by H. P. Bayne
Dez tried for his gentlest tone. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
Adam heaved a sigh. His expression as he carried the mugs to the kitchen table suggested he was deep in thought. Dez questioned whether Adam was trying to think through how to describe what he’d seen or if he was searching for a better way to put Dez off.
Dez allowed him the time as he followed silently to the table and took the chair next to the mug Adam set down for him. When at last Adam spoke, the furrowing of his brow and downward cast of his face suggested he’d opted for truth.
“Like I said, I don’t know what I saw. All I know is it was a man covered in ice. A man who disappeared into thin air.”
Adam paused. Dez waited, hoping his silence would urge him to continue.
“I’d left Tristan in the fishing shack so I could go take a leak on the shore,” Adam said. “When I came out of the bushes, he was there, next to the shack—the man, I mean. He was close to my height, maybe a couple inches shorter. Had ice all over him. He must have had bushy brows because there was a lot of frost there. And in his hair. It stood up in a bunch of white spikes, and his beard was covered too. Even his clothes were caked with it.”
“What was he wearing?”
“Jeans, I think. Definitely a red and black checked jacket. But his face. My God.”
“What about it?”
Adam quieted, drawing in one long, forced breath, which he released in a shaky exhale before he replied. “It was the face of a dead man. Pieces of flesh … missing. His eyes, they were all milky. And he had this expression.” Another pause, another tremulous breath. “He was grimacing. Like he was in agony, only his lips didn’t move at all.”
“Did he do anything? Say anything?”
Adam shook his head.
“Did you say anything to him?”
“No. All I could think about was getting to Tristan. The man, he was so close to the shack. If anything had happened to my boy …”
“But Tristan didn’t see him?”
Another headshake. “He knew I’d seen something, though. Tried to keep it from him. Didn’t want to scare him. I mean, going fishing, that’s our thing together. I didn’t want to make it so he didn’t want to come out there with me anymore.” He dropped his gaze to his lap. “Guess I did anyway, huh?”
Dez leaned forward, into the trail of steam rising from his coffee. “In my experience, kids cope pretty well with weird if it’s explained to them the right way.”
“You know, I’ve never lied to him. Always promised myself I wouldn’t. All the times he was afraid of the dark or what was under his bed, I could legitimately tell him there was nothing there, say there was no such thing. Now what am I supposed to say when he’s scared?” He forced a chuckle. “Ah, hell. Maybe someone needs to tell me the same thing. No such thing, right? Dunno, maybe I’m tired or something.”
Dez took a quick sip of coffee. “You really think you imagined it?”
Adam’s eyes snapped to his, which was answer enough.
Dez continued. “Thing is, you guys pulled something out of the lake. Proof what you saw wasn’t just in your head.”
Adam puckered his lips as he focused visually on his coffee. “Yeah. The cloth. Matched the jacket I saw on the man.” His gaze returned to Dez. “What’s that mean, exactly? Am I supposed to do something about it?”
Dez smiled at him. “You are doing something. You’re telling me. This cloth, do you still have it?”
“Are you kidding me? No way.”
“Where is it? You didn’t put it back in the lake, did you?”
Adam let out a dry, humourless chuckle. “Wanted to. But no. I’ve watched enough cop shows on TV I figured it might be evidence of something bad. I left it in the shack.”
“Where, exactly?”
“On the shelf where I keep my tackle box and tools.”
“Would you mind if I go check it out?”
Something about the request perked Adam up. “As long as you take it out of there afterward. Oh, and if you happen to pull our shack far away from that hole while you’re there, I wouldn’t be opposed to that either.”
4
Sully was halfway through a British history show on TV when his door buzzer went off.
“Come down,” came Dez’s staticky voice through the subpar speaker. “We’re going to the lake.”
For anyone else, a phrase like that came with a thrill of excitement or instilled a sense of relaxation.
Not for Sully. Not in the world he lived in.
When he approached the vehicle, he was happy to see Dez had brought Pax along. Sully ruffled the dog’s ears as he got into the front passenger seat, then laughed through the anticipated round of joyous licks to his face and hair.
“Figured there’d be a lot of room for him to run around out there,” Dez said. “He gets his exercise in with Kayleigh, but our backyard isn’t a lot of space for a dog his size.”
The drive to Dead Man’s Lake took about an hour. It was on the north side of the river, the turnoff located this side of Winteredge Park. Little more than a heavily cratered gravel road in summer, it was nonetheless kept ploughed regularly in winter, thanks to the abundance of ice fishers.
“I’ve never been out here this time of year,” Sully said.
“Me neither,” Dez replied. “Dad was never big on ice fishing.”
Sully smirked. “I think it was you who wasn’t big on ice fishing. He even tried taking us to that spot near our place, remember? Figured you could walk back if you got cold and miserable.”
“Where was this?”
“On the Kettle Arm not far from Mom and Dad’s. You griped about it the whole time.”
Dez grimaced. “Oh. Oh, yeah. Forgot about that.” He turned, holding up his index finger. “But in my defence, it was damn cold that morning. And Dad wasn’t enjoying it much either.”
True. Sully suspected their dad had been wanting something fun to do with them on his days off from work. In the end, they’d gone back to the house and popped in a movie.
Sully and Dez skirted around the obvious. They’d made one further attempt at ice fishing a few years later—with far worse results.
Sully had been fourteen. Flynn’s hat had blown off, and Sully had run across the ice to catch it.
It happened fast, the ice in the middle of the lake cracking beneath his feet, giving way and sending him under. His recollection of what happened after was foggy, lost to shock. But Dez had told him he’d ended up under the ice and that it was only Dez’s long reach that had saved him.
Shock had relieved him of both memory and therefore a hefty part of the psychological trauma he would have endured, but Sully had retained a healthy respect for ice.
Because they’d never gotten into ice fishing, Sully had never seen the Ice Man, although he’d heard about him from others.
“Why do you think the Ice Man’s only ever seen in winter?” Dez asked, proving his own thoughts were travelling the same path.
Sully shrugged and shook his head. “No way to say for sure, not until I see him myself, anyway—if I see him. My guess is whatever happened to him happened in the winter, given his appearance. Have the sightings been throughout the winter, or have they always been toward the end?”
“I haven’t exactly heard,” Dez said. “Most of my life, when people started talking about ghosts, I found somewhere else to be.”
Sully smiled knowingly, then thought about who might know. One person came to mind: university professor Marc Echoles. A teacher of occult studies, he was a fount of knowledge about all things paranormal.
Sully dialled his number and hoped he wasn’t in class. Thankfully, he picked up after a couple of rings.
“Let me guess,” Marc said, smile in his voice. “You’re not calling to shoot the breeze.”
Sully put the phone onto speaker for Dez’s benefit before answering Marc. “You know me well.”
“So what paranormal shenanigans are you and your brother
wrapped up in now?”
“A neighbour of Dez’s saw a ghost on Dead Man’s Lake.”
Marc interrupted before Sully could continue. “The Ice Man?” His interest was obvious.
“It sounds that way, yeah. Thing is, there’s more to it. The neighbour’s son pulled something out of the lake—a shred of fabric apparently matching the coat seen on the ghost.”
“And you’re going out to investigate,” Marc concluded.
“If a piece of material was found, it shows there’s something to this—in particular that there’s probably a body in the lake somewhere.”
“And if you can see him, it will show he didn’t end up there by accident,” Marc said. “One of these days, you’ll have to take me along. All the years I’ve taught this stuff, I have yet to see a full-bodied apparition.”
“You’re not missing much,” Sully said. “The ones I see, I wish I didn’t have to. Anyway, I was wondering, how much do you know about the Ice Man story?”
“Quite a bit,” Marc said. “He’s seen only in winter, typically by people ice fishing or snowmobiling on Dead Man’s Lake.”
“Any particular time in the winter?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. While there have been a couple of stories about people seeing him earlier in the winter, most claims have been toward the end, near the point of ice breakup. Now, many claims of ghosts are inaccurate, made by people who have either misinterpreted what they’ve seen or who are outright making things up for attention. If I were a betting man, I’d say all the true sightings have been around this time of year. It’s a late spring this year, and the ice is finally getting thinner. Pretty quick, it won’t be safe to cross.”
Dez nodded. “There’s a warm spell supposed to hit in a day or two. I’d say the ice is going to be unsafe pretty damn quick, all right.”
“If all the sightings are around this time of year, I’m going to guess this is close to the time he died,” Sully said.
“One other thing,” Marc said. “Some stories report sightings going back as far as the early- to mid-twentieth century, but best I know, those accounts are all hearsay. The first proper eyewitness account happened back in the nineteen eighties. Police actually launched an investigation, thinking maybe someone living needed assistance. Needless to say, they never found anyone. Police issued a call for public assistance, which made the papers at the time. They investigated a couple subsequent reports as well. After that, I think they believed they were being had, as the reports stopped.”
“Do you have a copy of the newspaper clippings?” Sully asked.
“Of course I do. I’ll photograph them and send them to you as texts. In exchange, maybe you can answer a question for me: why do you think he’s haunting the lake?”
“With any luck, I won’t have to guess,” Sully said. “He’ll tell me.”
A smaller road wound around the lake to the south and up along the first section of eastern shore, a bumpy trail someone kept ploughed with what Sully guessed was a front-end loader. No way a proper snowplow would fit on this trail.
Dez had obtained directions from Adam to his fishing shack, and it came as little surprise, given the difficulty in getting out to this side, why there were so few shacks set up over here. The lake was just visible through the trees, and Sully could see precious few structures in the direction they were headed.
They finally hit what appeared to be a makeshift parking area on the lake’s east shore. A couple of structures had been erected: a bathroom one side—the kind requiring no plumbing—and a filleting shack on the other. The lot was completely empty, which made sense since this was a workday for most people.
As Dez exited, Sully stepped from the vehicle and opened the rear door for Pax. The dog reacted as if freed from a stint in prison, charging maniacally around the parking lot before running headlong at Sully. With a chuckle, Sully caught Pax as he neared, wrestling him down to the snowy ground.
Dez cleared his throat. “Uh, not to cut into your bonding moment, but I really want to get this over with.”
Sully stood and patted Dez on the chest before leading the way toward a walking path, marked by a weathered sign warning visitors of an “Uneven Trail: Watch Your Step.”
They followed the heavily treed path a couple of minutes. As the forest opened, they came to a heavy thicket of willow, beyond which lay a wide expanse of lake. It was narrower this side, so they could see the forest on the opposite shore. To the north, the lake stretched out as far as the eye could see. Cloud had stolen in, making it impossible to tell where on the horizon the ice and snow ended and the sky began.
“See anything?” Dez asked.
Sully shook his head. “Nothing. I don’t sense anything either.”
Dez fished in his pocket until his fingers emerged with a key dangling from a keychain shaped like a jumping trout. “Let’s go check out Adam’s shack. Maybe your guy will make an appearance in the meantime.”
“My guy?”
Dez raised a brow. “Well, he’s sure as hell not mine.”
Sully followed him to the shack, keeping his eyes focused on their surroundings as Dez fumbled with the lock. Finally, door opened, Sully patted his leg to attract Pax’s attention—the dog had been running around the ice, sniffing everything he could—and followed Dez inside. He held the door long enough for Pax to enter behind them, then released it. It automatically slapped shut behind him, spring hinges set tight to guard against gusts of wind.
The tiny building was lit only by the window, and the cloud kept the place dim. Despite that, Dez quickly found the item they’d come here to see. Sully stepped closer as he turned from a shelf under the window, something reddish lying in his gloved palm.
“This must be it,” Dez said.
Sully removed a glove and picked up the shred of fabric between thumb and forefinger. Sometimes he got feelings or thoughts from things dead people had touched.
This was not one of those times.
“You know what’s really creepy?” Dez said. “The fact they pulled this up might mean the body’s right under our feet somewhere.”
“The Ice Man story’s been around for years,” Sully said. “After all this time, there wouldn’t be anything much left of his body. He could have been dropped in anywhere, and the clothes could have come apart over time and washed toward shore. That could be how this ended up on the end of Tristan’s hook. All that said, I’m actually surprised there’s even anything left of the clothes.”
“Tell me something. Ghosts generally need something before they can cross over, right? What if he wants someone to find his body, but there’s nothing left to find?”
“There would be bones.”
“Which could easily be scattered. What then?”
Sully dropped his gaze from Dez back to the cloth. “In my experience, a lot of ghosts don’t care a whole lot about their bodies. The only reason they might be helped by us finding human remains is if a loved one needs the closure or if the remains contain some sort of evidence that could provide answers about what happened. Then again, I only deal with homicide victims. Could be the Ice Man wasn’t murdered. If he wasn’t, and if what he really wants is a proper burial, there’s not going to be a whole lot either of us can do for him.”
“Great,” Dez said. “Still nothing?”
Sully leaned toward the window and peered out. “Not this side, anyway. I’ll go out and have a look.”
“Hold off for a few minutes.” Dez reached for the back wall and plucked a couple of fishing poles from their wall mounts. “Maybe we should take advantage.”
Sully’s eyebrows shot skyward. “You want to fish? Now?”
Dez grinned. “Hey, way I see it, we’re investigating. I mean, Tristan snagged the fabric this way, right? Maybe we’ll pull up something else.”
“You’re reaching, dude.”
Dez shrugged, then pulled aside a piece of plywood placed over the hole. The opening had sealed over, and Sully took the rods so Dez could put
to work a manual ice auger he found in the corner. Having reopened the hole, Dez took the rods back and placed them on the shelf where he’d located the cloth. No sign of bait, though a box of tackle sat on the shelf, so Dez set about connecting hooks to the end of the fishing line.
As Dez worked, a creeping sensation stole over Sully. He sensed it immediately, the feeling he got whenever the dead were close.
They’d been seen.
He peered up at Dez, debating whether to tell him. But his face had taken on a contented look, a small smile on his lips, his jaw and forehead eased while readying the rods. Sully didn’t have the heart to erase it. Not yet.
Pax uttered a low whine, causing them to turn in his direction.
“What’s up with him?” Dez asked.
Sully knew the answer, of course. Pax had always been as tuned in to the dead as Sully was.
“Don’t know yet,” Sully said. “Maybe nothing.”
The ease slipped from Dez’s features. “Nothing, my ass. He senses something, doesn’t he?”
Sully smiled apologetically.
“Damn it,” Dez muttered. “You do too. He’s here, isn’t he?”
“I don’t see him,” Sully said. “I just feel him.”
“So not a homicide.”
“Can’t say for sure yet.” Sully scanned the interior of the shack again, eyes settling a little longer on the more shadowed spots in the corners and beneath the shelf.
Nothing.
He returned to the door, opened it and stepped outside with Dez and Pax following close behind. Circling the building, he searched the area around the shack.
Nothing. What was more, the sensation of the ghost had lessened. He wasn’t out here. Not now, anyway.
He was inside the shack.
Sully led them back to the door. He steeled his nerves with a few deep breaths, half-anticipating finding the Ice Man facing him the moment he yanked the door open.
He turned to Dez. “Ready?”
Dez took a deep breath himself, turning to face the shore rather than the shack, as if afraid of what he might see. “Go ahead.”
Sully gripped the door handle. Despite how long he’d been seeing the dead, a sense of creeping dread always filled moments like these. Reminiscent of mounting music and a dark set of stairs in a horror film, the anticipation was the worst part. Certain something was about to happen, uncertain as to what.
