Spider Lake

by Gregg Hangebrauck

  The boys were now watching the entire picture. The girls around the camp-fire, the two trigger-girls nearing the bathroom door, a camp counselor opening the counselor’s lounge door and walking down the few steps; back again to the trigger-girls nearly at the washroom. They didn’t want to miss any of the action, no longer thinking at all about being hidden.

  Then it happened. The door was opened. The two trigger-girls were inside. Matt spoke way too loudly with his two hands barely muffling the sound: “The cat is in the cradle. I repeat, the cat is in the cradle.”

  The shower room which was built out of cinder-blocks had a marvelous way of amplifying sound when it was empty. The first girl had a lovely soprano voice, and a great knack for increasing her vibrato with her crescendo. The second girl was equally gifted, screaming in near perfect two part harmony with the first. Then slowly, almost imperceptibly, the monkey added his own golden tones creating a three part harmony that would bring a tear to Mozart’s eye. Oh the beautiful music they made that night! It made the two boys want to laugh, to cry, to sing. They even hugged each other in the warmest of embraces.

  The monkey shrieked again and again, trying very hard to outdo the girls in every way, and when the cans started making their own beautiful music, the boys imagined a wedding vehicle whisking screaming newlyweds on their way to the reception.

  Naturally, the nuclear combination would spread wildly. The rest of the sweet young things could only do their part once hearing the racket from the shower. Was it an axe murder? Was it a giant spider? Was it the Hell-hound? Of course they couldn’t know, but the sound they were hearing above the din of their own, had one effect. Get up, scream, and run in all directions. Oh the joy! In the boys wildest imagination, they couldn’t have hoped for more!

  The camp counselor ran to the washroom in an attempt to rescue the girls from the unseen menace. Girls were running and screaming in all directions, still fearing their own worst monsters of their dreams. Ben and Matt hugged again. The camp counselor opened the door and the monkey ran in-between her legs, causing the poor woman the fright of her life. The monkey ran in the direction of the Rule estate with all those cans making noise behind it. The bee-line for the safety of the water-tower brought the animal within feet of the campfire, putting one final exclamation point on the finale.

  Halfway through the woods the sound of the cans ceased to make their wonderful music. The deed had been done. The boys would take any punishment they had coming to them just to see it all once more, but the magic of the night was over, like the last day of an amazing vacation.

  There was an inquiry when all the excitement was over, but no action was taken. It was guessed that the poor little animal had got himself caught in some wedding cans, and had come to the camp for help. After all, many of the girls had merit badges in the art of first aid...

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Day of the Fire( 1968 )

  en and Matt decided to go out fishing again at the hot-spot. Ben had the morning’s chores to do, but he was free by the middle afternoon. Both boys wanted to get another chance at the legendary pike, so they grabbed a dozen minnows and Matt climbed into a free boat.

  “I’ll be right back Matt. I have to tell my mom I am going.”

  Ben found his mother in the screen porch.

  “Where are you headed Ben?”

  “We are going to the hot spot.”

  “The weather man said that there was a chance of storms. I want you off that water the minute you hear thunder. Maybe you should fish close.”

  “Aw Mom, we have been wanting to go out and catch that pike. He is probably in the same spot.”

  “Okay Ben, go ahead. But any sign of thunder and you make for shore. Understood?”

  Ben left the screen porch and headed for the dock. Morris watched him and followed him along the cabin roofs, hoping to catch him off-guard. Ben kept his eyes above him at all times now that the monkey was his sworn enemy. When he was safely away from the cabins, he skipped down to the dock.

  “What in the heck took you so long? I was about ready to ask one of the girls in cabin three to take your place.”

  “My mom had to read me the riot act again about storms.”

  “Those dopey weather men are always griping about storms and the storms never come. I don’t believe em anymore.”

  “Oh, so you’re Meteorologist Matt now?

  “Well, I might be. Maybe I should start predicting it, and we’ll see who is correct more than the other.”

  “That’s alright with me Matt. I’ll write down what the TV guys say, and you write down what you think. But no cheating. You can’t watch the weather for— two weeks.”

  “Alright, you are on. We’ll see who is better.”

  The two boys took turns rowing the yellow boat to the place where Sam and Ben had fished. They were in no real hurry to get there. They knew that the prime fishing time wouldn’t start until later in the evening.

  A couple of hours passed and thunder could be heard off in the distance once again. The Hell-hound confirmed the fact with his ridiculous barking. The weather was somewhere within ear-shot, but the sky above was crystal clear. The boys dropped anchor at the hot-spot and as soon as they did, they got a strike. This time, Matt would pull in a largemouth bass.

  The usual banter went all around like, “I caught it.”

  “Yeah but it’s my fishing spot so I get the credit.”

  The girl scout camp sounded the dinner horn and the camp got quiet. The boys were still listening for any signs of the thunder getting nearer. A cool breeze stirred up the surface of the lake.

  The low pressure of the distant storm caused the breeze to lift even more, and the rowboat moved back and forth on its tether in a pendulum motion. The two boys listened to the low rumbling again but did nothing. Clouds were building to the west but being so near to the western shore, they went unnoticed. The low pressure also had an effect on the fish, stirring them into a feeding frenzy. As the boat moved to and fro on its line, the bait moved also, which triggered the fish to strike. The boys were having the fishing equivalent of a field day, catching a fish with nearly every cast.

  A large gust of northeast wind brought the two to their senses.

  “Matt, I think we better roll up and get the heck out of here.”

  Then the storm hit with unexpected ferocity. One minute the boys were reeling in fish, the next they were hanging on for dear life.

  Matt was shouting but could not be heard above the storm. He was kneeling on the floor-boards nearest the stern of the flat-bottomed skiff and was facing north to the windward side, forcing him to keep his eyes tightly shut. He tried to hold his hand in front of his eyes to see, but each time he let go of the gunwale, he would lose his balance in the six-foot waves. He was more worried about making landfall on the private property of the Rule estate than he was of the eminent danger caused by the storm.

  “What if Digger releases the hell-hound?”

  Ben didn’t hear him. He was kneeling in the bow of the boat, hanging on to the leeward side opposite of Matt. Until now, Ben had not been caught on the water during a storm. He had always been careful. This time he delayed just a little too long and he wished he hadn’t. The huge rolling waves did not scare him per se, he was a good swimmer and was only about thirty-five or forty feet from shore. It was the lightning that he was most afraid of. It was coming down everywhere from every direction, and with each new strike, he would duck reflexively. He didn’t know why, but the song “Yellow Submarine” by the Beatles kept playing over and over in his head.

  In just a matter of minutes, the wind had increased to gale-force, and both boys might have imagined they were on the North Atlantic, rather than little Spider Lake. When they first realized that they would be caught in the storm, they had the common sense to put on their life jackets. Now only minutes later, they had already lost most of their gear over the sides due to the storm. They had tried to row, but quickly realized it was a fruitless eff
ort, and that it would be more prudent to get down low and hang on tight.

  The storm would bring them where it pleased, which was straight towards the huge rock which marked the eastern corner of the Rule estate where it met the shore. Ben caught a glimpse of the rock while the boat was high atop a wave. He knew that if they hit the rock, they would likely be on their last boat ride. He turned around and tugged on the strap of Matt’s life preserver. When Matt finally turned his head, Ben pointed and yelled: “Rock!”

  “What?”

  “The rock!”

  Matt’s face registered his comprehension. He yelled, “What should we do?”

  The boat was cresting on top of another wave and this time, both of them were looking at the menace which was sending plumes of water skyward with each collision of a new wave. Ben yelled, “We may have to bail out!”

  Matt turned himself slowly around, holding on to the rear bench seat to keep his balance. He tried to hang on to the gunwale on the same side as Ben, but the boat became unbalanced and nearly tipped over. Ben yelled, “Keep your weight closer to the middle Matt!”

  Behind them, the air horn at the girl scout camp was now blowing continuously. The hell hound could be heard somewhere in front of them, now in a delirious storm-induced mania. His yipping and yapping and howling and snapping was still audible above the low deep moaning of the wind.

  Matt shouted, “What about the hell-hound? What if digger lets him loose?”

  Ben didn’t answer Matt. He knew that Digger would not allow trespassing on a normal day, but this was different. He was more worried about the rock, and each time the boat rode the crest of a new wave, he would look for it. When it became visible again, he would measure it from where he had last seen it, calculating whether or not they would crash into it. He knew it would be a close call.

  Both of them were now hearing an amplified snap-cracking sound which was caused by fully mature trees being twisted in half and being thrown hundreds of feet into the air. The deep moan of the wind was now at an ear-splitting level. The boat shivered as if it was frightened from the unseen force and had it been nearer to the funnel, it would have been intimate with the uprooted tree which was removing the building’s cupola, including its copper lightning rod and weather vane in the shape of a moose.

  The boys watched in amazement as the shoreline receded fifteen feet right before their eyes. Confused flapping fish seemed to be everywhere, trying in vain to swim but having no purchase of the lake water. The boat shivered again and then spun slowly in a semi-circular direction and hung nearly motionless just above the crest of a confused wave. Sitting atop the hill of water, time seemed to slow down, giving Ben enough time to glance left towards the southern-most part of the lake which neared the road, as a funnel-shape of water manifested itself out of thin air.

  The funnel passed close enough to lift the growling and barking Hell-hound and his chain thirty feet straight into the air. The howling stopped when the animal reached the apex of the straightened chain, and had it not been killed by a broken neck, the lightning strike would certainly have sealed the deal, frying the animal in mid-air as the immense voltage welded the heavy chain into a permanent straight line.

  At about the same time that the hell-hound’s internal temperature was reaching thirty-thousand degrees, and the flying tree was disassembling the mansion’s only defense against lightning, the boat containing the two boys was transforming into an air ship. The chain which once acted as a restraint to keep the hell-hound in check was now acting as a make-shift lightning rod, carrying the immense voltage to the workshop in the basement below the kitchen where all Digger’s flammable liquids were kept. Had Digger McCann been present he would have seen that the chain was attached in a very unfortunate place, and that he should not have kept so many solvents in the basement, but he was supposed to be away on a business trip in Chicago selling some of Rule’s gold. He was ignorant of his poor choices.

  The boat didn’t travel far through the air, maybe twenty feet. The boys never even knew they were airborne. It felt to them that they were riding a wave, and in a matter of seconds they were being set down gently but upside-down on the shore; the bow of the boat nestling atop the huge boulder, the stern digging into the wet sand. The same force which spared the boat, also spared the two boys, who found themselves unharmed but spitting out sand beneath the boat.

  Ben was trying to sort out where he was and how he had gotten there. He was kneeling in the sand with the boat above his head. Roughly two feet to his left was the huge boulder that had so worried him just minutes before. Matt was less confused. He assumed by the feel of the ground and the mouthful of sand that he had been thrown from the boat and was now lying on shore. What he didn’t know was that the boat was only inches above him and when he tried to lift himself up, he bumped his head on the rear seat of the upside-down craft.

  Ben was looking directly at the mansion. He thought for a minute that he had seen a burning dog falling in a huge arc from the sky, but he dismissed it as a figment of his imagination. The lightening was coming down everywhere on all sides of them. A huge tree fell very close on the manicured lawn just beyond the sand where they were. Ben thought correctly that had it fallen on them, the shelter of the boat would not have made a difference.

  The sky had darkened with the heavy clouds above them and Ben could see flames through a low window on the east side of the mansion. Another lightning strike hit the building on the western side, immediately causing a second fire to start. Matt had army-crawled to the high side beneath the boat next to Ben, and now he could see what his friend was seeing.

  “Where did that tree come from?”

  “Tornado.” Was all that Ben could think of to say.

  “The mansion is on fire!”

  “I seen it get struck!”

  “What should we do?”

  Ben didn’t answer. Just then another large tree came down in the boys view midway between them and the mansion, and the funnel lost its grip on the lake-water, causing a mini-tsunami returning the shoreline to its original position. The resulting wave hit the boys in the back with enough force to knock them both forward, but the boat held fast to the boulder and only slightly shifted at the back end, which was dug well into the sand.

  They both watched helplessly as the fire spread. There were several explosions which rocked the mansion on the eastern side throwing glass outward from the windows and doubling the size of the flames. Burning debris was showering the manicured lawn.

  John Fisher was in the tool shed when he heard the first rumblings from the approaching storm. He knew that his son was on the water, and that Ben would be smart enough to head for shore if he heard thunder. He walked out to the end of the dock to see if he could spot any yellow boats, but the point left only a third of the lake in his field of vision. He counted the boats tied to the docks and realized there were two from his resort out on the water. He looked up and to the west. The sky was looking dark and ominous. Overhead the clouds had the knurled look caused by heavy turbulence and the atmosphere had the pea-soup greenish cast that generally preceded the approach of a heavy storm. The first gust of wind shook the trees as if to say “Here I come.” And John walked quickly back to the clearing.

  Allie was in the kitchen of the main house when she heard the thunder through the open window. She and John had a plan in place for when there was threatening weather. John would count the boats at the dock, and she would check each of the cabins. In this way they had a pretty solid understanding of who might be out on the water. When she met her husband in the clearing they both knew who was out. The couple in cabin two, and the boys.

  “I’ve got two boats out there Allie. Which cabin was empty?”

  “Cabin two. Ben and Matt are out there John.”

  “I know they are. I’m going to run out to the point to see if I can spot them.”

  “You better hurry. The storm is coming on fast.”

  John jogged down to the resort’s only p
ower-boat, a nineteen foot wooden runabout powered by a thirty-five horse Evinrude outboard motor. Motorboats were not allowed on the lake, but the resort and the girl scout camp each were allowed to run a power-boat in the case of an emergency. As he was untying the boat from the dock and warming up the engine, another large gust of wind indicated the severity of the oncoming storm causing rare whitecaps to form in the tiny inlet; and when he put the boat in reverse, the waves were already splashing over the transom.

  Initially, there was more wind than rain, and once John was at a safe depth to open the throttle he gunned the engine in the direction of the main lake. He was barely out of the inlet when he spotted the boat belonging to cabin two. It was being pushed by the wind into a place on the point which was full of deadfalls. The inexperienced young couple in the boat were trying to hold the boat off the shore by grabbing the nearby overhead branches and the little boat was in peril of capsizing. John wanted to keep going to see where his son was, but the guests from number two needed help.

  He slowed the engine to a crawl and stood up on the seat to see if he could see the other boat which held his son. He spotted them in-between the girl scout camp and the Rule estate. It looked as if they were near the shore. John turned his attention back to the guests and made a judgement call. The nearby boat was very close to capsizing. Neither of the two occupants were wearing their preservers. They were waving to him to come and help. He took one more look across the main lake. He could see, even from that distance that the two boys were wearing orange. “Good.” he thought, “They have their life preservers on.” He turned the runabout in the direction of the nearest boat.

  The couple in boat number two were not equipped to help themselves. The skiff was snagged on top of a submerged tree. Neither of them had the sense to put on their life preservers. The man was standing and holding on to an overhanging branch and was trying to hold the teetering boat steady with his splayed legs. His wife was sitting in her seat, obviously too frightened to move. The wind and the waves were getting larger with each passing minute and had John not arrived to help, they would likely have been swamped and possibly drowned.