Spider Lake

by Gregg Hangebrauck

  When he finally reached Spider Lake Road his paranoia increased. He watched his mirrors for any sign of Ruben the Jeep-man, but the road was empty on all sides. He pulled into the resort and parked his bike in the small driveway of cabin four. He quickly unwrapped his new camouflaged tarp and covered the bike, being careful not to let the tarp touch the hot exhaust where it was exposed.

  He was pushing tent-stakes down with his shoe to hold the tarp in place when Carly Morton walked up behind him. “Hi Mister Fisher.”

  Ben jumped from the unexpected voice behind him. He turned.

  “You have to stop doing that Ms. Morton. Each time you sneak up on me like that you are removing days from my already limited remaining life-span.”

  “I’m sorry Ben, can I call you Ben? I know. I have a bad habit of sneaking up on people that way. My dad calls me his little Ninja, because I was always sneaking up on him. I see you know where to park your CBR. I guess you would know where to park having lived here before. I see you are covering your bike. That’s another good idea. The weatherman is calling for scattered evening thunderstorms all this week. Better to be safe than sorry, that’s what I always say. Do you want me to show you around the cabin? There are some things changed I bet from when you last lived here.”

  Ben’s head was swimming from all the words that just came spilling out from the young woman’s mouth. He noticed she used the term Ninja, just as Ruben did, but in a different context. He also noticed that she was just as stunningly pretty as he had remembered her to be. This time she had her hair down in a pony-tail, she was wearing cut off blue-jeans and a white tank top. This time there were no green rubber gloves. “I guess I would like that Ms. Morton.”

  “Please, call me Carly. Everyone does.”

  “Okay— Carly. Lead the way.”

  She walked to the door which was barely ten steps from where his bike stood, and she swiped an electronic key across a scanning device at the door jamb.

  “Ben, this your e-key. All you have to do is hold it here for a second and the latch will open. Each time we get a new guest, my computer randomly selects a new code, so if someone forgets and leaves with their key, they won’t have any access to the cabin afterward. Each cabin is assigned a new code at checkout. It is all done behind the scenes requiring no human interaction at all by a script attached to the resort’s reservation system. You just swipe it like this, see?”

  She swiped the key again in front of the device and thist time, the cabin door opened.

  “The door opens on its own?”

  “Yes, it is connected to an electro-hydraulic servo which opens the door for you. No big deal, you see this type of door servo everywhere in the big box stores and hospitals. When I bought the place, I was always banging into one door or another carrying in my cleaning supplies. I got tired of it so I installed the door systems. You can override the system any time you want by applying pressure either way to the door, which tells the servo to disengage.”

  Ben wondered what his mother or father might have thought about the high-tech doors attached to their old cabins. Carly led the way into the cabin, waiting to see Ben’s reaction. Ben recognized the layout. It hadn’t changed. The entry door was midway between the open kitchen on the left, and the living room to the right. A pot-belly stove stood opposite the entry door as it always had, standing on the short wall in-between the two bedroom doors.

  Even when Ben was a boy, every surface had so many layers of paint, giving the tiny cabins a sloppy appearance. Edges which were once sharp, were rounded with each new coat of paint. The cabin he was standing in was the same— but not the same. Every piece of trim was expertly painted or stained and when Ben started looking closer, he began to see the upgrades.

  The most obvious change was the ceiling. As a boy, the ceilings were horizontal. This new-improved cabin had a cathedral ceiling with three high-tech fans dropped to the level just above the free-standing walls of the bedrooms and bathroom. All the switches on the walls had the same scanning device as the front door. The construction was immaculate. Carly smiled as Ben compared his memories with the beautifully remodeled cabin. Ben’s eyes stopped again at the pot-belly stove.

  “Well, at least you still have the pot-belly stove.”

  Carly smiled and said; “It’s not quite the pot-belly stove you remember.” She pressed a button on her I-phone and a fire started in the faux-antique.

  “I should have known.”

  “Ben, you have your own remote for everything in the cabin. Actually, there are three remotes, one master which controls everything, and two more in each bedroom which control only the rooms they are located in. If you own an i-phone, I can give you an app which accesses the systems. Naturally, the code changes as the front door does. Can I show you more?”

  Ben followed Carly through the bathroom door. The bath had a giant-sized claw-foot tub that must have been custom made.

  “Wow. You have made the old cabin a showroom. I have never stayed in a nicer place.”

  She led Ben through another door which led to the master bedroom. There was a giant flat-screen TV on the wall opposite the headboard. Ben was wondering what the place was going to cost.

  “My God Carly, who planned all this? The place is beautiful!”

  “I had a builder out here the first two years I owned it. I gave the man room and board and paid him a decent salary. Every cabin is now upgraded just the same as this one. I gave up the small window which faced the lake in this bedroom so I could put the television on this wall. I made up for it by adding the larger bay window on the west wall.”

  Ben was amazed at what the woman had accomplished in her short life. She was leading him out of the master bedroom and as he was going through the door, he noticed the painting. It was the same painting that Sam Regola had painted for him forty-five years ago. He knew it would be here; two cabins down from cabin six where it was originally hung. It was only two feet from the cabin’s entry door. How could he have missed it? He only had to turn around to see it. He was amazed at how preserved it was. It had survived all these years without fading.

  “So what do you think of what I have done with the place?”

  Ben wanted to tell her that she was the most energetic, beautiful, smart woman he had ever known. Her beauty was infectious. He wasn’t sure if any man could ever resist her. She had the brightest smiling eyes he had ever laid his own eyes on. He thought about Jill back home. Jill, who carried his twins— who loved him unconditionally. He knew that he would always be true, but the vision in front of him was extraordinary.

  “Well,— Carly, I am amazed at what you have done with the place. It is like a showroom.”

  “Tell me Ben, did you notice your painting?”

  He was not surprised. Why should he be? She had all the curiosity embodied in the Sherlock Holmes character by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Any one could see that. She had found him out yesterday didn’t she? She had connected him to the resort with only one old photograph. Why would she overlook an original piece of art right here on her own property? Ben was in no mood to be coy, so he answered her directly: “Not until we walked through the bedroom door Carly.”

  She was smiling at him. It was the smile of a higher being. A smile that stripped Ben of all his defenses. Where was this woman from? Was she some kind of an angel? Ben had seen all sorts of beautiful women in his life. The one smiling in front of him would inspire artists and poets. Ben could not keep himself from gazing at her.

  “Are you free for dinner tonight?”

  “I really shouldn’t Carly. I am a married man.”

  “Ben, you used to live here. I would love to talk to you about what it was like when you were a part of this place. Besides, I hate eating alone. How about it Ben? Say, seven?”

  He couldn’t resist. He had to say yes. He wished she would say his name one more time. He knew that whatever force it was that wanted him here would surely want him to accept.

  “Seven o’clock then. Sure. I’ll
be there.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  In the Dark ( 1968 )

  ne can only imagine the terror of being locked inside an ancient root cellar with no light, and lots of crawling bugs. The boys had been in the cellar before, but that was during the day with the door wide-open. They could see the bugs that were crawling. They could step on them.

  Now, in the dark, the tables had been turned, and the bugs definitely had the upper hand. If they wanted to crawl on your nose there was nothing you could say or do to change their mind. The boys had twice yelled as loud as they could during the course of the night, hoping that someone would hear them, but the storms and the commotion at the mansion had conspired to drown out any noise they made.

  They yelled at the top of their lungs, and it was unfortunate that they did so, because when a person yells that way without warming up the vocal cords, they often blow out their voice box. The negative effect can last for days, causing the voice to be held to a whisper, or even worse, complete muteness. Had the two stretched their vocal cords by singing for a while, or vocalizing me me me me as opera singers do before a performance, they might have preserved their voices and hastened their rescue.

  They tried to stand through the night, keeping their contact with the ground to a bare minimum, but they eventually had to sit, and the utter darkness worked to lower their spirits and heighten their fear. Both boys thought they would be found the next day with the help of daylight, but they also thought that they could be driven mad before then. Certainly someone would be looking for them in the morning when there was light enough to search. They sat in the darkness and tried not to think about spiders as best they could.

  Matt had the worse of it, with the added pain of a badly bruised shoulder and an injured rib. Neither boy thought that they could sleep in such a dismal place, but they did sleep eventually. Matt was awake longer with the pain in his arm, hearing Ben snore lightly in the pitch black. He fell asleep also, but he could not tell when. Once, during the night, Ben stumbled his way all around the small room until he managed to feel the steps, and he looked with his hands to where the door jamb met the door. He looked for any indication of light, but there was none. Another distant storm was rumbling away somewhere in the night.

  He crawled hand and foot to where Matt was laying, and laid down next to him. Being in such darkness takes the sense of time and throws it out the window. Neither boy had a clue when night gave way to day. Matt’s injury would sing with any movement, so he kept as still as he could. Ben made another effort to look for daylight. Fortunately the second time was a charm, and when he reached the jamb, he could see that the sun had come up.

  He put his legs and shoulder into the door and when he did, he could move it about a half a foot, allowing some daylight into the cellar. When he did Matt could see their surroundings, and it did him a world of good to be able to see; because he noticed a four-by-four piece of wood, no doubt left by the last kid who inhabited the place. On top of the wood was a candle that was melted down and stuck to the lumber.

  Neither boy had matches so the candle would do them no good at all, but the four-by-four could be useful. Ben had to rest from pushing the door. The branch on the opposite side of the door was still pushing back and he couldn’t hold it open any longer. Matt spoke to his friend in a hoarse voice barely above a whisper: “Ben. There’s a four-by-four you can jam into the door so we have light.”

  Ben had trouble hearing Matt, so he crawled back in his direction so he wouldn’t trip over him. Matt repeated what he said and did his level best to describe where the board was.

  Ben eventually found it and stuffed the candle in his pocket. He crawled back over to Matt with the four-by-four, and then stumbled around again to find the stairs. This time when he put his legs and shoulder into the resisting door, he managed to wedge the board in-between, and the cellar was transformed into a bearable jail cell.

  There was one other thing that Ben thought he heard when he pushed on the door. He thought he heard a scraping sound. He had no idea what it might be, and he thought that probably it was the tree that was barring the door. Maybe it was scraping against the old foundation when he pushed.

  The two boys took turns looking out the limited view the four inch board afforded them, and began to think pro-actively about how they could escape the place. In a black room, dim light is far superior to no light; and the two of them put a concerted effort into getting all the paybacks they could on the bug population. The tides were turned and they took full advantage of their opportunity, killing every crawling creature they could see.

  John was standing at the ruined boat, wondering what he should do next, when a fire official walked up to him. The fire marshal standing next to him was in charge of coordinating his own fire department and that of three neighboring towns which were also called to help put out the fire at the Rule estate. The building was already thoroughly engulfed in flames, and there was absolutely no hope of any rescue.

  “Mister Fisher, my name is Paul Everett. I am in charge of the emergency efforts here. I am told you have a lost son out here.”

  “Yes, sir I do.”

  “Where did you last see the boys?”

  “I guess it would be right about there.” John pointed out into the fire-lit lake where he had seen the boat earlier.

  “Could you tell from where you were if the boys were wearing their life preservers?”

  “It looked like they were, but the orange preservers are just a shade darker than the boat color. I can’t be sure. He knew well enough to wear one, but the storm came on pretty quickly.”

  “Do you think there is any possibility of your son and his friend taking shelter in the mansion?”

  John was angered by the question. He shouted, “Listen! My son was not in that fire. You get it? And you had better not slip up and say such a thing to my wife, or I’ll—”

  “Hold on Mister Fisher. I would not infringe on your wife by asking her such a thing. That is why I am asking you. Do you think that your boy would take shelter in there?”

  “No. The place has a reputation with the local kids. They do all they can to stay away from it.”

  “Mister Fisher, maybe your boy is over at the girl scout camp drinking hot cocoa right now. Let’s hope he is. He will probably turn up soon. In the meantime, your wife is up there on the road being restrained from coming on the property by one of our deputies. Go comfort the woman. You will never find your son here in the dark. If he fails to show up before first light, we will have a search effort in place.”

  John walked up the west side of the property, and crossed the mansion’s front lawn that was now a parking lot full of fire vehicles and hoses. He zigzagged his way through the menagerie crossing diagonally to the place on the road where the onlookers were restrained. Allie was crying, and the young woman who John had rescued earlier from cabin two had her arms around her in an effort to comfort her. Allie looked up at John through tear-blurred eyes and asked, “Where’s my Benny John? Where is my boy? Why didn’t you save him?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  At the Resort ( Present Day )

  en resisted the temptation to pull the old painting off the wall. He somehow thought with all the high-tech gadgetry an alarm would go off and steel doors would lock him in. He studied it though, and it seemed to him that it was better than he remembered it. He walked over to the fridge and looked inside. The contents reflected the uncanny sense of detail that the rest of the cabin displayed.

  One shelf in the fridge was stocked with a large selection of micro-brewed beers. There were two bottles of white wine chilling on their sides on a built-in wine rack; another bottle of champaign just above them. The door had all types of iced-teas and bottled waters. There was even a gift platter of various cheeses and cured meats. A basket of fruit better tasted cold had its own shelf.

  “This woman has thought of every detail.” Ben muttered to himself.

  He grabbed a beer and tried to open
it. The bottle required an opener so he chose instead to open a water. He was tired. The previous night’s activities had worn him out. He sat on the leather couch and clicked on the flat screen. The set was tuned to the Weather Channel. He watched only a few minutes before he dozed off still sitting on the couch.

  As he slept, he dreamed he was having dinner in the kitchen of his boyhood home. He was a young man of eleven or twelve again. His mother was calling him from another room, telling him to stay put and she would be right out. Ben was looking out the double casement window above the sink. From his sitting position he could only see trees and sky. He picked up a fork in one hand and a spoon in the other and chanted;

  “This old man, he stayed four;

  He played knickknack on the electric door

  With a knickknack, paddy whack,

  Give the frog a loan;

  This old Ben came rolling home.”

  From another room, Ben’s mother began to sing the modified nursery rhyme in harmony with him. Ben was aching to see her. She had passed away back in the early spring of two-thousand and five and he missed her terribly. Since her passing, he had only heard her voice a couple of times in dreams, and he wanted her to come out so he could see her again.

  “Come on Mom, the dinner is getting cold.”

  The woman that came into the kitchen was not Ben’s mother at all. She had his mother’s voice all right, but she was Carly Morton. She had stopped singing and was telling him to wake. Had he fallen asleep during his dinner? Nothing like a face-full of spaghetti to impress the beauty queens.

  “Ben, rise and shine.”

  “No, I don’t want to. I want my Mom to come back. You do the shining. You are good at it.”