Siege at Hawthorn Lake: Murder on the Mountain

by Paul G Buckner

  Chapter 2

  It was late in the evening by the time he returned to the cabin and put his things away. He filleted the fish at the cleaning station in the back of the cabin that was set up with running water and sinks. After washing up, he decided to make some hush puppies and deep fry the fish with a cornmeal and egg batter. The smell of the fish was titillating as it wafted through the cabin. The deep fried cornmeal and buttermilk hushpuppies with chopped onions made his mouth water. He was famished and couldn’t wait for them to cool down as he popped one in his mouth. The hushpuppy immediately burnt the roof of his mouth and he sucked in air grabbing for a glass of water to ease the pain.

  After dinner, Troy cleaned up the kitchen and decided to grab his laptop to check his emails. He didn’t have a phone line yet, but he did have a satellite dish for internet that enabled him to use his phone as long as the signal was strong enough. It wasn’t exactly high-speed internet, but it was better than dial-up and helped him stay connected. He could Skype and download music, which is mostly what he would do if he wanted entertainment outside of what Mother Nature offered here in the mountains.

  Dozens of spam emails littered his inbox with an occasional one from someone he actually knew. He hadn’t checked it in a few days so it was rather bloated with junk. He had one from his publisher that asked him to give him a call, one from an old colleague asking him to visit her the next time he was in New York, and one from his buddy Craig asking him about the hunting there. Obviously, hinting to his old friend that he’d like to stay at the cabin soon and do some hunting of his own. Opening day of deer season was only days away. “Those northern deer get big as hell up there I hear and rifle season opens in just a week or two,” his friend wrote. Troy laughed out loud as he read Craig’s email.

  His friend from college was from Oklahoma and a serious deer hunter and fisherman. Troy had called him some time ago, before he bought the cabin, and invited him up once he got settled in. Craig wasn’t going to let him forget it either. He would try to give him a call tomorrow and ask if he would like to come up and hunt. They had a mutual friend named Phil Jackson that was sure to come if Craig asked him to. The two grew up together and were inseparable. They had been on many hunts together and he counted them both as his closest friends.

  The men had first met Craig in college where they both were scholarship football players. Craig was a big bruiser of a tight end and Troy was a strong safety. The two were first introduced when the team began spring practice. The offense had been running drag routes and the linebackers weren’t picking it up correctly. The Coach brought in Troy as a freshman eager to listen and learn. On the first play, Troy picked it up and tackled Craig hard enough to cause him to fumble. That was one of the rare times he ever fumbled a carry. After practice, Craig, a sophomore, sought the young freshman out. After ribbing each other about practice for a few minutes the two players learned they had a few classes together along with Craig’s buddy from back home, Phil Jackson. Over time, the three men became very good friends and stayed in touch with each over the years.

  Troy dragged his laptop upstairs when he decided to get ready for bed. He thought he might get a few chapters in before his publisher actually showed up at his house looking for the manuscript! His last book was on the New York Times Best Sellers list for several weeks and made his publisher a lot of money. Not that he was complaining because he certainly made his fair share, but it also landed him a new publishing deal asking for more novels. Now, he had actual deadlines. It netted him a good income, but deadlines on creativity weren’t something that he necessarily loved. As he began typing he soon fell asleep.

  +++

  A thunderous boom shook the entire cabin and woke Troy out of a deep sleep. The glass in the windows rattled and something crashed to the floor downstairs. The bedroom was dark except where the moonlight had found its way in through the windows of the doors. He quickly sat up remaining still and quiet, holding his breath as he got his bearings. His ears were straining, listening for any sound that may come again. He scanned the room intently, but could see nothing except the dark shapes of his furniture. After several seconds passed with no further sounds, he slowly slipped out of his bed and made his way over to the dresser where he kept a handgun; a Colt 1911 that belonged to his grandfather. He opened the drawer as quietly as possible, pulled the loaded pistol out of its case and moved to the top of the stairs. He was slow and deliberate as he crept down the stairs being sure to stop and listen every few feet. He could see very well into the living room as one of the lamps was still on. A photo frame lay in glass shards on the floor next to the wall it had previously hung on. The writer reached the lamp, switched it off, and grabbed a flashlight from the table. It was a powerful flashlight called a Stinger that many law enforcement officials used because it could light up an area like a spotlight. He had used it quite a few times and it always came in handy. This moment was no exception. He checked all of the rooms one by one and made sure the front and back doors were still secured. That told him that nothing could have gotten in to the house. The front door to the cabin was a huge solid oak door with three small windows at the top that formed the shape of a half-moon. Know the solid structure of the log home helped to calm his nerves. He was secure knowing that whatever it was, it was outside of the walls of solid pine that were almost a foot thick. His first thought was that it could possibly be a bear. In which case, he could probably scare it off if he turned on the outside lights. He might even fire a few rounds in the air. He didn’t want to shoot it unless he absolutely had to and certainly not with a pistol. He laid the pistol down on the sofa, reached up to the gun rack and pulled down his Marlin 45-70. It was the biggest caliber he had and at close range, it was a very lethal round.

  The cabin walls suddenly shook from another jolt surprising him. It came from the side of the house and sounded like a dull thud against the wall. Whack! Another hit, but this time further up on the roof and whatever it was rolled down the metal and clattered all the way to the ground. There was no tree close enough to the house so he knew it wasn’t dead limbs or acorns falling. Someone was throwing something at the cabin!

  Troy flipped the main breaker for all of the outside lights in the yard and the ones that hung from poles leading down to the boat dock before hurrying up the stairs. He cautiously walked out on to the balcony and looked around. A separate pole beside the garage had a large outdoor yard light that came on automatically when it became dark enough for the sensor to trip it. He fired two shots into the air and hollered, “I know you’re out there so knock it off before someone gets hurt!”

  Whack! Another rock landed on top of the roof not far from where he stood and bounced harmlessly to the ground.

  “Stop throwing rocks or I’ll start shooting,” he yelled, just as another rock bounced on to the deck close to his feet. He aimed his flashlight in the direction he thought it came from, but the light revealed nothing more than the snow covered yard and trees. He aimed the rifle in the air fired a round. The blazing report of the big caliber rifle exploded and echoed through the cove. He stood there for several minutes longer watching intently. Then, silence.

  +++

  He shined the powerful flashlight all around the yard, but didn’t see or hear anything else. After a few more minutes of looking around from the upstairs deck, he realized that he didn’t have on any shoes. The adrenaline had slowly left his system, leaving him shivering from the cold. He turned and went back in, securing the door behind him. He normally left the French doors closed and the inner solid wooden doors flung open so that the morning sun could wake him in the mornings. He could use the heavy wooden doors for bad storms or as a way to keep bears out as they had a huge crossbar beam that lowered down across them like both of the doors downstairs. They folded back against the interior wall and remained there unless he needed them. Tonight, he closed them.

  He sat up the rest of the night drinking coffee and nervously keeping his rifle within reach. He didn’
t see or hear anything else. When morning light came, he pulled on his boots and grabbed a coat. He walked over to the front door, opened it, and cautiously stepped out. He took a long look around then checked his rifle once again to make sure it was loaded and headed down the steps. He walked slowly around the house watching for any signs that someone may still be around. There was snow on the ground, but there were no tracks near the cabin that he could see. He walked over to where his jeep was parked and gave it a thorough going over. Nothing had touched the vehicle. After several minutes of investigating, he felt comfortable that whoever or whatever was there last night was gone and he made his way back inside. Once inside he checked his internet connection. It was solid so he made a call to the sheriff’s office to make a report. The lady that answered the phone sounded pleasant, but still half asleep.

  “Sherriff’s Office, this is Lindsey,” a lady answered.

  “Good morning Lindsey, This is Troy Turner. I’d like to make a report,” he replied.

  “Good morning Mister Turner. What’s the nature?” She asked.

  “Well, I’m not sure of the nature, but harassment comes to mind,” He went on to explain about the events that took place while Lindsey seemed to be writing it all down.

  “Uh huh, yeah, okay, uh huh, did you get a look at them?” She asked.

  “No, I never actually saw them. They stayed in the woods hiding in the trees,” he replied.

  Troy had the feeling that she was either very bored with his story or she just didn’t believe him. He was sure that, as a dispatcher, she’s heard more crazy calls than she cared to recall.

  “Any idea how many there were? Could you hear any voices?” She asked.

  “No ma’am, I didn’t actually get a look at them or hear anything other than the rocks bouncing off my house so I couldn’t tell you. It may have been one or a half dozen. Truth is, I didn’t see so much as a glimpse of movement,” He answered.

  “You use the word ‘them’ like you think it was more than one person. What makes you think that?”

  Troy said, “I’m not sure why I decided to say that to be honest. Like I said, I never heard or saw anyone in particular, but there were a few rocks that came pretty quick leading me to believe that there was more than one person throwing them. For the life of me though, I can’t figure out why anyone would be out there at that time of night in the first place. It’s not like my house is easy to get to and it’s not close to town.”

  The lady was nice, but sounded uninterested when she told him that she would let the sheriff know and that he may send someone out this morning so he should expect them.

  Now that it was a little warmer, Troy decided to take another look around the cabin. He wasn’t doing anything at the moment except worrying about who could be out there anyway. He put his coat back on and slipped the handgun behind his back tucking it away neatly in his jeans. Walking around to the side of the cabin he noticed the rocks lying on the ground. He had missed it this morning when he first took a look around in the daylight, probably because he was more worried about the person that did it may still be out there, but these were what had apparently been thrown at the cabin. One of the rocks was the size of a football. About ten feet up the wall was a huge gash in the wooden logs, the obvious result of the projectile. He reached down to pick it up, but was amazed at the sheer weight of the rock. It had to weigh more than ten pounds!

  “Holy hell,” he said out loud.

  Who could possibly have thrown the rock? He wasn’t a weakling by any account, yet he couldn’t imagine anyone being able to throw it! He stood up and looked around at the woods with his hand instinctively reaching for the Colt.

  Chapter 3

  It was midday when the sheriff’s deputy drove up to the cabin. Troy had checked all around the property, but could see no other damage or signs of the intruders. There were no footprints in the snow at all. He even thought that it could have possibly been a rock that fell from the chimney, but the damage was done to the side of the house making that theory impossible. He said as much to the deputy after their formal greeting.

  “I don’t understand why anyone would want to drive all the way out here just to harass me. I don’t really know anyone around here. I just moved in this last summer,” Troy said.

  Deputy Billy Larson was a small man standing barely five and a half feet tall with a shock of blonde hair and wearing a uniform that seemed two sizes too big for him. He said, “Well, it may not be you that they’re harassing. Maybe someone had a mad-on for old man Reed. The guy you bought the place from. ‘Course, I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to scare the old goat, though. He never bothered anyone and was always a nice guy.”

  “I’ve no idea, but let me show you something,” Troy replied.

  He took the deputy around to the side of the house and showed him the rock and the spot on the side of the house where it hit.

  “Whew,” the deputy let out a whistle. “That’s a hell of a rock.”

  “That’s a hell of a man that could throw a rock that size that hard against the house! I didn’t see any footprints at all the way around the cabin. That tells me whoever threw it had to be hiding in the woods,” Troy said.

  The two men walked around the property, but saw no other signs other than the few rocks lying by the cabin. The deputy checked out the woods with Troy in tow. Not finding any more evidence they made their way back to the cabin. Deputy Larson told him that he would write up the report, but for him to be sure and keep a gun handy in order to protect himself. It took too long for anyone on patrol to drive out here especially in bad weather.

  “As remote as this place is, I can’t imagine that they’ll be back, but I wouldn’t be caught off guard. And, honestly, I doubt that it was a bear. I never heard of a bear that could throw rocks. Whoever it was probably wanted to give you a good scare and most likely high tailed it out of here covering their tracks. I doubt you have any more trouble.” the deputy stated.

  “I don’t plan on leaving the cabin without a gun any time soon, Deputy. I appreciate you driving all the way out here - I know it’s quite a ways for you.”

  “Think nothing of it and if you need us again, give us a call. Wish I could be more helpful, but that’s about all I can do for ya right now. Besides, nothing like a little windshield time. It beats pushing a pencil around back at the office. Take care now.”

  The deputy paused when he got to his car and turned back to Troy.

  “I don’t think I need to reiterate just how remote you are out here. The nearest house is on the other side of the mountain; The Denizen’s. Mountain folk. They’re a bit odd, but otherwise harmless. But, like I said, it’s pretty far away. As the crow flies probably only about ten miles, but if you were to drive it, you’d have to go all the way around the mountain and that’d take you the better part of two hours on these roads. I hear there’s a pass that’ll take you over, but who knows if that’s true or not. You’ll probably live here all your life and never run into ‘em. They’re just not the overly friendly type at all and keep to themselves.”

  Troy had not seen anyone out at the cabin or on the lake since he first moved in. He had driven into town on several occasions and had met several folks, but none that lived out this way. Some had mentioned that they would come out and fish the lake sometimes, but there were lakes all over the county. The deputy told him that most folks in the county were pretty friendly and would help anyone. The locals respected the mountains and they knew how important it was to be able to rely on one another.

  The deputy continued through the rolled down window once he climbed inside his vehicle, “Well, I’ll be heading back now. I’ll follow up with you, but call in the meantime if you have any more problems.”

  Troy waved as he watched the deputy’s four-wheel drive truck disappear down the road. He could catch a glimpse of it through trees along the lake road as it wound around the edge for quite some distance and then crossed a bridge. From there, the road continued for several
miles before coming to the county highway. It was only an hour’s drive into town when the weather was good. If the weather was bad, as was often the case during the winter months, it could take twice that if it were even possible over some of the passes. Troy remembered joking with the realtor that he could probably make it to town quicker on a horse than in a car.

  The small town of Hawthorn was a very friendly locale. The population wasn’t more than about 4,500, but there were many families that lived outside of town up in the mountains. It was a beautiful area full of wildlife that fishermen and hunters sought regularly during season. The town also thrived on outside money that came from the skiing population. The many businesses did very well when the weather cooperated.

  Troy spent the rest of the evening piddling around outside. The grass had gone dormant long ago and snow now covered the ground. At this particular altitude it snowed often, but it shouldn’t get bad for a few more weeks before heading into the heart of winter. He busied himself picking up dead limbs and rocks out of the yard and cleaning up around the place. He thought about tackling the shed in order to make room to park his car inside. He drove a 4X4 door Jeep Wrangler so it didn’t need a lot of room, but still the shed was piled under with all of his things from the move. He meant to have it cleaned out long ago, but never got around to it. A few boxes at a time got unpacked, but mostly as he needed something out of one. He kept his Colt on his side the whole time…just in case.