People of the Lake

by Nick Scorza

  Little Henrietta complained of nightmares that night, worse than before. She said there were people in the mirrors trying to come through. I told her to stop with such nonsense. It had to be that tutor of hers, telling her ghost stories again. I’d have to find a replacement when we returned to the city, but I was content to let the matter wait until then. I was quite taken with the little town.

  In fact, when Stevens returned with word the train was repaired, I told him I should like to spend more time here. George could wait another day in Buffalo—no doubt he was consumed with his industrial projects—and I wanted to take a boat out to the island, and perhaps visit whomever lived in that house across the lake.

  Stevens grew pale when I said this. I’d forgotten he was from this region, though not this town. He implored me to come with haste. “This is not a good place, madam,” he said. “Please don’t stay. Please, I beg you.”

  I was all set to reproach him for his superstition, but I’d never seen that look in his eye before. I told him to ready the children for the ride to the train, and he all but fell down at my feet in gratitude.

  —Memoirs of Beatrice Fallows, 1889

  From the library of Tom Morris

  V.

  I woke up to my father knocking on my door. He was probably agonizing about whether or not it would be appropriate to barge in. I rolled out of bed half awake, throwing my clothes on, wondering why I was so tired. Then I remembered what time I’d come home. I almost crawled right back into bed, but I knew he’d eventually get so worried he’d stop thinking of my privacy. When I opened the door, he looked relieved.

  “Thank God. Don’t do that to me again. I had the worst dream last night. I-I don’t even want to say what it was about, but I’m so glad you’re safe.”

  He gave me a hug. Now that the relief was over, I knew the anger would come, and I really didn’t want to argue or say anything else I’d regret.

  “I’m sorry, Dad. I really didn’t mean to stay out so late. I got caught up in everything, and I couldn’t get a phone signal. The kids out here are really nice—some of them anyway. I didn’t have anything to drink—I’ll even take a breathalyzer.”

  “What does your mother do when you do things like this?”

  Funny he should ask. The morning mom had chosen to spring the news of Washed Up Chuck joining our family unit was the same morning after I stayed out all night and failed to call home. Hannah knew a bar on St. Marks that didn’t card, and the girls had been planning to go for a week. We got in without a problem, but our evening of illicit fun got boring really fast, at least for me. I ended up babysitting Rayna while she puked. Then somehow we all ended up at Veselka. My mother said she found it hard to believe I’d spent the whole night looking after my drunk friends and eating pierogis, but that was the truth.

  “We yell and scream at each other for a while,” I said. “Then she uses it as an excuse to tell me her loser boyfriend is moving in.”

  I caught a glimmer of a frown on my father’s face, and I thought yes, finally, but a moment later, he was back to self-righteous lecture mode.

  “Well I’m not going to do that, but Clara, I don’t want to have to worry about you. Your mother and I love you. We may show it in different ways, but we’re both just concerned for your safety. I know it’s not the city out here, but in its own way, it’s just as dangerous.”

  At that moment, there was a knock on the front door. My father opened it to see a sheriff’s deputy standing there in his khaki uniform.

  “Good morning, Tom.”

  The deputy seemed friendly enough, but he didn’t smile.

  “Morning, Bill,” my father said, “uh, what can I do for you?”

  “Is that your daughter? I’m sorry, we haven’t met, Miss, I’m Bill Hendricks. I know your dad from way back.”

  He shook my hand, again without smiling. Whatever emotion he was feeling never touched his face. I bet he made a killing on poker night.

  “You remember my partner, Harry,” Bill said to my father, pointing at another deputy standing out by the car. He had the same flinty expression as Bill, but on him, it seemed dour and suspicious. My father’s eyes narrowed.

  “What’s going on, Bill? Not that I mind you dropping by.”

  “Well, I’m afraid we’re going to have to take your daughter down to the station to answer some questions. We’re talking to anyone who might have seen what happened in the woods last night.”

  My father mouthed the words, the woods? to me, the anger back in his eyes. Were they really going to bust us for a little party in the forest? Something else must have happened—something worse. I tried not to imagine all the horrible things that could happen in the woods at night.

  “Is she in trouble?” my dad said.

  “We just want her help clearing some things up.”

  “Of course,” I said. “I’ll help however I can.”

  There was no way out of this now.

  “I’m coming, too,” my father said.

  Deputy Bill let my father drive me in while he and Deputy Harry followed in the squad car. Dad was fuming the whole time. He may not have yelled and screamed, but he did manage to channel my mother’s condescending tone.

  “You didn’t say you were in the woods. That’s a whole other story, Clara. I have to be able to trust you, and I need you to promise me that you won’t go into the woods at night again.”

  My father didn’t sound angry this time; he sounded scared.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I should have told you. It was just a stupid party. And I really didn’t drink, I swear.”

  “No, I need you to promise me right now you won’t go into the woods at night.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said so . . . Because bad things happen around here in the woods at night, and that’s all I’m going to say.”

  “Okay, I promise.”

  My father went silent again after that. As we drove past the lake, he gave it a nervous glance, but I knew asking him about it would get me nowhere. What the hell was he hiding from me? The surface of the water was just as eerily still as the day before. I wished it would rain, or storm, or something, just so I could see it move again. I caught sight of the little island and thought about what Hector had said about human sacrifice.

  We drove into town and then out to the other side, where the sheriffs’ station was. It was tiny, just a little regional post, but the parking lot was nearly full, mostly of patrol cars.

  “We only have two deputies at the Redmarch Lake station, and you just met them both,” my father said. “The rest must be down from the county office. This isn’t just about a party, something bad happened.”

  “Everything was normal when I left,” I said.

  They led us past the empty little waiting room toward the back of the station. I gave my father a worried look.

  “Where’s everyone else from last night?” I said.

  “We’re trying to speak to everyone in turn,” said Deputy Bill.

  As we walked through the hallway, another deputy was leading the girl who’d argued with Neil last night out to the exit. Her black eyeliner was streaked with tears, and she hadn’t even had the chance to change from the night before. The deputy had a hand on her shoulder, as if he were trying to console her. As we walked by, I tried to give her a sympathetic look, but she fixed me with the most hateful glare I’ve ever received. I could only imagine her wishing my death with each passing second. I quickly looked away. I was in no state for staring contests with a possibly homicidal goth-girl. Instead I looked at the floor as she left the building. I hoped this would all be over soon.

  They put us in a little room with a table and a few chairs—just like in the movies. I looked for a two-way mirror, but the walls were all cinderblock. They left us waiting there a while. My father was still stewing about the woods, but god forbid he’d actually talk about it. Did he know about whatever had chased me through the trees? I was about ready to ask him when the door ope
ned.

  A short but tough-looking Native American woman in a sheriff’s uniform walked in. Her hair was tied in a tight black bun, and she looked me and my father up and down before sitting across from me. Another deputy walked in behind her.

  “Clara Morris, with father Tom Morris,” the deputy said, reading from a clipboard.

  “Right, Mr. Morris, Clara, pleased to meet you.” The woman shook hands with each of us. “I’m Deputy Chief Cross River, but you can call me Elaine.”

  “Hello,” was all I could think to say back.

  “Were you in the woods by the church last night, Clara?”

  Something in her tone made me nervous. I tried hard not to stammer like an idiot.

  “Yeah. I didn’t have anything to drink, though. You can totally breathalyze me, or I’ll take a polygraph, or-or whatever it takes.”

  “It’s all right, we’re not here to do that.”

  Of course they weren’t. I already knew that. I told myself I had nothing to be nervous about, but it didn’t help.

  “Do you know a boy named Neil Patterson, and did you see him at the party?”

  “I didn’t know his last name, but I know Neil. I met him two days ago. He was . . . he was the first actually friendly person I met here.”

  It might have been my imagination, but I thought I saw Elaine give me a quick sympathetic nod before resuming her mask of professional authority.

  “He was the one who invited me to the party.”

  “What happened at the party?”

  I remembered my scramble through the woods, and what I thought had chased me. I had no proof it hadn’t all been in my head. I still wasn’t sure myself.

  “I saw Neil there. I talked to him a little, then a girl I didn’t know got really mad at him for talking to me, and they argued.”

  “And what’s her name?”

  “I-I never learned her name, but you just spoke to her. The girl in black, with the black eyeliner.”

  The deputy made a note on the clipboard.

  “Did Neil appear intoxicated when you saw him?”

  “I don’t know. I’d only just met him. He had a beer when I came, but I don’t know how many he had before or after.”

  “Who else did you talk to at the party?”

  “Uh . . . a boy named Hector. And Keith.”

  “Keith Redmarch?”

  I nodded. Elaine and the deputy exchanged looks, and he noted something else on the clipboard. My father also seemed alarmed at this, but he said nothing in front of the deputies.

  “When was the last time you saw Neil?”

  “I lost track of him after he got into that argument. I saw the girl he argued with later, but not him. I left with everyone else when the party wound down.”

  Elaine exchanged an unreadable look with the deputy before turning back to me.

  “Last question—did you notice if anyone at the party was carrying a knife?”

  “No . . . no, I didn’t see anything like that. Is Neil okay?”

  Elaine took a deep breath.

  “He drowned in the lake sometime last night or early this morning. There were signs he’d been in a fight with someone beforehand.”

  My whole body felt numb with the news. I clenched my fingers into fists, digging my nails hard into the palms of my hands, hoping to hold back tears. I’d just met Neil. I knew nothing about who he really was, but he had been so nice to me, a total stranger. A shock of grief ran through me like an electric current, leading me all the way back to that horrible day eight years ago. All of the things I kept walled off from my present self swam back. Once again, I was on the beach where they pulled me from the sea and pushed the water from my lungs. Once again, I tried feebly to shout: no, no, my sister is still out there. My sister is drowning . . .

  One of the deputies led us back. My father’s anger had vanished for now, and he did his best to comfort me.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “It wasn’t your fault. Remember that.”

  We walked out of the station. It was already midday and the parking lot was sweltering, the asphalt baking in direct sunlight. We were almost to the car when I heard footsteps behind us.

  “Hey!”

  I turned around to see the girl with the eyeliner take a final drag of her cigarette, then throw it down and crush it beneath her foot.

  “I can’t believe they let you walk out free.”

  “What?” What the hell did this girl think I’d done?

  “Everything was normal that night—just like any other summer party, but he died. You were the only thing that was different. I don’t know what you did, but you’re the reason he’s dead!”

  She was coming closer as she spoke, jabbing her finger at me like it was a dagger, or a witch’s curse.

  “I-I didn’t do anything.”

  “Stop lying!”

  She swung her hand at me, a clumsy half-slap, half-scratch. I caught her wrist before she could connect. Then she swung with the other hand. Her arms were flailing every which way as I tried to keep her off me. Finally my father stepped between us, holding us apart.

  “Ashley! Ashley calm down or I’ll call your mother. This is my daughter, Clara. She’s a good person, and she wouldn’t do anything to hurt anyone.”

  Ashley took a deep breath, tears running down her cheeks.

  “Don’t call me Ashley,” she said, gasping for breath. “It’s Ash.”

  Of course it was.

  She gave me one last, hateful glare, just to let me know this wasn’t over, before she turned and walked away.

  Dad was quiet on the drive back. At least he wasn’t mad at me anymore, or he wasn’t expressing it if he was. When I closed my eyes, I kept seeing Ash’s angry stare. What could I have done for her to hate me like that? I knew what it was like to lose someone you loved—I wished I could talk to her about it.

  “Dad, what did she mean back there, that I was the only thing that was different?”

  Once again it took my father a while to answer. I was starting to get used to it.

  “I told you people are superstitious here,” he said. “It drives me crazy. One little thing is different, and they blame everything on it. This isn’t your fault, sweetheart. Neil and everyone else should never have had a party in the woods.”

  “That sounds kind of superstitious, too,” I said in a small voice.

  “Well, some superstitions are true,” my father said. He was silent for the rest of the drive home.

  When we got to the house, Dad made eggs and bacon, which I wasn’t in any mood to object to, and anyway, it was already well past morning. After we’d eaten, I could tell he was about to say something he’d been rehearsing in his head since the sheriff’s office.

  “I love having you here, sweetheart, but I think you should consider going back to New York.”

  “Dad . . .”

  “I’ll come back with you and stay for a while. We’ll have a good time in the city. I’ll come visit more often.”

  I thought about what he was saying, and for a moment, I actually considered it. Then I remembered there would be a third person living in our apartment. I probably couldn’t avoid Chuck forever, but maybe if I could hold out a little longer, I’d get lucky and Mom would get sick of him. There was something more, though, something about the lake, and its weird, unfriendly town, that felt like it would bother me forever if I didn’t sort it out. If I could understand this place, maybe I’d understand my dad a bit better. And the more determined he seemed that I not learn about this place, the more I had to know.

  “Dad, I’m not leaving.”

  “It’s not safe here, Clara. It’s . . . listen, I know you think this is just a quaint little country town, but it’s dangerous.”

  “Dad, I hate what happened to Neil, it’s awful, but he probably got really drunk, got in a fight with someone, and then fell in the lake.”

  As I said this, I knew it wasn’t true. I couldn’t see friendly, awkward Neil fighting anyone, even blacko
ut drunk.

  “Bad things happen in the woods, especially by the lake. They may all have perfectly reasonable explanations, but they happen.”

  Again, I wondered just what my father knew but wasn’t saying. I was getting mad again. Was he trying to send me home because it was easier than telling me what was going on with him? Was there something he didn’t want me to know? In any case, he was forgetting I was as stubborn as my mother.

  “I’m worried about you, Dad. You’re all alone in this little town, by this spooky lake, and you’ve got the ghost hunters’ library for reading material. You need company. I’m staying, for a while longer at least.”

  He was quiet for a moment, and I was afraid he was going to keep arguing, but then he smiled a tight, sad smile.

  “Just promise me you’ll be safe.”

  “I promise,” I said.

  “I’m serious, and what I said about the woods also goes for the Redmarch boy. Stay away from that family.”

  “Why? He seemed nice.”

  “Please, Clara, just do this for me. Just trust me.”

  He looked so tired and worried just then, I lost my will to argue.

  I meant everything I said earlier—I was really worried about Dad—but that wasn’t the only thing keeping me here. Neil had invited me to a party on a whim, and now he was dead. Just like Ash had said, I was the only thing different. Maybe somehow I really had upset the equilibrium of this weird little town, and if that was true, I had to find a way to put it right.

  “One more thing,” my dad said. “If you’re going to stay, there’s something you should have.”

  He rummaged around in a desk drawer, pulling out random odds and ends, until he finally came up with what looked like a lump of dark metal. He handed it to me. It was iron, heavy and black. It looked like it had been, at one time, some sort of brooch or clasp, but age and rust had left it barely recognizable.

  “What’s this?” I said.