Sanctum Arcanum

by Alexander Kautz

  Although we had both read predating and corresponding accounts of the creature, we had simply nodded. Which obviously pleasing the old man caused him to become less tense, and commanding the conversation, he grinned, “Same things happened here—and on this lake. Accidents happen, some people just go missing, and others turn up dead.” Slowly shaking his head, I had the impression that he was either testing our aptitude, or simply frightened and attempting to convince himself. Regardless, in the short time that we had been here and known the man, already I did not trust him. In fact, I was swiftly developing an inner loathing and strange sense of pity at the same time. He reminded me of an old dog that bent and broken by an abusive past, barked only to satisfy some falsified sense of security.

  “This was my brother’s deal to begin with--,” He spat, his eyes filled with what could only be explained as disappointment, “I just came out here to help out—being family and all. Some folks just won’t let go of the past. I never did give a shit for what people around here thought or said, until now….”

  “Time passes—and people forget things--,” Rich peered out and over the lake, then back at Frank, “One day, anyone who remembers will be gone, or just too old to even care, much less talk about it. But by then, this place will be a booming camp-ground, and all that’ll matter is the catch of the day, or if they brought enough bug spray.”

  Winking and slapping Rich on the back, the old man chuckled, “That almost sounds too good to be true—but I’m hopeful.” He seemed distraught, momentarily lost in some dark memory, but with that final thought, waved and lead us onward.

  We followed the old man from the shed as he clambered onto the dock, and drawing keys from his jeans pocket, directed us toward the storage and supply buildings. The wind had picked up as the sun began setting behind the frozen peaks. My fingers and the flesh of my face felt frozen and I shivered as the temperature began dropping. The approaching darkness had become unsettling, but the water now bothered me even more. I gazed down into the lake in passing. Clear as it lapped against the sand and rocky shore, it became a cerulean mirror from which no reflection returned. It was as though cast into shadow, even the mountains seemed to drown and vanish beneath those icy waves….

  “This was our dock office and main supplies building.” Frank announced, as unlocking the door and leading us inside, he leaned against the counter, “All the food for the canteen was brought here by boat, as well as anything else that we might need.”

  “What is the other building for?” Rich directed Frank’s attention out the window and toward the accompanying structure.

  “That’s the tool shed.” Frank seemed disturbed even looking at the place. His eyes becoming wide and blank, “Anything from chainsaws to those forty ton forklifts, if you needed a part or the tool to fix it. That’s where we kept it all.”

  “You didn’t seem too thrilled with our friend, Red Cloud. Do you mind if I ask why?” Rich had obviously ripped open an old wound with the question.

  Frank didn’t respond immediately, but just stood there staring as though analyzing my friend. With a wave he led us from out of the building and, locking the door, turned to look at Rich, “I don’t know what experience or knowledge you might have of old camps, but let me tell you this: Some men don’t deal well with seclusion—the hard work and the things that sometimes happen.” Tapping a finger to the side of his head, his eyes grew larger than life, “They lose it—end up with a head full of bad wiring, and notions to match. Now, I never said anything back there—but I remembered your friend, and his brother. Like I said before, I’m not the best with names, but I never forget a face.”

  Shoving a stick of gum into my mouth, I simply listened as leading us away from the building, he said, “His brother was another casualty, killed on the job here. I don’t remember all the details, never saw it happen myself. But I heard that he was crushed, killed by a broken cable on the green-chain.”

  So far his story had been consistent, Rich and I had just glanced at one another as the old man continued.

  “Your friend didn’t work the green-chain after that. My brother assigned him to a truck, for decency’s sake—you know? So, he hauled logs up and down the mountain until he finally quit the camp, must have been ‘59 or ’60, if I had to guess? He had a place—a motel that his grandparents had left him, up there in Roads End.” He nodded in the direction of the old town and looked back with a shrug, “So, you boys might well imagine that after all of these years, I was a little surprised to see him back here again. Especially after what happened….”

  I was beginning to wonder if my first impression might have been a little harsh, as motioning back toward the town of Harrison, I said, “We actually met Red Cloud at Road’s End, and he has been part of our investigative team for quite some time now.”

  “I heard about the mill fire--,” Frank squinted as though drawing upon some thought that had been just beyond reach, “A couple of the boys who died in the initial fire once worked for us. Old Willy, the hotel owner who got killed in the more recent fire, used to drive truck for my brother. He worked here from about 1950 right up until we closed down the clean-up operation in ‘65.” Frank scoffed, looking down and shaking his head, “You know, he used all his savings to buy that old dump in Road’s End. And then, when the mill burned, the town died and old Willy’s dreams went with it. It’s not like me to speak ill of the dead--,” He peered up at us, a glint of suspicion burning within his stare, “But, I never trusted the man—there was just something off, wrong about him…”

  I doubted that Frank would ever realize just how right he had been, but avoiding the subject, I asked, “Exactly how far is Harrison Mills from here?”

  “According to the map we’re sitting in it, but the actual town is a few miles up the road. There isn’t much to it right now, but I expect that it’ll grow considerably, once we get this place going.”

  “So, we can go there for supplies if we need to?” Rich had looked hopeful, the smirk wiped from his face as Frank shook his head, “Hell no, nothing that fancy. Oh—they got a little grocery store, but most folks run into Harrison Hot Springs or Agassiz when they need anything.”

  “You were right—it certainly does get dark fast out here.” I noticed the long shadows trailing along the dock from beyond the office window.

  “We’d better get a move on--,” He agreed, “I never cared for the fall nights out here. When the sun goes down, a chill comes down off those mountains. And there’s a damp mist from off the lake that gets right into your bones. I couldn’t tell you boys how many nights I lay awake, shivering and trying to shake off that damn cold….”

  Rubbing at his arms and peering about into the growing darkness, Rich shuddered, “I know what you mean. What’s in that building?” He motioned toward the last of the structures.

  “That’s the boat-house--,” Frank bit down on his lower lip, thinking briefly before glancing back, “It’s where I keep my old yacht. Always loved the water in the old days—but things change….”

  “Would you mind if we had a look around—took a few pictures?’ I had already suspected the answer before it came.

  “No reason for anyone to go poking around in there. It’s like I told you boys, nothing in there but the old Jenny II and some of my personal things.”

  “Jenny II?” I had presumed to have had no previous knowledge of the craft.

  “I had a speed-boat in the early days--,” He explained as we walked past the building, “But there was an accident down on the dock while some of the boys were fueling her up for me. Damn thing caught fire somehow—it was a miracle that no one got killed. But the boat burned up and went down. She’s still out there somewhere at the bottom of the lake.”

  We had slowed in passing the boat-house, as looking upon the bolted and padlocked door, he swallowed hard as we continued along.

  “My brother bought me another one as a birthday gift --,” The words seemed to get caught in his throat, as coughing, he spat,
“But instead of a speed-boat, I got a sail-boat with a diesel engine, real fancy thing. I named her the Jenny II in honor of the one that I lost.”

  “You ever take her out?” Rich asked before I could.

  “Hell no—I doubt she’ll even run now. She’s just a keep-sake at the moment, and who knows? Maybe someday I’ll fix her up again….”

  I had intended to question him further, but the warning glance from Rich had caused me to falter. There was no need to push anything further, not for the moment anyway.

  We followed Frank as he hurried Eastward on the path, directing us along the shore. It was just a short distance to where the road coming down met the path, and we traveled up the bank toward the washroom facilities. Though smaller and unlike the other buildings, this one was comprised entirely of concrete and stone and, appearing fairly modern for its time, it seemed almost completely out of place.

  “We replaced the old out-houses with this building in ‘58--,” Frank explained, “It’s all still fully functional, but there’s no light at the moment. I kept the water off in the winter so the pipes wouldn’t freeze. But, I was testing the plumbing earlier, so if you need the facilities, it’s all working.”

  “A lot of camp-grounds wouldn’t even have anything this modern.” Rich nodded approvingly, “Did you say that there isn’t any light?”

  “Oh—it has power alright--,” Frank cursed under his breath, “But the damn kids stole all the light bulbs at some point. I just can’t be bothered to replace them just yet. Little creeps will just come poking around again and do the same thing.” He turned grimacing and looked back toward the boat-house, “I’m just glad that they haven’t gotten into any of the other buildings yet.”

  “You might consider hiring site security--,” I halted to snap several pictures of the building and surrounding camp, “It’s an additional cost—but could spare you a lot of unnecessary repairs and trouble.”

  Frank had just laughed, crossing his arms over his breast and scoffing, said “We couldn’t get anyone to stay out here when the camp was still operational. I doubt that anyone, much less locals—would spend a winter alone out here…”

  Judging by his reaction, I began to suspect that he had very good reasons for believing that. As halting to glance back and into the heavens, my gaze drifted into the deep pastels of dusk. It was like a gently descending amethyst haze, which fading into eternity drew, the stars down upon the mountain vale.

  Motioning with a wave and walking with a limp likely accrued to some old injury, Frank now guided us back up the path. To our immediate right and merely some fifty yards from the washrooms stood a building constructed of old timber. It appeared well maintained, and though weathered, had stood the test of time.

  “This was the cook-house and where the men ate all of their meals--,” Frank announced, “I’ll be turning it into a store and restaurant for our guests. Nothing fancy, just breakfast, fast food, soda, candy bars and snacks for the kids. That way folks won’t have to run into town.”

  “This is really starting to sound like a good investment. Would you consider taking on a silent business partner?” Rich closely pursued the man as we made our way toward the wooden steps.

  Frank stopped before the steps and looked back at Rich, “That’s a very generous offer—but I prefer to work alone, thanks all the same.”

  Although it was somewhat deceptive, I suspected that Frank would never permit himself to be recorded. So, inconspicuously slipping a hand into my jacket pocket and holding my recorder so the microphone extended outward, I switched it on. Relieved to have not been discovered, I swiftly followed my companions up the front steps.

  Frank unlocked and opened the door before us, allowing us passage first. As we entered the large building, Frank flicked on a light switch. The main hall was filled with numerous rows of long tables and many benches. All of the furniture had been cleverly fashioned from pine and polished to a smooth and glossy finish, the reflection of which still danced through a thin layer of dust in the glow of the long and over-hanging, fluorescent lights.

  I had stopped to take several pictures, hurrying after my companions who now walked down an aisle in the center of the room and between the tables. Upon the walls were a number of large black and white framed prints. All of the images depicted some aspect of the camp, equipment, and groups of employees. One that had caught my attention in particular revealed several men standing before an enormous tree stump with long and double-ended hand-saws. I had stopped to snap several pictures, making certain to have captured that one for posterity’s sake.

  There was an open service area where the men had once stood and awaited their food, and as we passed through the swinging kitchen doors, Frank turned on another light. I felt absolutely amazed, as with exception to a light layer of dust everything appeared as though it could be service ready within hours. But unlike most of the camp, this particular place caused the short hairs on my forearms and nape of my neck to stand on end.

  “It looks like all the cooking equipment, pots, pans and even cleaning supplies are all still here.” Rich appeared surprised.

  “It was just too much trouble and not worth enough to bother hauling away--,” Frank replied with a shrug, “Much cheaper to just leave it all here.”

  “You mentioned earlier that some men did not deal well with the seclusion--,” I asked, cautious to conceal the microphone, “I believe that you said that some even went off the deep end?”

  To this he had reacted with certain surprise as his attention was immediately drawn into the dark recesses to the back of the large room and to where, cast in shadow, a back door appeared from between the counters, shelving and over-head cupboards.

  “It’s odd that you would ask about that in here.” There was suspicion in his tone, but unflinching and refusing to remove his attention from that door, he said, “Our head cook was a Frenchman by the name of Louis Martin.”

  We stood there for several moments as though he had forgotten the subject and was no longer even aware of our presence. But then he slowly turned and, looking to me, swallowed hard, “We had better get going—we can talk on the way back.”

  Without a second thought, he simply turned and quickly moved toward the kitchen doors. There was a sense of urgency in his movements, his limp worsening as we went along. He spoke as he switched out the light, swiftly leading us back through the building while he explained, “And, Louis was fresh out of Quebec City when he came here. He hardly spoke any English, but he had brought his wife here to keep him company, being as we spent the entire summer here. She spoke both French and English fluently, so she helped in the kitchen and was teaching him as we went along. He was with us for two years, best damn cook that this camp ever saw.”

  It was getting dark fast as we left the building, and locking the door behind us, he led us back up the path, “Well, one day he’s not feeling so good, and instructing his assistants on what he wanted done, he went to his shack earlier than usual.” Frank peered back at us, stumbling and almost falling, as he caught himself at the last moment.

  Rich had attempted to assist him, but waving the gesture off, Frank continued, “Sadly for Louis, he walked in right in the middle of his wife servicing a young lumberjack.”

  Rich had frowned, shooting a nervous glance at me as we both suspected the worst.

  “He never even gave it a second thought.” Frank pointed toward a shack on the far eastern side of the camp, “He just picked up the axe that he had used for firewood, and killed them both. From what my brother told me, it was so bad that they had to use pails to collect what was left of his wife and the young fellow.”

  “So, Louis was charged with murder?” Rich followed close as we hurried up the path in the growing blackness.

  “No.” Frank spat, peering back at us, “He just sat on the edge of his bed and put both barrels of a shotgun in his mouth. It was a good thing that we had all known him. The coroner would have had a hell of a time identifying the body. So, do
you understand why I’m not so fond of seeing old faces around this place?”

  Rich had only nodded in response. I knew that he had already considered the possibility of the double homicide and suicide being part of the reason that we were now here. Pretending to have stumbled to conceal the sound of my switching off the recorder, I feigned surprise. Frank had not noticed anything, but Rich had caught the subtle movement and known right away. Simply shrugging at my friend, I received a wink as we now rushed against the coming night.

  “Old Red Cloud was never any trouble—I never really knew him,” Frank hobbled hurriedly ahead, “But, you never know what might be going through a man’s head over time. You might be surprised at some of the crazy ideas some people get.”

  “We’ve had a little experience with some very strange places--,” Rich admitted, “And even stranger people. So, we can relate.”

  “A lot of things have happened in this camp during the thirty three years that it was running.” His efforts became more obvious, as looking fearfully into the growing darkness, he moved quicker along the path, gasping, “And, I would just as soon bury the old memories, leave them in the grave where they belong—you know what I mean?”