Ghost Trapper 13 The Trailwalker

by JL Bryan

  “Right,” I said. “His whole campsite was torn apart.”

  “I feel like they left some significant details out of the museum display back at the lodge,” Stacey said.

  “Well, the museum is supposed to help sell the camp to kids and their parents. Not scare people off.”

  “So the museum is self-serving and biased.”

  “Exactly. That's two more deaths we've uncovered. Tennyford in 1898 and Gwen in 1929. Thirty years apart.”

  “You think that's significant?” Stacey asked. “Maybe there's something supernatural that comes back every so often to feed, you think? Like cicadas? Or Pennywise the clown? This thing pops up every thirty years and kills someone? With balloons?”

  “I don't know. The years could be a coincidence. But I doubt it's a coincidence that Gwen died the same way as the three boys later would, paddling out in a boat during a storm.”

  “Hey, sorry, but we did make an overhead announcement.” The librarian arrived, a thirtyish lady with purple hair and triangular-rimmed glasses. Purple-flower tattoos ringed her wrist. “We've closed for the evening. We open at nine tomorrow.”

  “We've been here that many hours?” I looked at my phone. Seven already.

  “Yes, and my stomach is eating itself. I can't believe you made me work so long without food.” Stacey groaned, hand on her stomach as dramatically as an actress portraying a pregnant character. She rose and cast the librarian a desperate smile. “Where can we eat? Fast is necessary. Good is preferable.”

  “Everyone loves the Sushi Shack,” she said. “They're open until eight.”

  “Let's run!” Stacey said, grabbing my hand, but I didn't move.

  “Do you know whether the historical society is open tomorrow?” I asked the librarian.

  “Oh, yeah. My grandma's part of that. It's in the old courthouse in the middle of town, you can't miss it. It's the only place that looks like it time traveled from a fancy part of the nineteenth century. They open at ten.” Her eyes wandered to my screen. “What are you... I mean, did y'all find everything you needed?”

  “Everything except that sushi.” Stacey yanked on my arm, somewhat painfully, her hunger transforming her, werewolf-like, into a complete and total monster.

  “We're researching Stony Owl,” I said. “Do you know anything about it?”

  “I'm sure she just wants to lock up the library and go home,” Stacey said irritably.

  “Have you heard the Trailwalker legend?” she asked. “They say Stony Owl is guarded by the ghost of the ancient chief who's buried there, and he walks the trails around it at night, stalking anyone who disturbs his grave.”

  “We have. Do you think there's any truth to it?” I asked, while walking slowly toward the front door. The librarian walked with me. Stacey hurried ahead and waited by the door, glowering impatiently.

  “Who can say? There's a reason they call it a legend.” She turned off most of the library's lights and led us out the front door, locking it behind her. “I did sneak up there with some friends in high school once. Trying to scare each other. It was scary.”

  “What was scary about it?” I tried to keep my tone casual.

  “You just felt like something was up there.” Her tone was guarded. “The legend is more fun than the reality, I'll say that much.” She'd reached her own car, an old teal Camry. “If you're thinking about going up there, I'd stay away.”

  “We're actually studying the history of the camp for the new owners,” I said.

  Now the librarian shook her head. “I hope they know what they're doing.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “There's been some bad luck there.”

  “That's what we've been learning,” I said. “The boys who drowned there, and Gwendolyn Malloy. And Tennyford before that.”

  “You really have done your research.”

  “We're trying to understand what happened in order to make the camp safer for future campers,” I said. “But the newspapers haven't told us much. Do you know anybody local who could tell us about the camp? Maybe somebody who worked there, or went there as a camper?”

  She seemed to hesitate, then sighed. “I might, but most people aren't too likely to speak to an outsider about it. The legend, sure, but not the real history. Not the darker parts.”

  “It would help us a lot,” I said. “And as a librarian, isn't it your sacred duty to help us find the information we need?”

  She looked at me a long moment, then burst into laughter. “Yes, it is. According to the sacred oaths taken by librarians going all the way back to Alexandria.”

  “That's just what I thought.” I gave her one of my cards.

  “Private investigator,” she read. “How exciting.”

  “We do get into some weird stuff sometimes,” I said. “And we'd really, really appreciate any help you can give us with understanding the history of the camp.”

  “And I'd really appreciate getting that sushi now.” Stacey, the unstoppable hunger-monster, dragged me toward the van.

  “It's so good,” the librarian said, before climbing into her own car.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “This is so good,” Stacey moaned, and she was only on the ginger-dressing salad. I'd moved on to miso soup and pork shumai dumplings. The sushi hadn't even arrived and I already felt confident that we'd found the right place. “That was the world's greatest librarian. She even put the microfilm away for us.”

  “She probably thought we'd replace it incorrectly, but yeah.” I sipped some caffeine-heavy tea, but it was only meant to keep me awake for the drive back to camp. I had no illusions about our ability to stay awake once we saw our beds. “So the camp didn't reopen until 1967. It just sat there, closed, for all those years after Gwen drowned.”

  “Plus they had the Great Depression and World War Two right after all of that, to really nail down the coffin lid,” Stacey said.

  “So what did Reverend Carmody and his wife do next?” I asked. “After the camp closed?”

  “I haven't really tracked that down yet,” Stacey said. “Why can't libraries be open all night? Like a Waffle House?”

  “It's probably not financially feasible—”

  “Yeah, yeah, it would just be convenient for us every once in a while. That's what we get for being nocturnal. A world without libraries. Holy cow, look.”

  The sushi arrived, some savory red tuna for Stacey and that crab I'd been hurting for earlier. Living by the ocean, I may have had doubts about ordering seafood way up in the mountains, but these were utterly obliterated in a matter of seconds.

  We ate quickly, since the place was about to close and I wasn't looking forward to a night drive up the steep mountain anyway. Delaying the inevitable would only make it worse. Perhaps I'd be able to see the road by the glowing whites of my knuckles.

  Back at camp, we did quick equipment checks where possible before climbing into our bunks at Wolf Cabin. I set my phone alarm for three in the morning, which would give us some hours of contented, belly-filled sleep, but also wake us up for a few hours of deep-night observation time before sunrise.

  As it turned out, I wouldn't need my alarm.

  The soft voices woke me in the dark depths of the night. I couldn't make out their words. They whispered, then laughed. The voices of kids at play.

  I cracked my eyes open, but otherwise remained lying where I was on my bunk. The room was chilly.

  They were faint and shadowy, like black cobwebs drifting on a breeze, barely visible as they moved through our room. A shriek of laughter rose—I'd heard that laughter before, over in Bobcat Cabin.

  The faint shadow figures slid to the door and vanished.

  “Stacey!” I said, but she didn't answer. I hurried to my feet and shook her shoulder. “Stacey!”

  Stacey was deep asleep, unresponsive. As I tried to rouse her, the last traces of laughter faded down the hall. The entities were slipping away.

  I pulled on my boots, grabbed my flashlight, and
followed after them.

  They sounded like they'd gone into the common room, but it was quiet and empty when I arrived, so I continued out the front door.

  The campground lay silent around me in the dead of night, the fire ring cold and dark. A patch of starry sky looked down through a gap in the tree cover, bringing a little moonlight. No animal sounds, no owls or crickets, just the unsettling silence.

  The laughter sounded again, well ahead of me, then stopped abruptly. I continued onward, listening carefully, worried I'd lost the entities.

  It sounded again, for just a second, fainter and even more distant. I picked up the pace.

  To me, it seemed the entities could have left Bobcat Cabin, crossed through Wolf Cabin where Stacey and I slept, and were now headed up the trail toward...

  “The lake,” I whispered.

  I hesitated, considering going back inside for Stacey, then decided I'd just follow at a distance instead. For all I knew, the apparitions had already vanished.

  I hopped off the porch and walked through the cluster of cabins, past the fire ring, toward the trail where I'd last heard the laughter.

  The trail was silent too, except for leaves crunching under my boots as I walked alone in the darkness. An owl cackled overheard, startling me.

  As I walked the trail, I began to wonder if I'd really been following anything but my imagination. I could hear movement in the woods on either side of the path, likely night creatures on the prowl, but I looked each time to see if they were shadowy children. Since arriving at the camp, I'd heard them, glimpsed them, even dreamed about them, but had never gotten a clear look at them.

  Finally, I reached the activity village, with the arts and crafts shack and such, by the lake. Katydids echoed across the water, but I heard no laughter and saw no shadow children.

  Then I heard a voice, soft and hesitant: “Hello?”

  I froze where I was, in the pavilion that included the picnic tables and the stage end of the arts and crafts hut.

  After a bit, the voice spoke again: “Hello?”

  It came from the direction of the boathouse and dock. I tiptoed in that direction, heart thumping, wondering what I would find.

  “Are you there?” the voice asked. It didn't sound like the laughter or whispers I'd heard. This voice was thicker, fuller, deeper, the voice of a living person.

  Edging around the corner of the boathouse, I saw Nate standing out on the end of the dock.

  “Hello?” he said again. At first I thought he'd seen me, but I gradually realized he wasn't facing my direction, but instead was looking out at the lake. “I'm here,” he said.

  He fell quiet and paced back and forth. Clearly he was expecting to meet someone, but I didn't see any sign of a boat paddling across the moonlit water.

  Minutes passed. Nate paced for a while, then sat on the end of the dock, his feet dangling over the water. I couldn't help half-expecting some tentacled Cthulhu demon to emerge from the depths and grab his feet, but none did, and he eventually stood and paced again. Occasionally he would call out another “Hello?” Every time something splashed, he'd look over, stepping in that direction, only to be disappointed.

  I really had no idea what to make of the situation. I felt bad for spying, but any movement, even walking away, could draw his attention to me. I wondered who he'd been expecting to meet out at the lake so very late. He must have been returning from here when we'd glimpsed him the previous night.

  So I watched, quietly as I could, while he paced and waited. The night wasn't going all that well for either of us.

  Then something grabbed me from behind and yanked my hair; my ponytail served as a convenient handle for my unexpected assailant. Pain jolted my entire scalp, and I cried out, hurt and surprised all at once.

  Oops.

  “Hello?” Nate said yet again, but in a very different tone this time. He'd shifted from tentative and hopeful to confused. “Is that you?”

  I turned to face my attacker, but I saw nobody.

  Laughter shrieked in the air around me for a second, then stopped abruptly.

  Something splashed in the lake, near the part of the shore closest to me, but I saw nothing in the moonlight.

  Nate's footsteps clomped toward me along the dock, coming my way, as inevitable as a countdown. If I ran now, he'd definitely see me racing across the little village to the path back to the cabins. I wasn't even sure I could outrun the athletic fourteen-year-old. He'd catch up with me, and I'd have no real explanation.

  So instead I stood in place and kept facing the water and called out “Is someone there?” just before Nate rounded the corner of the boathouse. He was running, and he had to stop short so he didn't barrel into me.

  I shouted and jumped as if surprised, then clicked on my flashlight, pointing it down at his khaki shorts and muddy baseball cleats so I didn't blind him.

  “Oh, it's you,” he said. “Relax, you're fine.”

  “Sorry,” I told him. “You scared me. I thought I heard voices. Was that you?”

  “Did you see anyone else?” He looked past me toward the water.

  “I thought I heard someone splashing.” I pointed, and he jogged over to the shore and looked down. “What's going on?” I asked.

  He hesitated before answering. “Nothing.”

  “Was someone else here? Or were you expecting someone?”

  “I guess not.” He turned away from the water. “Were you spying on me or what? Following me around?”

  “Spying on you?” I acted offended by the very notion. “How could I have followed you? Were you sneaking around our cabin tonight? Because I thought I heard some voices there, too. Was that you? Wait.. were you spying on us? Peeking in our windows?”

  “What? No!” Nate looked a little frightened at my question. He backed up, holding up his hands as if surrendering. “I definitely did not do that. I only came as far as the lake. From my house, back that way.” He pointed toward Stony Owl's densely wooded hill.

  “So you were planning to meet someone tonight?” I asked.

  “No, I...” He sighed. “Don't tell my parents.”

  “You say that every time I see you. Is something bothering you? If you need someone to talk to—”

  “When are you going to be done with your stupid video anyway? It's taking forever.”

  “We're half-vacationing here,” I said. “Free cabin, nice quiet lake to stroll past when you can't sleep. Or when you're meeting someone in secret. What don't you want me to tell you parents? Is it drugs?”

  “No! Come on.” He looked out at the water. “Just a girl.”

  “Oh. A secret girl?”

  “Yeah.” He was looking at the ground, toeing at it with his shoe. The kid was taller than me, about as tall as his older brother, but he suddenly seemed a lot smaller. Was he blushing?

  “You meet a girl out here at night?” I asked.

  “Don't tell anyone.”

  “Okay, but what's the big secret?”

  “I have a girlfriend back home.”

  “Back in Atlanta?”

  “Johns Creek, technically. It's a separate city. But, uh, yeah. But that's like two hours away. All we can do is text.”

  “Okay.” I was now officially uncomfortable with this conversation and ready to disappear as soon as possible. “Well, it's none of my business, but you should probably be honest with everybody involved. Who's the girl you're seeing here?”

  “I'm going home.” Nate turned and started along the trail that would wind past the hill toward his family's house.

  “I really don't mind talking.” I fell into step beside him.

  “Good luck with your video.” He put on speed, not quite running, but rapidly putting distance between us. “Bye.”

  I stopped, letting him hustle off into the shadows. The only alternative was to stalk him all the way home, demanding more information he clearly didn't want to give. Not the best way to treat a client's kid, especially when there was a good argument that this wa
s indeed none of my business.

  “Remember, the lake's dangerous!” I called after him. “Four people have drowned out there.”

  He didn't look back.

  Returning to the lake shore, I looked out over the water, listening carefully. I heard a few splashes, but no more voices.

  I swept the surface of the water with my flashlight beam, and even had a look under the dock, but nobody was there.

  The trail had an eerie feeling as I walked back to the cabin. I kept checking over my shoulder, thinking someone might be following me, maybe whatever jerk of an entity had pulled my hair. I officially hated the invisible giggler now.

  I saw nothing, but I kept my light on until I was back inside.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Where did you go?” Stacey asked, meeting me as I entered the common room. “I was super-nonplussed to wake up alone in this cabin at four in the morning. I thought the ghosts had carried you off. Or you'd gone to the bathhouse without your flip-flops. I wasn't sure which was worse.”

  “I heard some voices and followed them.”

  “Without waking me?”

  “I tried. You were resistant and sullen.”

  “Well, glad you're in one piece. And that you didn't take a barefoot shower at camp. Where did the voices lead you?”

  “Over by the lake.” I caught her up on the situation.

  “Ooh, so Nathan's got a local girlfriend. Not that surprising. And he's keeping her secret from his other girlfriend. What a little charmer he's turning out to be. Like a snake charmer. Or more like a charming snake, picking up girls in every town and breaking their hearts—”

  “Anyway, that's why he's sneaking out at night. That's a problem for us, since he's not supposed to know we're paranormal investigators searching for ghosts at night.”

  “Hopefully someone tells him, maybe the brother, so we don't have to dance around that little snake too long.”

  “But for now, keep the little snake charmed.” I shook my head. “I told him not to go down to the lake alone.”