Hurriedly making my way over the railing and down the ladder, I watched as Rich managed to clamber into the raft. Scott had followed after me and no sooner had we reached the bottom, than did Rich paddle up from beneath us.
“Come on—we have this!” He waved us onward.
Scott and I had almost fallen while climbing down, and dropped heavily into the raft. The growing flames, billowing smoke, and fog added a surreal perspective to the living nightmare that surrounded us.
“We can’t just leave them here!” Rich trembled uncontrollably, peeling off his soaking wet sweater and accepting a woolen blanket from Scott.
“What do we do?” Scott manned the oars, his face pale as a sheet. But no answer arrived as, looking helplessly between the yacht and open water, I panicked, stuttering in doubt! “No, we can’t leave them—but we can’t stay!”
There hadn’t even been time to think as a sudden explosion erupted high into the night from above! The yacht rocking and almost casting us aside in the resulting waves, as in that same instant both Ronnie and Red Cloud had leapt from off the deck, almost engulfed by an immense and pursuing wall of flames!
“Move—let’s get out of here!” I pointed to where our companions had vanished among the fog and waves, “We need to get them out of that water and away from the burning yacht!”
Without hesitation, Scott began rowing toward our fallen friends as they desperately struggled against the icy water, the flames reflecting in the blackened waves, casting a mirror image, a nightmarish inferno: A vision of Hell. And then we heard it: Another immense and resounding splash. It was the sound of the devil in that dark and burning Hell, coming to claim our souls!
“Oh Christ—it’s coming after us!” Rich wailed as grabbing at Red Cloud, we struggled to pull both men from the lake and into our boat.
A sudden turbulence in the water behind us and the monster rose from out of the depths. Trailing a river of flames, it shattered the stillness with a shrieking and unearthly howl.
Ronnie dropped down on the bench beside Scott, both men rowing madly as they fought against the tide.
Another explosion rocked the Jenny II and in the gathering light, I saw the nightmare following from some twenty yards behind.
Its arms and legs moved rhythmically like an enormous octopus, its pale and bloated mass swiftly moving through the fire, foam and fog. With each ghastly effort carrying it forward ever faster, it now surfaced, shrieking and flailing from close behind. It no longer resembled anything even remotely human, the flesh having congealed into an oozing mass of filth, trailing hair and hideously animated bones.
I could only stare, my heart pounding as though it would burst from my chest! In all of the years and horrors that I had seen, I had never before witnessed anything as terrifying. It was like Hell had opened its gates and permitted a living nightmare to escape!
“It’s too fast—we just can’t get away!” Rich shrieked as the monster came into plain view.
“I thought that you said that it just wanted the boat!” Scott cried out in panicked fear.
“I know what it wants.” Ronnie became pale as a sheet, his eyes wide as he dropped the oar, “Rich, take over for me. The shore is close—you can still make it—go!”
Before anyone could even reach for the man he went over the side! Without question and terrified beyond rational thought, Rich had done as ordered, hurriedly taking hold of the oar.
Ronnie had not uttered a sound, as treading water, alone and helpless, he just closed his eyes while turning away and remaining absolutely still, hung suspended in the black waters while facing down the fiend. My soul burned with the guilt of abandoning the unfortunate man. Watching in utter horror as the thing reared up from out of the churning waves, it reached out with those hideous and bony arms and took hold of him.
Red Cloud had thrown something into the water that had hung from about his neck. Casting his arms into the heavens and closing his eyes, he cried out in Cree prayer, the sound of his mournful voice echoing across the dark lake and streaming fog. During his plea and from out of that blackness I heard an utterly blood-curdling shriek.
Realizing that it had not been our friend, I suspected something far darker as we all stared into the blinding and suffocating smoke.
Through the fog, flames and darkness I could see that the horror had not dragged him down. It just held him suspended like some hideous rag doll. The heads twisted and turned, limbs thrashing about, the fiend seeming almost apprehensive. The numerous heads all turning toward our little boat, we all stared aghast. Its attentions focused entirely upon us as we realized our own ends would soon come.
“This evil only holds dominion over those directly involved--,” Red Cloud had looked to me, his wide eyes filled with confusion and reflecting the flames and blackness, “And yet, it seeks you out from all others….”
My gaze returning to where it held Ronnie suspended high above the water, I realized that its attention had been focused entirely upon me. Held within the brilliant glow of the inferno, I could clearly make out the blackness that had once been its eyes.
“Then, what’s stopping it?” Scott muttered as he looked between the horror and Red.
The old man just slowly shook his head, “I do not know….”
From out of the blackness high above came the echoing and piercing call of a raven. A sound that none would ever hear by night, and that I now suspected was something far darker.
“There is greater evil at work here than any of us know.” Red Cloud looked to where the nightmare still held our friend in the blackness, “May the Great Spirit spare us all on this night…..”
In that final moment there was an immense explosion as the yachts fuel tank ignited! The night becoming as bright as day as the boat, exploding into flames, slowly tilted, roaring as she leaned in her death throws, and began slipping beneath the dark waves!
For reasons beyond explanation the fiend allowed Ronnie to slip free of its grasp. It moved off into the fog, and slowly traveling back toward the blazing wreck, vanished beneath the dark waves. Shouting and swimming away from the monster, he wailed, pleading for help, struggling through the waves as the wind, weather and night now took its toll. Even as the monstrous thing had disappeared into the depths, our friend was swiftly floundering and would most certainly drown.
“It has gone—and left him! Go back for him!” Red Cloud bellowed as we turned, hurriedly paddling toward our friend.
But even as they rowed, I could see in our companion’s pale expression that he had seen enough. Slowly and without hope, he made a futile attempt to raise a hand. A final plea for help as life and courage now seemed to fail him.
I had moved to slip from over the side and Scott had caught my shoulder, “What if it’s some kind of a trick? That thing might be baiting us….”
“He offered his life in exchange for ours. I can’t just watch him die—not now.” I had pulled free of his grasp, leaping over the side, and began swimming toward the man. The water was ice cold, my clothing drawing me down as I fought against the powerful tide.
With my friends calling out in horror and panic, I swam harder than I ever had before. My heart raced, thoughts screamed as I now feared that the horror might return to claim us both. I could see that Ronnie now barely managed to stay above the waves. He had closed his eyes for the last time and slipped down into the endless night. It was in that last moment, and as Ronnie had given in to the cold, that I reached out and took hold of his hand!
“No—hold on Ronnie!” I grabbed at the man, his flesh cold as death, “It’s going to be alright, just stay with me, my friend!”
Though weak and succumbing to the elements, he opened his eyes, the spark of hope fading and all vitality failing as his form became limp. I would not allow this! My heart and soul screamed, pleaded for help, as I fought to keep him from the deathly embrace of the lake…
And then they came from out of the fog and night, like angels from out of the flames!
“Stay awake!” Red Cloud had demanded, rubbing at my legs and then arms, “Stay with me!”
I had looked into the desperate and frightened features of the kindly old soul as he fought for my life. The warmth slowly returning to my limbs, I slowly began feeling his hands upon my bitter cold flesh.
I had thought to have lost our companion, as he no longer stirred or showed any signs of life. But then, opening a single eye and coughing, he looked to me in little more than a whisper, “Tell me—that it was all just a bad dream…”
“It will be—soon enough--,” I had looked out into the darkness, “For some of us anyway…”
He had grimaced, closing his eyes, and whispered, “That’s two that I owe you now, friend….”
Coughing in the bitter chill and soaking clothes, I fought against the fever that now raged from deep within. Looking up into Red Cloud’s face as he removed his coat and gently covered me, “Be strong—we will all be far from here very soon….”
Relieved, I had reached out and gently patted Red Cloud’s hand, my gaze returning out and onto the lake.
The Jenny II stood like a nightmarish beacon in the blackness, the flames reaching high into the night. The reflection in the billowing smoke and fog appearing like the gates to Hell, while making the lake appear unnaturally bright. Slowly leaning and with a mighty groan, her death cries echoed across the water. The flames fading as she slowly slipped beneath those blackened waves, to forever rest with the devil at the bottom of that lake….
As the darkness took us and we slowly rowed back through the drifting fog, I had said a silent prayer to fate, destiny and merciful God….
Epilogue
Returning to the cabin, we had swiftly changed and warmed by the hearth as the others hurriedly packed what remained of our things. We had gone into town reporting an accident, and had a local towing company return for our damaged truck. Without evidence of the murders and with a story that no rational human being would ever accept, we were at a complete loss. In the end, and though morally defunct, we had contrived a simple story involving a boating accident, wherein Frank was sadly lost.
Though Rich seemed fine, Ronnie and I had been admitted to the hospital for brief examinations, and diagnosed with pneumatic symptoms due to exposure, were provided with the necessary medications.
The authorities in Agassiz had taken our statements, and we had departed with heavy hearts. Not for the loss of Frank or the Jenny II, but knowing that we had left a legacy of death and horror in that place….
Although I would have preferred to uncover a decades old murder mystery and revealed the killer, it was simply impossible. We still have no idea as to why that thing had released Ronnie, but can only assume that he was somehow relinquished of guilt in those final moments. We have remained in contact with him and though he fares well, something unexplained has followed him. It’s an endless problem with water and flooding which pursues him no matter where he goes. From hot water tanks to internal plumbing, lines and pipes just seem to break. Maybe it’s just coincidence, or perhaps Sherry Campbell hasn’t forgiven him for not reporting that murderous old Frank? Whether it’s a ghost story or simply a case of an endless plumbing issue, we may never truly know.
Ronnie had stayed true to his word concerning the property, and graciously awarded it to the town of Harrison Mills. On any account, Fleetwood B Camp remains abandoned and almost forgotten to this very day. I had gone with him and Rich to the little cemetery that held the casualties of that accursed place. It was old and seemingly hidden, but had an amazing view over-looking the lake. Sitting upon a rocky slope, the moss covered graves resting in the shade of the surrounding pines. We had left a bouquet of lilies in memory upon Tony’s grave. A brave young lad who had paid with his life while searching for answers of a long lost love.
At last we had stood upon the banks of that dark and bitter cold shore. Placing a single rose into the chilling waves for each life lost there. As the nine roses slipped down and vanished into the depths, Rich had read a prayer over that dark and bottomless grave.
I often wonder if that nightmare is still lurking out there, somewhere just off the point of that abandoned camp. People still go missing yearly, swimmers, boaters and others that seem to just vanish from plain sight. But in this case, some things are best left unknown. I doubt very much that any of us will venture back to Harrison Mills for those answers. Or go anywhere near that lake for any reason, ever again…
Chapter Six
Silent Scream
Saturday, September 7, 1974.
The return from Fleetwood B had been done in silence. None of us had felt right about anything that had happened. Although we had reported Frank’s accidental demise, there had been certain guilt within the lie; but none while watching as we had sent the blazing Jenny II to the bottom of the lake. She had been a mass grave for far too long, and should never fall into the hands of others… I could only justify things as I typed out the last few words in the epilogue to “The Horror of Harrison Mills.”
Leaning back into my chair and sipping at a cup of hot tea, I sighed deeply. It had been an exceptionally long day as I had worked to complete the most recent adventure. It was a story that had become the first episode in the fourth volume of the Nightrealm series.
At times I wondered if some day it all might be used against us in a court as evidence, but then laughed at the thought. If the day ever arrived, no rational much less professional person would ever attempt to explain or risk their career and reputation on such utter madness. In fact, even after having seen and experienced so much, I would never admit to anything. I had been asked on occasion as to why certain events corroborate to the material in my books, at which point I had simply said: I like to tie actual news items and true events into my fiction as it adds a sense of reality to otherwise unbelievable situations. At times people accepted that explanation, with exception to a local homicide detective by the name of Raymond Emerson.
After investigating several scenes where I had been personally involved, like an old blood-hound, he never quite gave up. He was also the main reason for my doubt and dread wherein legal matters were concerned. We hadn’t committed any serious crimes, but being caught within extenuating circumstances, it would be unlikely that the law would understand, much less agree. There was no doubt in my mind that somewhere beneath the dim glow of neon lights, he was searching for evidence against us.
Having been involved in so many questionable and even terrifying circumstances, it was inevitable that I would eventually draw the attention of the law. I could only hope that we would manage to stay a few steps ahead….
Caitlin was fast asleep hours ago. She and Eva had spent a long and tiring day with old Norman in the gardens, preparing for the winter. Eva had certainly taken a shine to the old fellow, and they were quite the pair. I could easily imagine them together. Two lonely people sharing their golden years, while enjoying endless arguments in the garden, house and everywhere else.
Merlin was napping upon the chair beside me, his breath coming in long and drawn out snores. He had gained a considerable amount of weight. But that would have been expected as he rarely left my office beyond meals and his litterbox. As always, he remained my nearest and dearest companion while I worked throughout the long nights.
The old mantel clock upon my desk suddenly chimed, startling me as I noticed the time. It was just after four in the morning. I had become accus
tomed to its steady sounds and chimes, but when tired, it took very little to catch me off guard. It had been a gift from a dear old friend, Lawrence Capjack. I had met him several years ago while looking for something special for my office. Having found nothing that had really caught my eye over a period of many visits, we had become great friends. He had called me one afternoon, late in November and said that he had found the perfect thing! When I had asked why he was so certain, he had simply said: Because it scares the hell out of me.
I had gone directly to his home that afternoon, and soon stood before a wondrous old black mantel clock. Built in 1880 and cast within solid iron, it was in exceptional condition. It was rather large, extremely heavy and had an ornate gold face and engraved hand-painted detailing. Spanning sixteen inches long, it stood a foot in height. But what made this treasure unique were the cast-iron clawed feet and wolf heads that hung from either side. With long and pointy ears extending from out of a shaggy head, they stared, snarling while appearing to have crept out from one of Grimm’s fairy tales.
Needless to say, I had immediately fallen in love with the thing and offered to pay whatever he desired! He had simply laughed and, smiling, said. “The darn thing gives me the creeps. Consider it a gift between old friends. Maybe, you might even mention me in one of your books?”
“Of course--,” I had laughed as he carefully wrapped the wonderful old treasure, “I would be happy to include you somewhere!”
I still remember his smile, it was truly heart-warming.
Dear old Lawrence had passed away from cancer in the following spring. But the clock rests atop my desk and keeps ticking in his memory, and a promise now kept.
Sighing deeply, I took up the old key, opening the bezel, and gently wound the clock and chime. Just another memory held dear, another moment affectionately preserved in time.
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