When I had asked the doctor as to what time might remain with this condition, he had simply prescribed medication, and said that he could not be certain. I knew that I would have to tell Caitlin, but after the loss of our child, I could not find the words. I had already arranged to meet with a lawyer and compose a Last Will and Testament. In the end I would at least find comfort within knowing that Caitlin would be financially secure for the rest of her life.
The telephone rang, and answering it, I was pleasantly surprised to hear Rich, “Michael? I didn’t call too late—did I?”
“Rich! Of course not, it’s always good to hear from you.”
“Is everything alright?” His uncanny sense seemed to once more draw upon the shadow that now haunted me, “I was going to leave this call until morning, but was suddenly worried about you. I got this chill, it was awful.”
“Thank you--,” I paused briefly in thought and lied, saying, “But everything is just fine. What was that you were saying about the call?”
It was obvious that something now bothered him as, hesitating, he said, “Well, I received a telephone call a few minutes ago. It was from Mrs. Charlene Templeton, the cousin of Sheila H. Harcourt.”
“Odd that they should call so late--,” Leaning back into my chair, I breathed deeply while enjoying the cool breeze that issued through the window, “Is something wrong?”
“Well, only if you consider the sudden death of Sheila Harcourt a matter for concern?”
“She passed away?” The words were whispered from out of a dry mouth and I asked, “Any idea what happened?”
“Apparently she fell down the stairs.” He sighed and added, “Maybe the ghostly spouse of one of her clients had finally had enough, and gave her a push?”
“We really shouldn’t make light of her death--,” I couldn’t help but snicker and say, “But being a psychic, one would assume that she might have seen this coming?”
“You’re just as bad as me—if not worse.” Rich laughed and, in a second breath, said, “So, we’re free on the Friday night. Would you be interested in looking into something else?”
“Sure—what did you have in mind?”
“Well, Carrie took an interesting call this afternoon--,” He cleared his throat, and said, “Hold on—I’ve got it written down here somewhere.”
Looking down at Merlin as I waited, I watched as he swatted at a large moth on the draperies. He appeared more amused with the thing than actually attempting to capture it. It suddenly fluttered from out of his reach. Sitting down in obvious disappointment, he turned to look back at me. There were no words that could describe the humiliation that shone within those large and yellow eyes. But if I knew him, he would wait and watch and as usual and eventually catch his prize.
“Alright--,” Rich returned and, drawing my attention back to the call, said, “It was a call from Mr. Frank Jorgenson. It concerns a possible haunting. It’s an old logging camp not far from the town of Harrison.”
“A logging camp--,” I thought briefly, and then turned to ask, “Weren’t we there before?”
“No, but we were close.” He flipped through several pages on his desk, saying, “It’s just off the Trans-Canada Highway toward Hope, but you make a left turn before Bridal Falls, the one that takes you into Agassiz.”
“Alright, not too far off the beaten path.” I agreed, glancing down as Merlin, now sulking, climbed into the window sill and peered out into the night.
“Well, if you go into Agassiz--,” Rich explained, “Then turn East onto the number seven highway, we follow that right into Harrison Hot Springs.”
“So, basically the same route that we took into Roads End.”
“Almost, but instead of turning right in town, we go left--,” He lit his pipe and puffing, thoughtfully continued, “We follow the old logging road for about fifteen miles. It takes you all the way around to the far side of Harrison Lake and the old camp.”
“Are they still working out of there?” I remembered hearing previous mention of a camp there many years ago, but could not place it.
“The actual logging industry closed in 1963.” He replied, seeming somewhat anxious, “It became a clean-up operation until 1965, and then it was basically just abandoned.”
“Alright, so if the place was abandoned, what is Mr. Frank Jorgenson’s interest in the matter?”
I watched as Merlin slowly turned and crept down from the sill, every muscle tensing as he patiently awaited the unwary moth, which now scampered down the drapery.
“Apparently, Mr. Jorgenson purchased the property in hopes of turning it into a camp ground.” Rich seemed somewhat apprehensive, “But, there are rumors, stories about the place. Some say that it’s haunted. So, having found our number and knowing our reputation, he has asked that we check things out—and give it a clean bill of sale, so to speak.”
Focused upon the moth as it slowed upon the drapery, I watched as it dropped to the carpet before Merlin, and met a swift and bitter end….
“We would be there over the weekend.” Rich continued, “But we won’t be roughing it completely. Frank told me that he has opened the main cabin for us. The one that was once occupied by the owner, and that we’ll have power and running water.”
“So, we’ll be on the far side of the lake--,” I thought briefly, “Which is secluded by glaciers, primordial forest, and over fifteen miles of old logging roads.”
“In a nutshell--,” Rich sighed, saying, “But, we’re taking NR1. It’s all fueled, has gear and everything that we might need. So, it’s not as though we are totally at the mercy of the wilderness.”
“NR1?” He caught me off guard.
“Well, it’s the nick-name I gave our rig--,” He chucked and said, “Nightrealm One. And Scott will be driving NR2.”
“NR2?”
“It’s the project that I was working on, under the tarp.” He reminded me, “It’s the twin to NR1. But instead of food, water and safety equipment, it carries camping gear, an eight man rubber raft, extreme weather gear, extra lighting, spare tires, and ropes and chains.”
“Maybe we should be doing wilderness tours instead?” I couldn’t help but laugh.
“So, what do you say?” He paused, “Do we take the weekend and check this place out?”
“Well, I’m working on the fourth book now--,” I thought aloud, “And could certainly use some inspiration. I really haven’t come up with anything to get this project rolling. Unless you think that people would be interested in Messiah shaped potato chips that speak?”
“No—I don’t think that would really go over well.” Rich chuckled, “I’ll make the necessary calls and arrange things with this Frank character. We’ll be there around noon on Friday to pick you up. Just bring your usual gear. I’ll grab groceries and supplies with Scott before we come to get you.”
“Alright then—sounds good!” I turned in my chair to look out and into the night, and sighing, said, “It’ll be nice to get out on the road with you again. It’s been a while, my friend.”
“Tell me about it. I was beginning to wonder, if we would ever get this house and everything organized.” He laughed, “I can’t wait to get back out there with you, too. I’ve been feeling really restless lately. This will do us both some good. Give my best to Caitlin. I’ll see you on Friday.”
Hanging up the telephone, I slowly turned back and looked down to where Merlin stood over what remained of the moth. He looked back at me. There was no emotion in his reaction, just instinctive curiosity. I wondered whether elementals might be the same, if one wandered too far into the wild -- and, just how similar we were to that moth, moments before the cat had made its move….
Friday, August 30, 1974.
10:45 a.m.
It had been a bright, beautiful and exceptionally warm morning. I had risen early and spending time with Caitlin over breakfast, shared tea in the garden. As always she had been concerned about our most recent venture, but said little. Instead, we had talked about th
e statues and made plans for when I returned.
While looking through the morning paper, she had noticed a new science fiction film. It was due to be released in early September and was entitled: UFO: Target Earth. She was simply ecstatic! I promised that we would see the movie just as soon as I came back. We both loved the theater and were avid horror, mystery and science fiction fans. We both loved Star Trek and never missed a Made for TV horror, suspense or mystery program. Caitlin had under-lined everything and anything that seemed interesting in our TV Guide, and we routinely watched the Twilight Zone, The Outer Limits and Rod Serling’s Night Gallery. It had actually become something of a ritual in our home as Eva had also joined us with popcorn and soda.
My favorite films had always been the classic horror movies, and almost anything from the Universal monsters, Hammer, Amicus and Tigon films. In fact, anything starring Vincent Price, Christopher Lee or Peter Cushing always had my immediate attention! Yet this had never stopped me from viewing the “B” films and movies that many could not be bothered with. I lived, breathed and loved horror and science fiction in all of its forms. Though Eva and Caitlin cared little for foreign films, Godzilla had stolen my heart as a young man. As silly as it may have seemed to some, I even had a collectible statue of the giant Japanese monster in my bedroom.
“Sweetheart--,” She had looked curiously toward me, “I was wondering about those comics and magazines that you have in our bedroom closet?”
“Oh—you mean the old Warren publications of Eerie, Creepy, Vampirella and Famous Monsters.” I fondly remembered, “I haven’t looked at them in years.”
“Were you planning on keeping them—or should I give them to Danny?”
Horrified with the mere mention of ever parting with them, I just stared, “No darling, I want to keep them. As a matter of fact, I might even follow up on the missing and more recent editions?”
“In that case—would you mind terribly if we moved them into another room?”
“Of course not--,” I sighed deeply in a cool and refreshing breeze, “I’ll put them into my office closet the moment that I get back from this next venture.”
“Do you mind if I ask?” She appeared rather uncomfortable, “If you could also put that Japanese dinosaur in your office as well? It just seems out of place on my bureau, if you know what I mean?”
“Much more of this and you’ll be asking me to move out of my own house.” I had winked as she leaned over and kissed me.
Our tea was suddenly interrupted by Eva announcing a telephone call, which I immediately answered in my office.
I had recognized Red Cloud’s voice immediately, as answering, he had promptly said, “Michael, I just heard from Maya that you are going to that old logging camp in Harrison Mills. Is this true?”
“Yes—why, is there something wrong?” Suspecting there might be a story I reached for a pencil and pad, and quickly began scribbling notes as he spoke.
“I worked there from the spring of 1956 to the fall of 1959.” His voice echoed a distant fear, “The owner- operator was Jake Jorgenson, the men all called him “Blondie”, and a finer man you could not hope to meet, or work for. But, his older brother Frank was like the devil incarnate. Many bad and unexplained things happened there. Maya’s father died there, on the green chain.”
Shocked with the revelation I slowly slunk back into my chair, “I’m sorry to hear that. Um, exactly what is the green chain? Sorry—I’m not fluent with the lingo.”
“It is the process of hauling the wet logs from the lake on long steel cables and taking them to the mill.” His voice dropped several octaves, “A cable snapped one morning, I was standing less than twenty yards away when it happened. It’s a sound that you never forget. There is a sudden hum and the scream of steel ripping through the air. It struck poor Andy mid-section, and knocked him over fifty yards before his body was broken, torn as it struck a tree….”
“Oh my God--,” No others words had come to mind, as licking at dry lips, I muttered, “I had no idea….”
“The logging industry was always dangerous.” Red Cloud grumbled, “No matter what you did, or how hard you tried, people always got injured or killed. Even though we did not work in the winter, there was constant mercy flights coming and going from spring to fall. That’s what we called a plane or chopper coming to pick up the injured or dead.”
“You make it sound like a slaughter house.” I felt strangely unnerved.
“If you were not alert and fast, often, it could easily become one.” Red cleared his throat, and speaking quietly, said, “I remember this one time, I was walking through the forest, and following a forty ton forklift. The earth was damp, full of stones and broken branches. You had to be quick on your feet to avoid tripping and falling. In places like that, if you don’t get out of the way, the drivers would not see you and a man would be crushed.”
I listened, almost mesmerized as hearing him taking a sip from a drink, he said, “They were felling trees, and the equipment was so loud that you could not even hear yourself think. There was this one big fellow, Ronny Macintosh. He was the step-son of Jake Jorgensen. He was young, quick with a joke or smile, and always on top of his game. Whenever we would get someone new, he would take them under his wing and show them the ropes.”
A cold lump formed in the pit of my stomach as sensing disaster, I listened as he continued, “Well, it was mid-summer when we had a new arrival. A young Italian man, he was maybe eighteen years old. Most of the guys did not like him right away, because he was a little slow. In their minds nothing good would come of him, so they steered clear of the boy. I knew him from town—he was the boyfriend of a girl that had gone missing on the lake earlier that summer. Anyway, I was following behind this forty ton forklift, and I looked over for a moment, and there was Tony. He was standing around talking to one of the men. He had his back to me, and was shouting at the top of his lungs. Not that anyone could hear a word that he said in all that noise.”
Red Cloud had paused as though he either reached for the memory, or somehow struggled to force it away, “I still do not know how he knew? But Ronny suddenly turned from where he had been directing equipment, and ran toward Tony. Ronny had thrown himself forward and grabbing Tony, pulled him out of the way as a tree came down in that very spot. It crushed and killed the man that had stood and talked with the boy.”
“So, Ronny either had some kind of a sixth sense--,” Tapping the pencil on my desk, I swallowed hard, “Or maybe he suspected something?”
“Well, Ronny may have--,” Red Cloud sighed deeply, “But he could not be everywhere at once. Old Jake’s brother Frank had a son named Harold. He was nice enough and nothing like his father, but dumber than a box of nails. It should never have happened—but Jake allowed the boy to operate one of those big forklifts.”
“How could that ever happen?” I felt shocked by the statement, “A slow kid on a heavy and dangerous piece of machinery like that?”
“It was common knowledge that dear old Jake had a problem with Whiskey. And though he would never bring any for himself, that snake brother of his always had it around.” Red Cloud grumbled, “So, when he wanted his way, he would bring out the Whiskey, and intoxicated, old Jake would soon become agreeable.”
“There’s always one in the family.” I swallowed back the frustration.
“Well, it was a Thursday, around lunch-time--,” Red Cloud announced, “That word got around camp that Tony was dead. Apparently the forklift that Harold had been working suddenly lost control and the forks came down, crushing and killing Tony. There was an inquest, but like so many other accidents in that place, it never went far.”
“I can understand why that old place left a bitter taste in your mouth.”
“That was not the reason that your plans bothered me.” Red Cloud became somber, hesitating before saying, “It was in the early fall, and just before quitting time at the camp, that young girls started going missing from town. At first, people blamed the icy wa
ters of the lake. We lost kids there almost every year. Being a glacial lake, it’s very deep, has powerful currents and is bitter cold all year around.”
“It sounds as though you didn’t believe that the deaths were just accidents.”
“Jake’s brother Frank had a real taste for the younger girls. Everyone in camp and around town knew that.” Red Cloud continued without answering my question, “He had been accused of getting them drunk somewhere off in the woods, or in his boat out on the lake, and having his way with them. The rumors went around, but the girls were either too scared to say anything, or too ashamed to admit what had happened. It was about two weeks before closing time, that two fishermen found the body of fifteen year old Sherry Campbell in the lake. We had all known that Frank had been with her on many occasions. But when it had gone to court, Frank had an alibi. He had been with young Sherry and another couple boating that afternoon. There had been an accident, the boat had tipped and Frank and the young couple had barely made it back to shore. Sherry had been lost, but Frank had explained that they did not contact the police, because they were hoping that she might have made it to shore.”
“That almost sounds like it was a set-up?”
“Funny that you should say that--,” He spoke as though through a dream, “The autopsy revealed that she had been four months pregnant. And another strange thing: Both Frank and the younger couple were avid swimmers, and it was common knowledge that Sherry was not….”
“That must have aroused suspicion.”
“Ronny had been there in court and testified as a character witness for Frank.” Red Cloud now sounded deeply disappointed, “I was there that day and saw the look on the young man’s face. It was shame…. I think that he had been forced by the family to appear, as not long after, he packed his belongings and left the camp, never to return. I remained in camp, but refused to work around machinery. So, old Jake put me into a truck. I spent my last year there as a driver, hauling logs up and down the mountain. After the Campbell girl’s death, it seemed that there were a lot of unexplained accidents around camp.”
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