Lights Over Cloud Lake

by Nathan Hystad

  He was fishing me for more money, and I opened my wallet, slipping out two hundred dollars. “There you go. That should do,” I told him.

  He didn’t even count the twenties, just slid them into his breast pocket with a big smile. “Great. Thank you for coming.”

  Clark had parked his trailer about a hundred yards from the tents and was working on setting it up. I decided now was as good a time as any to build my own tent, especially since the others had already finished. All in, there were eight tents of varying shapes and sizes out, and one sleeping bag on the grass. A man was perched on a fold-out chair, holding binoculars beside it.

  “Going all out, aren’t you?” I asked him, and he turned to me, pushing his black plastic glasses up his nose. He was wearing a baseball cap, the words Trust No One stitched across the front.

  “I’m here to see them. Kind of hard to do inside a tent, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “I guess so.” I stepped forward and stuck my hand out. “I’m Eva.”

  “Frank. Nice to meet you. I haven’t seen you around. You from out of town?” he asked.

  I considered telling him I was a reporter, but thought it might worry Oscar that I was there to defraud his little scheme, so I didn’t quite lie about my occupation. “In town from Portland. Doing a story on the Kick-Off for the Times, and wanted to do something like this while I was here. I’ve always been fascinated with UFOs.”

  He hoisted himself up and stretched his back. “That’s great. It’s always good to have new blood around here. This is my fourth one. So far, zilch, but I take a week off work every year to come down. Live a five-hour drive from here. I’m feeling lucky tonight, though. I think we’re going to see the show,” he said, staring at the blue sky.

  “I hope so,” I said, but really wasn’t sure what to believe. If I saw something, it would reiterate a lot, but the rational part of my mind told me I was being crazy, that there was no such thing as aliens, and definitely not over Cloud Lake. “I’ll be back. I’m looking forward to talking to you more.”

  “Likewise,” he said, plopping into his seat.

  I pulled my gear from the car and headed over to Clark, who was sweating as he cranked some levers on the trailer, leveling it. “I see you made it,” he said as he wiped his brow. “Jeez. I thought it was supposed to be cooler today.”

  He smiled at me, and I felt my heart bang inside my chest like a bird in a cage. There was something about this man that removed my barriers, just like he had as a boy.

  “You okay?” he asked, and I nodded.

  “Yeah. You’re still good with me setting up camp here?” I pointed outside his trailer to a lush patch of grass.

  “For sure. Make yourself at home, Eva,” he said, and for a second, I thought he was going to call me Jess. But he didn’t, because he didn’t know that was me.

  I dropped my stuff and opened the tent packaging. Soon I had lengths of sticks attached by rubbery strings. I looked at the pile of tent guts and found the instructions, blowing out a sigh.

  “Need some help?” Clark was behind me, hands on his hips.

  “If you don’t mind,” I said, feeling pathetic.

  “Not in the least. I used to have one just like this when I was a kid,” he said, and started to fit the pieces together, making one long section. He pushed it through slits in the tent, and jammed an end of the stick into one corner of it. He repeated this two more times, and I made an effort to help as we bent them, creating a dome in the material. The whole thing only took five minutes, and before I knew it, we were hammering in the pegs with a tool from his truck and standing back, admiring our handiwork.

  “Who knew it was so simple?” I asked, showing him the twenty-step instructions with a stick man making the tent.

  “I’m a man. We can’t be bothered with that kind of stuff, but save it,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “For a fire starter later.” He laughed, and I crumpled it up, throwing the paper ball at him.

  Clark ducked and avoided being struck. “Looks like Oscar’s ready for us. A quick itinerary scan and we’re making burgers and swigging beer in no time.” That reminded me of the supplies in the car. I hoped the Styrofoam cooler hadn’t leaked on my leather seats.

  As we walked over to the circle of people again, I fumbled through my bag, finding my sunglasses, and wondered why I hadn’t been wearing them.

  “Good, everyone is here,” Oscar said. I glanced around the circle, and there were fourteen of us, including the man in charge. Someone materialized from the house, and I recognized Henry from the other day at his store. He was still wearing his red work shirt and waved as he neared the group.

  “Howdy, all. Don’t worry, I won’t be sticking around, but I thought I’d hang out while Oscar laid out the rules,” Henry said.

  Oscar looked at him and frowned. “There was an… incident last year. Someone went into his house and used the washroom. Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen again, okay, people?”

  Everyone agreed, and I saw Clark was snickering. He cleared his throat and went straight-faced as Oscar stared in his direction.

  A woman with a high-tech camera around her neck raised a hand. “I’ve used the porta-potty and it’s clean, so no one should have to worry,” she told us.

  “Thank you,” Oscar scanned his clipboard, “Blaire. I wanted to do a rundown of what’s going to happen. It’s almost six. We’re going to eat, and Clark, you all know Clark, right?” He waited for the gathered people to nod before continuing. “Clark is going to grill for us, and you all should have brought your own drinks.”

  I raised my hand now. “I brought enough to feed a high school party, as long as someone helps me carry it out of my car.”

  A guy across from me stuck his fist out to me, waiting for a bump. I tapped his knuckles with mine, feeling awkward about it. “You’re the coolest,” he said. He looked to be in his early twenties. The girl beside him had short black hair and blunt bangs. Her nose was pierced, and she was chewing what appeared to be a whole pack of gum. Her lips smacked loudly.

  “I thought since I was coming late, and I’m the newbie, that it would be nice,” I told them, and they all seemed to brighten up.

  Oscar continued his itinerary talk. “The sun sets around eight twenty tonight, so we’ll gather at eight, and I’ll go over the history of encounters with the flying saucers in the region. Many of you have read my book, or have heard it before, but there are some new faces.” Oscar glanced at me and pointed with his pen at the photographer woman he’d called Blaire.

  “And then it’s party time?” a bearded middle-aged man asked, sparking a few laughs.

  “Clay, if the Grays come and take you away tonight, they’re going to think humans all smell like an old sock in the bottom of a gym locker. Do you mind rinsing off? I can give you some deodorant,” a woman told the man. “I think I saw a hose by Henry’s house.”

  “Your pit stick probably smells like flowers,” Clay said.

  “Better than rotting meat,” she retorted, and he shrugged, nodding along.

  Most of these people knew each other, and it was obvious I was one of the only strangers here. Even the photographer appeared to know some of them.

  “As I was saying.” Oscar tapped his clipboard with his pen. “At eight, I’ll discuss my experience with the lights, and we’ll go around the circle talking about our own. Then the sun will set, and we’ll wait, hoping to catch a glimpse.”

  “We never do,” Clay said under his breath.

  “Maybe this year,” Oscar said hopefully.

  I leaned toward Clark. “What do we really do from eight thirty on?”

  He smiled. “Mostly drink beer. We end up having a fire, even though Oscar says it might keep them away. But it gets chilly, and I don’t think any of us really expect a flying saucer to show up,” he admitted.

  “Okay, everyone got it?” Oscar asked, and before anyone answered, he kept going. “Good. Food will be starting in a few, and l
et’s be nice, keep it clean, and whatever you do, don’t…” Oscar paused, adding dramatic effect, “go into Henry’s house.”

  Henry nodded and unfolded his arms. “Everyone have fun. Stay safe, and may you see the light you seek.” With that, the feed store owner trudged toward his home, leaving me beside Clark.

  “Need some help with that cooler?” he asked. Frank ambled up behind him, and the two men carried the heavy ice cooler full of beer and beverages out of my car and set it on the ground beside the picnic tables, near the barbecue.

  The grill was soon heating up, and minutes later, the smell of freshly-ground homemade diner patties spread out around the grass patch between Henry’s house and the cornfields. I helped pass out plates and organize the sides, and before we knew it, the group of us were eating like family, scattered around the two picnic tables. It was a tight fit, and I was sandwiched between Clark and the woman with the camera.

  “I’m Eva,” I said to her between bites.

  “Blaire. First time too?” she asked, setting down half her hamburger.

  “Yep. You live here, though?” I asked.

  “Not right in town, but I’m here often enough to know some faces. I’m also one of the only photographers for hire in the area, so believe it or not, I’ve done shoots for Frank’s website, Oscar’s pamphlets, Henry’s store, and Clay’s brother’s wedding last summer,” Blaire explained. She was likely my age and had a nice carefree demeanor. Her long hair was wavy, puffy in the humidity, and she wore it well. I noticed the mala around her neck, one hundred and eight beads with what appeared to be a black onyx stone at the center.

  “Meditation?” I asked, eyeing the necklace.

  “Sometimes, but each stone has a purpose, and onyx can be for protection,” she said.

  “Do you think you need to be protected tonight?” I asked her quietly.

  She picked up the remains of her dinner and smiled. “I think we always need a little protection, don’t you?”

  I nodded slowly, unsure exactly what that meant.

  “What do you think?” Clark asked from the other side of me.

  “It’s good.” I took a bite, fresh juices dripping down my chin, and I jutted my head out to avoid grease on my clothes. “Buddy’s doesn’t mess around.”

  “No, they don’t. I’m getting a beer. Need anything?” Clark asked.

  I hadn’t even considered a beverage. I didn’t really have any favorites. “Sure. Surprise me.”

  While I had a moment of privacy, after Frank had excused himself, I whispered to Blaire, “Would you mind taking a few shots of this for me? I’m a reporter and I’m doing a story on Cloud Lake.”

  Her eyes widened, and she looked excited. “Sure. You paying?”

  “Of course.”

  “What kind of shots do you want?”

  “Ideally a UFO,” I laughed, “but we can start with one of the people eating, the camaraderie, the fire later. Maybe one of the cornfields at dusk, one of Oscar talking to us later, and one of his van, please,” I said without really thinking.

  “Perfect. I’ll do some more, and you can choose from them.” She slipped me a business card from a back pocket and kept eating. “You don’t want the others to know?”

  “Not Oscar.” The UFO enthusiast was chatting with Clay as they ate a second serving of potato salad.

  “I get that. He’s a little out there, hey?” Blaire suggested.

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t read his book yet. Do you believe?” I didn’t have to expand on the question.

  “No.”

  “Then why are you here?” I asked.

  “Something to do. You’d be amazed at how boring it can be around here at times,” she said, sticking her tongue out the side of her mouth like Zoe used to do. I knew exactly what she meant. “How about you?”

  My gaze drifted to the deep blue sky above. An idle cloud hovered in the air, slightly circular in shape. “I’m not sure if I do. Part of me thinks they’re real, but the rational part, the deep-seated me, thinks there’s no way. That people may just make them up, convincing their brains of what they saw, only because they’re pushing something else away. Something they don’t want to surface about themselves.” My voice lowered. “Or something that happened to them.”

  “Who ordered a beer?” Clark asked, and set a wet can of beer on the picnic table, placing a half-full bottle of white wine near Blaire. Her cup was empty, and she glanced up at Clark.

  “Why, thank you. I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said, grabbing hold of Clark’s hand. She stood, pulling herself close to him, and I kept staring away from them, feeling uncomfortable at their sudden intimacy. “Blaire,” she said, her voice an octave lower than a moment ago.

  “Clark. What brings you…” The rest of the conversation turned to mush in my ears. For some reason, I became jealous. I was a mess sitting there at the table while Clark merely talked with another member of the Alien Adventures group. I knew it was completely out of hand, and out of character, at least for the thirty-something version of myself.

  Somebody tapped me on the shoulder and I turned to see Clark’s grinning face. “What’s gotten into you?” he asked, and I swung my legs around the bench to see Blaire was already gone. Had I made that whole scenario up, exaggerated the contact in my mind? My therapist used to say I did that all the time.

  “Oh, nothing. Thanks for the beer.” I drank from the bottle, finding this one bitter. I set it down and began helping clean up the tables, making sure every speck of garbage ended up in a big black bag. One of the men stayed put on the bench while I grabbed at a plate, and his eyes followed my every move. I hadn’t caught his name, and I felt uneasy with his demeanor.

  “Who’s that?” I asked Clark afterward.

  “Jeremy Cross. Used to be the best mason worker in the area,” he told me.

  “Used to be?”

  “He had an accident. Pile of bricks fell on him. Lost some functions in his brain. If you see him staring at you, it’s not his fault.” Clark smiled and cinched the last garbage bag up.

  I peeked over at Jeremy, and was brought back to another time.

  July 12th – 2001

  Zoe and Dad had snuck into town to buy a treat for Grandma. She wanted something sweet, and Dad wasn’t about to let his sick mom go without. Zoe took the opportunity to have Dad let her drive, since he’d promised he’d help her this summer. I’d watched her slowly reverse out of the parking spot, narrowly missing a tall pine tree, before jerking forward and away from the cabin.

  Grandma was inside, and I had too much pent-up energy – from being trapped at the cabin for the last couple days since the grounding – to stay put. I walked out the door onto the porch, past the firepit, and over the ten-foot bar of sand between our yard and the lake. The sand’s temperature had lowered along with the sun, and I stood on it barefoot, watching the tiny specks pour down as my toes sank below the surface.

  A loon called from the lake, and I decided to sit on the dock and watch the sun set. The wooden structure was firm beneath my bare feet, and I loved the feeling of walking around in the summer without shoes. Back home, we always had socks on, shoes, boots, always fighting the never-ending elements. Here I could avoid socks for the summer, and I took the opportunity to run with it, literally. I jogged over the long dock, laughing as my hair bounced around my face.

  For a moment, I felt free: like I wasn’t under house arrest for a simple lie, like Grandma wasn’t sick, or like my mother hadn’t abandoned us when I was a little girl. It was me, the lake, and the sunset.

  The lake was quiet tonight. I couldn’t hear any boat engines or music careening across the air. It was nature and me for a few special minutes as I sat at the end of the dock. My feet hung over, toes just far enough to dip into the still water. I closed my eyes and breathed it in. I was suddenly overcome with loss, and the grief of something that hadn’t even happened yet.

  Grandma was about to die. I could see it, and then what? She was gone,
and we’d lose our respite from the city, along with one of the three people in the world that truly loved me. It was as if a third of my heart was being ripped out as I contemplated life after… after Grandma.

  A sound from my left startled me from my thoughts, and I wiped tears I hadn’t known were falling from my cheeks as I scanned for the source. Mr. Martin was standing at the end of his dock, and in the dusk, it was hard to see if he was facing me or not. Either way, alarm bells went off once again, but I couldn’t bring myself to stand. I didn’t want him to think he had that kind of power over me, so I stayed put.

  He didn’t move, and now I was sure he was watching me. He lifted a hand, a gentle wave in the darkness, and I froze, petrified of interacting with him. I glanced past the dock, toward the cabin. Could I make it inside before him? Was he fast? The thoughts crossed my mind without preamble, and I finally unfroze, pushing myself up. At first I walked naturally, choosing not to glance over to the neighbor’s dock, but when my feet hit the sand, I ran.

  I moved quickly. As I neared the porch, I finally broke my own rule and looked back, only to crash to the wooden deck. Lights cut through the treed driveway, and I had to put my hand over my face to keep from being blinded. What was that? My leg ached; I crouched into a seated position and heard the familiar rumble of my dad’s old Bronco as it pulled into the driveway. The lights cut off, and Zoe hopped out of the driver’s seat, a huge grin on her face.

  “What are you doing down there?” she asked.

  Before I said anything, I stared at Mr. Martin’s dock, but no one was there.

  July 14th – 2020

  The fire crackled as we surrounded it in a variety of folding chairs. Clark lent me one of his, and judging by the look of it, he’d donated the nicer of the two. He didn’t seem to mind as he grinned at me, sipping away on another beer from the cooler.

  The sun was lowering behind the treeline on Henry’s property, casting long shadows over the cornfield. From here, I could see a scarecrow perched high on a stick, arms wide like he was being crucified. I asked Blaire to take a picture of that for the article. At this point, I doubted the story would ever be told, especially after the email from Harry at the office.