Haunted Waters

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  We headed back to a visitors center for cookies and hot chocolate. Bryce was staring at pictures and exhibits of pioneer life, but I knew his mind was somewhere else. We got in the Land Cruiser and backtracked to some curvy roads. I thought I was going to get sick, and I was even more scared that Dylan would upchuck his fruit snacks. But Sam put down the windows, and we all took a breath of fresh air. Once I looked straight down a cliff, which made me want to roll my window back up.

  I’ve always been afraid on bridges, scared that the car would plunge into the water and we wouldn’t make it out. One time I dreamed we all got out except Dylan, who was trapped in his car seat, and I spent the rest of the night in Mom’s room. I couldn’t believe how glad I was to see him the next morning and give him a hug, Pop-Tarts crumbs and all.

  “So, you kids have been here more than a year now,” Sam said as we passed some kind of reservoir. The water was right next to the SUV so I could see swirls on top from where fish swam. A sign said Scenic Overlook Ahead.

  Sam looked at me in the rearview mirror. “What do you think so far?”

  I shrugged. “It’s okay.”

  Sam frowned.

  I know he wanted me to say Colorado was the best place on earth, that I was “happy as a raccoon in a cornfield,” as my grandfather would say. But my real dad was dead, my mom was busy, and I just hadn’t “connected” with Sam yet—which confirmed my suspicions about the weekend.

  “It’s cool we get to ride the ATVs to school,” Bryce said.

  “I like my waccoon and monkey.” Dylan looked around and found his stuffed raccoon and Chunky Monkey, which was made out of a sock. Sam had bought the monkey at the grocery store.

  After a few wrong turns we made it to the driveway of the cabin. Sam got out and unhooked a chain. Then we drove into the woods. Even though it was morning, it looked like night because there were so many trees. The road was muddy, and we lurched up the hill in four-wheel drive.

  Bryce gasped when he saw the place. It was a big A-frame surrounded by trees, except at the back where the house overlooked a cliff. Just like earlier, it felt like you could see forever.

  We made two trips to bring our backpacks and all the groceries inside. Before we could explore, Sam handed us both tiny walkie-talkies and showed us how to work them.

  “How far will these reach?” Bryce said.

  “A few miles, depending on the mountains.”

  Sam must have seen the look on my face. “I don’t plan on us splitting up this weekend. This is just to be safe.”

  Chapter 14

  The cabin was incredible. Ashley and I walked around the main floor and found the kitchen, two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a huge living room with a fireplace in the middle and windows big enough for Godzilla. There was also a loft, and Sam carried his and Dylan’s stuff up there. The view out over the mountain took my breath away, and the first thing I wanted to do was draw it for Mom. Ashley took a shot with her digital camera.

  Ashley claimed the best bedroom, the one with bunk beds. She said since she didn’t get to ride up front, she had dibs. I threw my backpack in the next room.

  Then we headed to the lower level. Not only was there a Ping-Pong table and a pool table, but there was also a real Lord of the Rings pinball machine with lights and bells and buzzers. At one end of the room a TV was hooked up to the satellite, and there were a bunch of movies in the cabinet underneath.

  “Guess that’s for if we get snowed in,” Ashley said.

  “I wouldn’t mind getting snowed in here for the rest of my life,” I said. “Wish we’d have brought the dogs.”

  On the wall by the pinball machine was a picture of a weird-looking woman. She wore a red dress and stared at the camera. Her face gave me the willies.

  Ashley opened a cabinet and found a screaming-fast computer. “We can e-mail Mom my picture!”

  “Let’s go shoot some more.”

  But Sam said it was time to see Gold Town. The pictures would have to wait.

  Chapter 15

  Gavin Winkler parked the dark green rental car in the gravel at the end of the Gold Town parking lot. He lit a cigarette and flicked on the radio, skipping through music, talk shows, and news reports.

  Gavin had checked out of his hotel in Denver in the wee hours, leaving his key in his room and a mountain of room-service dishes. He couldn’t leave a trail here, so as inviting as it looked, he wouldn’t be staying at the little bed-and-breakfast nearby. This would be a quick job. In and out. Get the goods and take off. He wanted no one to see him.

  A friend had introduced Gavin to the man who had set up their little operation. The man wanted someone slick, someone clean-cut, who had never been to jail. Gavin had lied about his past. He had spent time in prison—a lot of it actually. But the man didn’t need to know. Things had been stolen. People hurt.

  Gavin scrunched down in his seat and watched the parking lot fill with vehicles. Mostly SUVs. Moms and dads with little kiddies who wanted to see the golden trinket and the sparkly room. The radio gave the weather: a chance of snow Saturday in the higher elevations. Perfect. He’d be out of town and on to Las Vegas before anyone knew what had happened.

  He focused on the shiny trailer by the wooden building. Inside were photos and artifacts of the gold rush. People had traveled here more than 100 years ago hoping to change their lives, to get rich.

  Gavin was going to do the same, only he wouldn’t even have to get his hands dirty.

  Chapter 16

  We made it to Gold Town that afternoon. The exhibit trailer and General Store were packed. Sam let us out and parked in a muddy area next to the parking lot. Bryce held Dylan’s hand so he wouldn’t break away and run toward the fake mine shaft up the hill.

  The black-and-gold trailer with the vug inside was parked near a rock looming above the town. I snapped a picture, then followed the others inside the store.

  Ropes were set up to show people where to walk. Sam put Dylan on his shoulders so he could see over people’s heads.

  The shop smelled musty, like Mrs. Watson’s basement, and on the walls were black-and-white pictures, mostly of bearded miners with burros. One showed a woman in a white dress on a wooden sidewalk, shielding her eyes from the sun. Another was of a man inside a mine, his face dirty. I wondered what had happened to these people. Had they spent their entire lives in Colorado or moved farther west chasing some dream? Had they stayed poor or struck gold and become rich?

  Soon after we entered, the store owner began his presentation. “From the late 1850s until almost 1900, newspapers carried stories of people like you see in those pictures, poor and lonely, who came to Colorado, saw a glint of light in a stream or off a rock, and came back millionaires. Most didn’t strike it rich, and the ones who did were usually the ones who set up stores and saloons. But every now and then someone found gold.”

  The man looked around the room. “I don’t suppose any of you younger people have heard the story of Horace Tabor?”

  Every middle schooler in Colorado had to have heard the story, so I was surprised that no one but Bryce raised a hand.

  “Yes, young man. What happened to him?”

  “Um . . . wasn’t he the g-guy wh-who traded his store for a silver mine?”

  “Yes, but not the whole store,” the man said, pointing to a picture of a man with a large mustache. “Born in Vermont in 1830, he and his wife heard of the riches being found in Colorado, moved here, and opened a general store much like this one. One day two grizzled miners came into his business and asked him to ‘grubstake’ them, which meant if Tabor would supply them with picks, shovels, and food, they would give him one-third of the share of the mine. On May 15, 1878, Tabor rushed up Fryer Hill from his store after hearing the two men had hit pay dirt. The silver mine made Tabor rich.”

  People smiled and shook their heads.

  Before the shop owner could continue, Sam said, “Tell them how the story ended.”

  The shop owner frowned. “He died in Den
ver in 1899, leaving a wife and two daughters penniless. He went from rags to riches and back to rags.”

  The owner then told the story of the gold nugget on display, how a poor prospector named Jedediah Maxwell, who had nearly frozen to death and had been attacked by bears, finally struck it rich in a nearby mine. He held up a glass-encased nugget that looked like it weighed a ton. “This was one of the first nuggets Jedediah discovered, and he vowed that no one would touch it. He kept it hidden, and only after his death did a friend find it in a secret compartment under his desk.”

  People gawked at the gold, and I wished I could hold it.

  The owner went on. “A few years later, some miners were blasting about 1,200 feet down when they discovered what geologists call a vug. The room was about 23 feet long, 14 feet wide, and 36 feet high—exactly the same as you’ll see inside the exhibit.”

  The man paused dramatically. “No one but those miners ever saw what that room looked like. Armed men guarded it day and night. No pictures were ever taken. But artists have gone over the miners’ eyewitness accounts of that room, and when you’re led in, you will see what they might have seen almost 100 years ago.”

  Chapter 17

  People passed by the huge nugget on their way to the exhibit. A woman sold replicas of it, along with snacks and soda. Ashley tugged at my arm to get in line and I followed, hoping we’d get to take some fake gold home. Sam and Dylan were already way ahead of us, and Dylan pointed at a toy miner’s hat with a light in it.

  A well-dressed man stood behind the glass to make sure no one tried to touch the nugget.

  “I’ll bet you have that thing insured,” a tourist said.

  “For 50 million, sir,” the owner said. A muscular guard stood behind him.

  It wasn’t that exciting, seeing some hunk of gold a dead guy had hidden. Dylan wriggled down and ran from the store, his miner’s hat shifting on his head and Sam hurrying after him. A stranger at the doorway looked straight at Ashley and me. He walked to the front and talked with the store owner.

  We were only three people away from the nugget now. I pointed at Ashley’s camera, but she shook her head. When she turned to look at some fake rocks on the counter, I grabbed the camera and shot a picture of the nugget. As soon as the flash went off, the well-dressed man was next to me.

  “Pictures aren’t allowed,” he said, his mouth tight.

  I couldn’t see any sign that said No Pictures Allowed. My face got hot, and I knew my cheeks were red. I hate when that happens. It felt like everybody was staring at me, and I was nervous. The camera slipped and bonked on the floor. The memory stick snapped out and clattered away.

  “Nice work, Captain Clumso,” Ashley whispered.

  I scooped up the camera and handed it to Ashley. She inspected it and frowned, but I could tell it still worked.

  The shop owner was next to me now. “I’ll have to ask for the film from that camera.”

  “I-I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t see a sign.”

  “Whose children are these?” the store owner said, ignoring me. He said it like we were a couple of muddy dogs who had run over his white carpet.

  “They’re mine,” Sam said from behind us. He was carrying Dylan, and I was glad he was back. He walked toward us as the crowd parted. “I’m sure this was an innocent mistake.”

  The owner frowned. “I would ask you to control your children.”

  Sam stared at the man with a look I hadn’t seen before, like a tiger that’s been in a cage too long.

  “It’s digital,” Ashley said. “I can delete the picture.”

  The owner seized the camera and seemed to know how to work it. He went through every picture Ashley had shot—the ones of the front of the cabin, the view from the window, even one of me sleeping with my Cubs blanket, which I didn’t know she had taken.

  The man studied a photo—a bit too long, I thought—then hit the Delete button. Then he deleted the entire set of pictures she had taken. “Just to be sure,” he said, handing the camera back to Ashley, who scowled at him. He looked at Sam. “I’d like you to leave now.”

  “Glad to,” Sam said, his voice stiff.

  As we walked out, a kid tapped me on the shoulder and handed me the memory stick. I stuffed it in my pocket.

  Chapter 18

  I jumped into the front seat and Bryce didn’t argue. His cheeks were as red as a hot pepper when he slipped in beside Dylan, pulled his knees up, and hid his face. Dylan turned on his hat light and patted Bryce on the head, but it didn’t help.

  I was bummed that we couldn’t go into the vug. The way the guy pumped it up made me feel like we’d almost be going back in time. Plus, I’d read some stuff on the Internet about gold’s history—how the capitol dome in Denver is made of real gold, and how many people died trying to strike it rich.

  Sam looked in the rearview mirror. “There wasn’t a sign, was there?”

  Bryce shook his head vigorously.

  “Don’t worry about that guy. He’s just wrapped a little too tight.”

  “We didn’t even get to see the vug,” I said, then wished I hadn’t because Bryce looked even more miserable.

  As we drove away, I saw the shop owner waving and yelling, but Sam sped off.

  Back at the cabin Sam lit the grill. Dylan found the pinball machine and dragged a chair up to it, where he stood trying to make it work. There was no tearing him away from it until dinner was ready.

  We didn’t make a sound while we ate, except for Dylan, who clicked his hat light on and off and whined about going back to the “Ping-Pong machine.” The burgers tasted great, and Sam waited until after I had eaten mine to tell us they were buffalo meat.

  “Mmm, buffalo,” Dylan said, picking up his burger and bouncing it across his plate like it was running in a field. A few pieces fell on his plate, and he giggled. “He pooped.”

  That even made Bryce smile.

  Sam asked Bryce to help wash the dishes. It would be my turn the next day, so I went downstairs to the computer. Then I remembered I couldn’t send Mom the pictures, so I e-mailed her about what had happened. I also told her I hoped her book was going well. I almost explained what had happened with Hayley, but I just couldn’t.

  What must Hayley have thought about me? Had I blown my chance to tell her about God? I really wanted to, not to bang her over the head, but just tell her what a difference God’s made in me. But if I’d watch that kind of stuff, had he made a difference?

  Normally my brother and I don’t snoop on each other. He doesn’t read my diary, and I don’t listen on the extension when he talks with his friends. But for some reason I checked Bryce’s e-mail, and something in the subject line of one message told me I should read it. It said, “Better watch out.”

  The return address was Darryl Heckler, which I figured was Boo’s dad. I had no idea how Boo had gotten Bryce’s address, but the message sent a chill down my back.

  Hey, Timberhead—

  I meant what I said today. We’ll be waiting for you Monday, if not sooner.

  You know who

  I thought about deleting it. Bryce didn’t need to see this, but it might come in handy if Boo ever denied he’d threatened him.

  Chapter 19

  I didn’t feel like helping with the dishes, but at least it took my mind off what had happened. Sam washed and I dried.

  After Dylan and Ashley were gone, Sam folded his arms, leaned against the sink, and said in his deep voice, “Can I tell you something about people? Most of the time they’re in their own little world, me included. If something goes wrong, they’ll take it out on somebody, and today that was you. You didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I know you’ve got a good heart.”

  “He didn’t have to treat us that way.”

  “No, and it was all I could do to keep from telling him what I thought.” Sam took the towel from my hand and folded it. “Something’s going on at school, isn’t it?”

  “Why?”

  “Your mom said she co
uld tell. Wanted me to find out what it was.”

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” I said.

  “Well, if you need help, let me know.” He went back to washing and told me I was done.

  I started downstairs, then turned back. “Sam, I’ve wanted to ask you this for a long time.”

  “Go ahead,” he said, his hands still in dishwater.

  “Why haven’t you become a . . . I mean, what keeps you from . . . ?”

  “Doing the God thing?”

  “Yeah, I mean, you’re better than most Christians I know, the way you treat people. And you don’t curse—at least in front of Ashley and me. . . .”

  “How do you know I’m not a Christian?”

  “Mom said you weren’t interested.”

  Sam turned and smiled. His mustache got lost in the wrinkles in his face, and his eyes sparkled. “One of these days we’ll have to have a long talk about that. For now, you should know I respect you three and your decision to follow God.”

  “But what about you?”

  He pursed his lips. “Let’s just say God and I haven’t gotten along too well for a while.”

  “You mean ’cause your wife and daughter died?”

  “That’s part of it.”

  He looked like he had just been hit by an ocean wave, so I decided to drop it. Ever since Ashley and I had become Christians we’d been praying for Sam and Leigh. It seemed like God was doing something in their lives, working somehow, but now wasn’t the right time to talk to Sam about it.

  Before I headed down the stairs I said, “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “For not treating me like a little kid.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Chapter 20

  While Sam went for a walk with Dylan, Bryce and I tried to find a movie on the satellite. I found a good one about a girl whose horse gets hurt and she has to help it get better so it can race again. Bryce wanted to watch a cheesy show about a bunch of kids who are hired by a spy agency. There were lots of dark outfits and teens climbing things, being sarcastic, and pulling stuff out of their noses. We fought for a few minutes. Then I stormed upstairs to the smaller TV.