Lights Over Cloud Lake

by Nathan Hystad

  But since I was here, it wouldn’t hurt to snap the images and details anyway. Maybe Barns had been onto something: my own account of Cloud Lake and the truth behind my past. I wasn’t sure I was ready for that quite yet, but the fact that I was considering it was a huge step forward for me.

  Oscar proceeded to talk; the dusk, combined with the newly started fire, cast an orange glow over him. “Nineteen forty-three, four years before the flying disk would capture news headlines with Roswell, New Mexico, one Albert Jackson spotted something above this very town. He was mending a fence that had been damaged in a storm. Some of you may recall hearing about this once-in-a-century storm; a hurricane blowing from the south pushed so much water over Cloud Lake, the entire town seemed to merge with our namesake.

  “The calm after the storm had occurred, and the townsfolk and farmers alike were preparing to rebuild. The old library was blown away, and the First Presbyterian Church lost its roof.”

  I looked around the crowd, the people all nodding and chatting about their memories of family tales about the storm. Grandma hadn’t mentioned it, but she wasn’t a resident here at the time. I was sure she’d have heard plenty about it over the years. I suddenly wished I could call her and ask about it.

  “As I was saying, old Albert was out there, banging away at fence posts with a sledgehammer in the dark, when he spotted the unidentified flying object. Testimony shows him describing it as a circular object in the sky. At least a dozen individual lights shone from below the dome, progressively brighter as they neared, until he could only see them as one solid beam. It hovered over his farm, pausing for at least ten seconds before flashing for another few seconds.

  “It then proceeded to vanish. Not into thin air, but it raced away with a speed that boggled Albert’s mind. He called the police but was laughed at. He was told it was probably lightning from the storm, and they suggested he see a doctor in case he’d been struck by it.”

  “What happened to Albert?” I asked, having never heard this story before. There were elements that felt right about it to me, and it reminded me enough of Chester Brown’s take. Deep below the pills and hypnotherapy lay a feeling that I’d witnessed this as well, but it was like trying to think of a word that was on the tip of your tongue but couldn’t be recalled for the life of you.

  “He sold the land. He couldn’t stay. A lot of people bailed from Cloud Lake that year. It had started to become a real town, but after that storm, many people lost everything and hung up their hats. Third-generation farm owners like Albert called it quits,” Oscar answered.

  “Where was his land?” I asked, and he pulled out a laminated map, with Albert’s name in a legend. It showed our side of the lake, right where Grandma’s cabin was… sitting empty. I swallowed hard.

  Oscar didn’t wait; he kept talking. “There were a few more sightings over the next two decades, and in nineteen sixty-seven, the lights returned. This time, a young man vanished that night. It was out near Chester Brown’s farm. He and his wife witnessed it, nearly scared them half to death.”

  I chuckled to myself, remembering how Chester had given me a different account. A sweet one, involving him and his new bride sharing the sights, not knowing what it was they were seeing.

  “Someone vanished? What do you think it was?” I pressed, since no one else was asking questions. Oscar seemed annoyed at my constant interruptions, but he hadn’t asked us to stay quiet.

  “Billy Hershfeld. Good kid. Great baseball player. Folks think he could have made the big leagues, before the world became the MLB’s picking pool. He was out hitting balls out behind his folks’ barn when the lights came. His parents went to check on him around eleven to find his bat and lucky penny on the packed dirt mound.” Oscar paused for effect, and it worked. The hair on my arms rose.

  “Was he ever found?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

  Oscar’s eyes met mine as he shook his head. “No. Some say he ran away. That the pressure was too much, but he was a fifteen-year-old kid. Loved his family. Apple pie, everything Americana. He didn’t run away, mark my words.”

  Clark was watching me intently, and I avoided looking at him, like my expression might give me away.

  “What do you think happened to him?” I asked, genuinely curious.

  “He was taken.”

  “Taken?”

  “By the Grays. He was abducted by aliens and never returned.” Oscar’s gaze was serious. If he was putting on a show for the thousand and a half dollars our head count was bringing him, he was doing a damned good job of lying.

  “Why do you call them Grays?” Clark asked, finally taking some of my heat.

  “They’re thought to be humanoid, about five feet tall, long limbs, wearing a dark uniform over their gray-tinged skin. Large black eyes and sucker-tipped fingers,” Oscar said, fumbling through his paperwork to pull out an eight-by-ten sheet with a printed drawing. The alien stared at me with those menacing eyes, and I had to look away.

  “Has anyone in Cloud Lake ever seen one?” Clark asked.

  “One, so far. She was taken, and returned, and her off-the-record hypnosis treatment after the events was wiped away, but I heard them… once. She described the very same beings,” Oscar said, and my blood froze. My heart slowed, and an instant thrumming in my ears began to beat in perfect timing.

  I rose, walking from the firepit, sure everyone was staring as I went. I didn’t care. I had to leave before I heard any more. Before I heard the name of that young girl he was recalling.

  The sun was completely set, and the big Maine sky was darkening, stars becoming more visible with each excessive beat of my heart.

  I stopped a couple hundred yards away from the group, standing at the cornfield’s edge, and observed the stars.

  July 12th – 2001

  I was still shaken by the time Dad and Zoe called it a night. So far, I hadn’t seen Mr. Martin again, even though we’d been outside for the several hours. I hoped he’d just gone to bed, and I kept telling myself that he hadn’t even been watching me, that it was all in my head, and he was a nice man who liked fishing like Dad did.

  “He’s not so bad, you know. I haven’t talked to him much, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about, honey,” Grandma said, fully aware I’d been looking over toward Mr. Martin’s house all night.

  “I guess you’re right. It just… creeps me out,” I told her.

  She wasn’t wearing her wig tonight, and it exemplified how sunken her face had become, how thin she’d become, but her eyes were still alive, dancing around the firelight. “Your father has ingrained in you girls how scary it is out there, and he’s not wrong. You’re right to be cautious, dear. Always look out for yourself.”

  I felt her leave out the “when I’m gone.” She’d been doing it a lot recently. I’d overheard them talking earlier, Dad and Grandma. Dad wanted her to come home with us in the fall, but she told him there wasn’t going to be a fall. I heard Dad crying through my door, and couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that. He was always so stoic when it came to her health, and now that he was seeing what I finally saw, which was a dying woman, he couldn’t handle it.

  “Grandma, what do you think it’s like?” I asked her, poking at the charcoal logs in the pit. A flame sputtered to life as I rotated the burning piece of wood.

  “Death?” she asked. She wore a silk scarf, covered in roses, over her head to keep it warm.

  I nodded.

  “I’m not sure. I could go on talking about the bounties of heaven, the glory of God, but I just don’t know. Your grandfather was a good man, you know?”

  I smiled and nodded, though I couldn’t remember him. He’d died when I was three, not long before Mom left.

  “I used to imagine him in heaven, playing cards with his friends, spending time with his own father. They didn’t have a great relationship in life, and I prayed they’d make amends in the afterlife,” she said.

  “But now? What changed?” I asked her.


  “I don’t know. My own mortality, I guess. I don’t feel anything. There’s no pull to heaven; just a sore body, a tired husk, even though I still feel like myself, at least when the drugs haven’t taken over,” she said, her eyes glimmering in the fire’s light.

  “Are you ready?” I asked, feeling foolish for the question.

  “I have my will sorted, and I’ve said goodbye to some friends, if that’s what you mean. Honey, if I don’t wake up tomorrow, you know how much I love you, and I know how much you love me.” She reached over, placing my hand in hers. She gave it a strong squeeze, and I felt the affection ooze out of her and fortify my heart.

  “I know.”

  “Did I ever tell you about the time I saw the lights above Cloud Lake?” she asked, and the statement startled me.

  “No. What do you mean, the ‘lights’?” I asked her, feeling a change about to enter into my life. Grandma wasn’t going to be around long, and soon everything would be different.

  “It was nineteen seventy-seven. Your dad was fifteen years old, and quite the little hellion. God, that boy could argue with the best of them,” she said wistfully.

  “I didn’t know Dad was a troublemaker.” I laughed, trying to picture Dad when he was my age, talking back to a headstrong, younger version of Grandma.

  “He was, but he was still a good boy. You know why he was so hard on you kids the other night?” she asked, and when I shook my head, she answered, “Because he sees himself in you. He wants you to stay smart, stay strong, and receive great educations. He thinks he’s failing you somehow because it’s only him raising you. Why do you think you come here every summer?” she asked.

  “To visit you,” I said.

  “That’s part of it. He wants a woman’s influence in your upbringing. Your dad loves you girls so much.”

  “He could just find a girlfriend like a normal human,” I joked, but Grandma’s eyes turned misty at this.

  “He thinks your mother was the one shot he had, for some reason. Her abandoning him broke him, in a way. Don’t tell him I ever said any of this, okay, dear?” Grandma met my gaze, and I told her I wouldn’t.

  “What about the lights?” I asked, wanting to get into the story.

  “Nineteen seventy-seven. I was in my mid-thirties. A great age to be alive, I have to admit,” she said. “Your grandfather was on the road for his sales job, and it was just Brian and me.”

  “Were you here?” I asked, meaning the cabin.

  “No. This was being developed, so we were inland a ways, close to town on an acreage – not a farm, mind you. It was nice, and I sneaked outside with a glass of your grandfather’s whisky after a long day. Your father was in his room doing schoolwork, and I sat in my chair and gazed at the stars, like I did when I wanted to relax.

  “I never understood people wanting to be in the big cities when you could live like this. It was so quiet outside, and then I realized it was too quiet. I couldn’t hear the Browns’ cows mooing, or the crickets chirping. Nothing. Silence.” Grandma leaned forward, and so did I, enthralled with her retelling of the tale.

  “What happened?” I asked, wide-eyed. There was a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach that I got when I read a good book and wanted to know the outcome of the big conflict.

  “They came. Lights flickered in the field beside our house. I could see it clear as day. A domed shape, moving unlike anything I’d ever seen. It was… spectacular. I cried. I stood, knocking over the drink, spilling it on my dress, and walked toward the vessel. I reached my arms up, almost begging to be taken, even though I don’t know why. I was a happy woman, but seeing it, knowing there was more out there, changed me.” Grandma wiped tears from her cheeks, and our eyes met.

  “The lights left as quickly as they came, and when I went to tell your father, he thought I was losing it. Your grandfather came home, and I told him, and he smelled the whiskey I’d spilled and laughed, telling me to take it easy on his spirits, that they were made for a man’s tolerance. I never spoke of it again, until now.”

  I was flabbergasted. We’d all heard rumors, but until recently, I hadn’t paid any attention to them. But now, my own grandma had spoken of her own encounter and admitted having seen them. I had to believe too, didn’t I?

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said, patting my hand. “I just wanted to share it. You’re my special girl, Jessica, yes you are. Don’t forget that, okay?”

  It was like Grandma knew she wasn’t going to make it long, and it was painful to hear the words coming from her mouth. We both cried for a few minutes and found comfort in each other’s embrace. There are few special things in life, and the love between a grandparent and a child can be one of the best. I was beginning to learn this as we sat there holding each other.

  “What’s going on out here?” Dad asked.

  “We’re having girl talk,” Grandma told him, inciting a laugh from her son.

  “Are you ready to come inside? It’s after midnight,” Dad said to both of us.

  “Yes, Brian. Would you mind?” She stuck her arm out, and he helped her up, and I watched them go to the house before dousing the last remaining coals. I stared up to the sky, finding the Big Dipper among the plethora of distant specks, wondering just what my grandma had seen all those years ago.

  July 14th – 2020

  The Big Dipper hung in the sky as it had for ages, and as it would continue to for a long time to come, whether we were here to see it or not.

  “Are you all right?” Clark’s voice arose from behind me.

  “I’m okay. Think I had too much sun today,” I lied.

  “I haven’t really told many people this, but I saw the lights once too,” he admitted, and I turned to face him. In the dark, he was a stranger, and I realized I really didn’t know much about him other than the fact that he’d been nice to me that summer long ago, and then he’d betrayed me.

  “Tell me,” I said, preparing myself for what he was going to say.

  He ran his hands through his hair and blew out a sigh. I could smell beer on his breath. “There was a girl. She thought she saw me doing something wrong, but it wasn’t my fault, and I chased after her.”

  He’d come after me? He said it wasn’t his fault? I wanted to press him, to explain in detail what he meant, but Eva Heart couldn’t. I wasn’t Jess Carver, the girl that Oscar’s book put far too much focus on, and I knew my name was an urban legend now in Cloud Lake. Zoe was right; I never should have come here.

  “It was during the Summer Kick-Off, a long time ago. Can you picture me as a dorky teenager?” He laughed, and I wanted to cry, because I could still see him through my young eyes, and I wanted to touch his cheek and kiss him; the kiss we’d never shared.

  When I didn’t answer, he kept going. “I wandered the public beach, which was too crowded, and when I couldn’t find her, I asked her sister where she would have gone. She pointed me to their cabin, and I ran there, hoping to find her. To tell her what she’d seen wasn’t real. When I arrived, the lights had beaten me. I saw them from a half mile away, and they were terrifying. I turned and ran from them, worried they’d come for me. I was a kid, I didn’t know it wasn’t real.”

  “So you don’t believe in them?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. This girl, she’s the one Oscar was talking about when you left. She… something terrible happened to her, and if I’d been braver, I might have been able to help,” he said, and I could tell he actually meant it.

  I didn’t know what to say to him. I fought the urge to jump into his arms, to kiss him and tell him it was me. “We better go back to the fire. It’s chilly over here,” I said, leaving Clark standing at the edge of the cornfield, staring into the sky.

  __________

  The screaming woke me some time later.

  I’d gone to bed before most of the others. That hadn’t been long after midnight. I’d listened to their stories, and luckily, no one brought up my name for the rest of the evening. It really
was more of a campfire chillout, and Clay broke out the acoustic guitar after drinking eight or so beers, surprising us all with his deft fingers. They sang old country songs, and I sat there among them, feeling like an alien myself.

  As soon as Blaire announced to the group that she was heading to bed, I took the chance to excuse myself as well. As I lay in my thin tent, I tried to sleep through the sounds from the firepit. It had to be after two by the time Clark walked past the tent toward his trailer. His footsteps stopped not far from my space, and he lingered there for ten seconds before I heard his door open and close.

  I drifted off. Then someone screamed. I saw the flash of light through the canvas, and I tried to listen for any other sounds. Other than the woman’s shriek, it was total silence.

  I ripped open my tent’s zipper, and the sky was totally dark. Random flashlight beams jostled around toward the other group of tents, and Clark rushed out in his boxers and a t-shirt, grabbing my arm protectively.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, and I shook my head.

  We ran over to the others. “What was it?” Clark asked, and we got five different answers.

  “Did you see the lights?”

  “Where’s Frank?”

  “They came. The Grays came!”

  That was when I saw the empty spot where Frank had set up camp outside. His hat was on the pillow, his car keys in the middle of the sleeping bag.

  Oscar plodded out of his van, eyes bugging out. “Were they here?” he asked, looking at our group in the darkness.

  The woman who’d made fun of Clay’s body odor the night before spoke up. “They took Frank.”

  Oscar was panicked, and Clark stood right beside me. “Surveillance. I have cameras!” Oscar shouted, rushing to his van. Clark and I followed, leaving the others to discuss what they’d seen.