point that she could barely see a foot in front of her. She raised her arms out, probing the hazy whiteness as she walked zombielike through it. This is pointless, she thought and stopped. She could still hear rustling but could no longer tell what direction it was coming from. If she kept on, she was going to get herself more lost than she already was. She needed to go back to the creek and follow it. It would lead her back to Sandy Beach Road, and she would wait there. Tess turned around and took a few stilted steps before her probing hands touched something and she cried out with a start.

  “Tess, it’s me.”

  Then she saw him.

  Tess threw her outstretched arms around Cain’s neck and kissed him. Her actions were so impulsive that she didn’t realize what she had done until her lips were already pressing into his. She immediately pulled back, shame flushing her as she stared into his st
artled eyes. “I’m s-s-s-sorry,” she stammered. Inwardly groaning, she took a step back.

  “Not a problem.” He chuckled uncomfortably. “I’m happy to see you, too.”

  “But I-I lost the fawn.”

  “No, you didn’t. Come on.” Cain took her by the hand and guided her back to Lost Creek.

  The fog thinned as they walked until it was just a haze over the bubbling creek water. Cain pointed down the rocky bed, and there, Tess saw the albino fawn, its wounded rear end standing out sharply in the ghostly mist as its head dipped down to drink. The fawn pulled up from the water and looked at the teens with fiery eyes. His head bobbed upward and he shook it briskly as if telling them to go now, their job was done. Two albino does appeared, and the fawn turned to follow them.

  Tess smiled wistfully, her hand still clasped in Cain’s, as the fawn vanished into the mist. “Is it done then? Can we go?” she asked, thinking of her father and what she had to tell him.

  “Yes,” Cain sighed deeply. “It’s finished. Let’s get out of here.” He looked to the sky. “And, please, enough with the fog.”

  An eagle screeched hauntingly somewhere in the distance, and the two teens turned, following Lost Creek out of the meadow and into the woods.

  ****

  Wes maneuvered through the grassy meadow, quietly getting into position before rising up out of the fog.

  “Hey!” he called out to his father. “Over here.”

  Clyde spun around. “Wes?”

  Even though Clyde was a good twenty feet away, Wes could tell by his stance that he was furious about something.