* * *
Rick had only agreed to go look at the bridge because Marisol wanted to see the bridge. Actually, he was a bit curious as well, but he’d never share that with his wife although she probably knew anyway…she had this weird psychic way of knowing everything he thought before he did. He did enjoy the occasional oddity. He had once driven five hours out of his way to see the world’s largest gator. He had no idea how big the gator would be from the billboard, but for some reason he had to see the damned thing. It drove him a little crazy, actually. Hour after hour the size of the beast would grow exponentially until finally he expected to see a reptile the size of Godzilla. He couldn’t imagine a cage or pen large enough to hold the creature. He thought they must have to feed the thing a few head of cattle a day in order to keep it from running amuck and attacking nearby Jacksonville. Some women would, of course, faint at the sight of such a demon. But Rick and Marisol were very much prepared for the sight of it. Rick even thought to keep his small pistol handy just in case it should free itself from its captors and charge at his wife. He was a pretty good shot and thought that, if given the chance, he could knock it down by a shot through its gigantic eye. One well-placed bullet could take out this ancient evil thing that had some how survived into the modern age. Rick might even get a medal. It wasn’t that Rick really wanted to kill it. It was just that, after hour upon hour of driving towards it, towards his destiny, his imagination had built the creature and seeing it into a legendary event. Having no CB at the time to share his thoughts with, he could only entertain himself. He figured Marisol, with her special powers, could hear his fantasy just fine in her head, so he didn’t bother to bore her with details she was aware of already. He just kept his mind movie running until they finally arrived at the roadside attraction that housed the creature from a lost age. He and Marisol braved the gift shop that sold stuffed alligators, alligator jerky, alligator skin belts, T-shirts that exclaimed “I SAW THE WORLD’S LARGEST ALLIGATOR AND DIDN’T GET EATEN!,” and an assortment of snow globes that displayed scale model gators crushing miniature metropolises ranging from New York to Paris, all cities deserving of a giant gator attack. Finally, they paid their ten dollars a piece and went though the turnstile to the area behind the store. Rick expected, imagined and hoped to be amazed at the size of the world’s largest gator. There was no amazement, though. There was just a very large alligator in a swampy little pool surrounded by rusty chain-link posted with signs that read “Please don’t feed the gator!” and “Please don’t taunt the gator!” It was, indeed, larger than normal. Rick couldn’t really say if it was the largest in the world, but it was the largest he had seen. But it wasn’t big enough and it didn’t do anything out of the ordinary for a gator stuck in the muck. It made him feel stupid for thinking it could be anything more than it was. But, actually, he was glad to have seen it. He spent ten dollars to confirm that there were no prehistoric gators that might randomly crawl into his city and kill people. He also never needed to wonder about it when he saw the signs. He could tell others that it was nothing much. Most of all, he could complain about it.
He was fairly certain he was going to be able to complain about the so-called Lakebridge. He didn’t expect much more than your average covered bridge. Marisol had made him stop at every last one they had come near so far. She had read that book about all of the bridges in New York or someplace and decided that she had to see every last one in New England. He had no love of bridges, though. He had no dislike of them, but he had no love of them. They served a purpose. They got you from here to there. Roads also get people from here to there but Marisol wouldn’t drive twenty miles out of their way to see some special road, would she? Well, perhaps she would. She also reminded him that there was no longer anything that was out of their way because their way was whatever way they went. He had to keep reminding himself of that. If he didn’t go look at bridges, what would he look at?
So far, however, this one was different. First, this guy with the painted fake arm was just about the first person he had run into on this trip that he wanted to stick around and talk to for any length of time. Gil was friendly and interesting which seemed a bit rare these days. Most people who were too friendly were just plain stupid or wanted something from you. Gil seemed like all he wanted was to talk about his bridge, maybe sell a few and, most importantly, listen to what Rick had to say. But Rick was actually interested in this bridge after listen to his guide. While the history was the stuff of legends, Rick liked legends. But even more than that, when they had finally arrived at the lake, there was some crazy guy in what looked like armor made from old scrap metal chopping down a huge tree next to the bridge, which was surprisingly red. Not faded like some of the others he had seen, but bright red…almost new. And it was odd, but he felt a little uncomfortable standing near it. He visited the Coral Castle down south of Miami once and felt a weird energy there, too. This insane guy had managed to build this huge monument to his love for his wife, which was romantic, except that there was no way he could have been able to do it like they said he did. He didn’t believe all that nonsense about pulleys and levers. There was something else and when you went there, you could feel it in the air and as amazing as I all was, it felt wrong. This bridge had the same effect. It should have been a beautiful bit of scenery, this calm little lake in the midst of all these trees, but it was wrong in a way that made him really uncomfortable. But not so much that the crazy guy didn’t make him feel just a little better and he was able to shake off the weird energy from the bridge and focus on him.
“What’s that guy doing?” asked Rick. Rick was more amused that interested, actually. “And what is he wearing?”
Gil tried to hide the smile from Rick, but Rick knew he was amused as well. “That’s my friend, Kurtz. The one who makes the models. He’s wearing some armor he made out of silver plates and serving sets he collected from the local antique stores. He’s chopping down a tree. It looks like he’s going to try and land it on the bridge.”
Rick laughed at this. It was the last thing he expected to hear and certainly the last thing he expected to see. “Why’s he doing that? And wearing that stuff?”
Gil turned serious for a moment on him. “Kurtz had a bad experience on the Lakebridge. He kind of blames it for the bad things that happen around here. He’s been trying to destroy it for some time now.”
“Isn’t that against the law?” Marisol asked.
Gil chuckled. “It might be if he ever succeeded. This is probably his twentieth attempt on the bridge. Nothing seems to work.”
“Why not?” Rick wondered, but somehow knew the answer. Rick actually found himself more interested in this than he had been in anything since he left Miami.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out,” Gil confided. “But I haven’t quite found the answer. Something tells that when I do, Kurtz will be able to take that thing down.”
“Why do you want to destroy it?” Marisol seemed concerned. Rick knew she didn’t like this kind of thing.
Gil’s face grew very grim. It gave Rick a slight chill. “Because it’s evil. Evil should be destroyed, don’t you think?”
* * *
The Moose thought it a shame that the man with the axe chose to destroy that particular tree. It was a great and beautiful tree and deserved to keep its place beside the lake. It rounded out the area nicely and completed a lovely landscape as far as the Moose was concerned. But men had little regard for the way trees fit in with other trees to form a pleasant vantage. The Moose thought as the tree crashed down into the lake that he would miss it.
Lakebridge: Spring (Supernatural Horror Literary Fiction) Page 7