by Jody Kihara
leaning up against the porch railing, and aimed it at the
ground. “This bit needs cleaning up before lunch.”
I looked at Dad and tried not to laugh again. We
both knew what Jasper meant: he didn’t want to go for a
walk now if he had to go on another one after lunch.
“Well, okay. See you later.”
“Don’t be too long!” Dad called after me. “I’ll be
firing up the barbecue.”
Jasper was already sweeping the area around the
picnic table. For some reason he seemed to like doing this,
even though the picnic table was set into the ground, and
I’d tried to explain before that you couldn’t really sweep
dirt from dirt. But he’d just shaken his head and continued
to rid the area of cedar twigs.
I left our clearing and headed into the coolness of
the woods. They were strangely silent in the afternoon sun:
no bird calls, which were something I’d have expected in
such dense vegetation. The moss that hung from overhead
branches seemed to shroud everything in a blanket of
quietness. Then, as I walked along, I heard a twig snap
beside me. I turned. Nothing. Some small, hidden animal in
the undergrowth, maybe?
The trees thickened overhead as I continued along,
and the air grew cooler. The place smelled of ferns and old,
decaying wood. On either side of the path, curtains of moss
hung from the broken branches of lopsided, dying trees.
Above, high cedars blotted out the sun, making me
suddenly crave light and heat again.
11
The Girl Across the Water
I followed the path south. From the map the realtor
had given us, I knew the path ran parallel to the road that
led up from town. We’d seen the turnoff to the neighbors’
place on our drive up, and I figured it couldn’t be more
than a twenty minute walk.
The path now rose up a slope. It was a shallow
incline at first, but long, and by the time I caught sight of
the neighbors’ cabin, I was puffing. The slope then rose up
steeply, masking me from sight, so I stayed put for a few
seconds while I checked out the area. Their cabin was
bigger than ours, but more ramshackle: a screen door with
a tear in the lower section hung open, and the large
veranda encircling the cabin was paint-peeled and uneven.
On it sat two wooden deck chairs that looked like they’d
come from a thrift store, and scattered around the
rectangle of dirt and sun-dried grass that made up the
‘yard’ were several ugly, old lawn chairs, the kind made
from woven nylon that frays and pokes into your legs. The
neighbor’s truck was parked where the dirt driveway ended.
It was a massive, brick-and-white colored GMC, its front
and sides mud-spattered.
I ascended the steep incline and approached the
cabin. At the same time, a girl ran out of the back door,
letting it slam shut behind her. She clattered down the
wooden steps and came to an abrupt halt as soon as she
saw me. Through a mass of corkscrew, rust-colored hair, I
could see an upturned nose and narrowed, wary eyes.
“Who’re you?” she demanded.
Her hair spiraled out from her head four inches in all
directions, and her body, though not particularly tall, was
skinny and gangly. Her legs, arms, and face were covered
12
The Girl Across the Water
with so many freckles that they overlapped, giving her a
blotchy kind of look. I guessed her age to be about twelve.
“Hi,” I tried to say, but my mouth was so dry from
the walk, I don’t think she heard me.
“Hey, Pa!” she screeched, but not in a way that
sounded scared. She reminded me of a feral cat, one I
should be more afraid of than it of me. Although her
features were nothing like the girl I’d seen on the island,
her glare was every bit as hostile.
When the door banged open and ‘Pa’ emerged, I
took a step back. The first word that popped into my head
was ‘ redneck.’ He was a hefty guy, or maybe it was the
beer gut and beard that made him seem so. He wore a
sleeveless grey T-shirt with some kind of sports team
emblem peeling off; frayed, denim shorts; and a
camouflage-colored trucker hat with a John Deere logo. The
bits of hair sticking out from under the hat were sandy-
colored, rather than russet like the girl’s.
I cleared my throat. “Hi,” I tried again. “I’m your
neighbor, Paul. We’re staying at the cabin up the woods.” I
indicated behind me. “I thought I’d come by and say hello.”
The girl shot me a hostile look, like I’d just said
something threatening.
“Hi.” The dad nodded, but didn't smile.
“So, um…” How did I bring up the subject of the girl?
This guy sure didn’t look like a panicked parent. “We were
wondering if you wanted to come and canoe with us
tomorrow.”
13
The Girl Across the Water
“Tomorrow, huh?” He sucked his teeth for a
moment. “Probably not, we have to go into town and get
some things.”
I got the feeling I was being dismissed. From near
the truck I heard a noise, and turned to see two boys —
twins? — peeking around the side of it. They giggled before
turning and scurrying off into the woods.
“Oh,” I said, shuffling around. “Well, ah, come by
any time, if you like. There’s a beach we can swim from,
too. Or maybe you’d like to come for a barbecue.”
The man nodded again. But the girl, without another
word, suddenly turned and sped off in the direction of the
boys.
“Anyway, I thought I’d introduce myself to
everyone.” I drew a little closer to ‘Pa’, affording me a
partial view of the kitchen over his shoulder. Leaning up
against the table was what looked like… a rifle? I
swallowed. For hunting, surely?
‘Pa’ shrugged. “Sure, if you can find ‘em.”
It took me a second to remember what we were
talking about.
“Uh, how many kids are here?”
“Three. One girl, two boys.”
I nodded. Well, that answered my main question: No
missing girl.
14
The Girl Across the Water
There didn’t seem to be anything more to say, and
as Pa wasn’t the chatty type, I figured there was nothing to
do but leave. I headed back toward the path, but then
stopped to turn and ask, “Hey, do you know of any other
neighbors around here?” But he’d already disappeared into
the cabin, letting the door bang shut behind him.
I left the warmth of the sun and stood blinking for a
few seconds before I could see properly in the shade.
Thinking I heard another giggle, I turned to see who it
came from. But my eyes hadn’t adjusted yet, and all I was
left with was the echo of the giggle moving strangely
through the woods.
15
The Girl Across the Wate
r
Chapter 3
I jogged back down the path, the incline giving me
speed this time. The sound of my footfalls seemed loud in
the silence of the woods, but above them, I could’ve sworn
I heard another giggle. I stopped.
Nothing. Nah — it must’ve been a bird. There was no
way those kids could move as fast through the thick forest
as I was down the path.
When I reached our cabin, I was greeted by the
smell of barbecuing hotdogs. I suddenly realized how
hungry I was. From his position behind the barbecue, Dad
waved a spatula in greeting . He was wearing a white apron
over his shorts and T-shirt. “Hey, just in time!” he called.
“Grab a plate and some trimmings.”
Jasper was the first to load up his plastic plate with
char-grilled bun, a few raw veggies, and as many potato
chips as he could heap on the side. I did the same. After
taking a hotdog from Dad, I sat down at the table. Dad
didn’t even bother to take off his apron. We launched in.
16
The Girl Across the Water
Food always tastes so good outdoors, and we were
silent as we demolished the first round of hotdogs and
chips. Then, after we’d helped ourselves to seconds, Dad
asked, “So, did you meet the neighbors?”
“Uh, yeah, kinda.” I looked up from my mouthful of
hotdog. “I mean, I met the dad and… sort of met the
daughter. I saw two boys, but they didn’t say anything.”
Dad and Jasper stared at me over top of their
chewing, so after downing a cupful of lemonade, I added,
“They didn’t seem too friendly, to tell you the truth.”
Through a mouthful of half-chewed potato chips,
Jasper asked, “What do you mean?”
I shrugged. “I dunno. Just… they didn’t even tell me
their names. And I invited them over, but they said they’re
going into town tomorrow.”
“Oh, well,” Dad replied, still looking cheerful. “We’ll
invite them over some other time. Maybe they’re still
settling in.”
“Yeah…” I took another bite of my hotdog.
The neighbors had been weird all right, but not as
weird as the sight of that girl on the island.
However, with the sun streaming down on our
clearing and the barbecue smoke wafting past my head,
she barely seemed real any more. I was beginning to
wonder if I had imagined her.
17
The Girl Across the Water
Our hike that afternoon took us into the shade of the
woods, but in the opposite direction of the neighbor’s cabin.
We were heading north, in the direction of the top end of
the lake, and the path rose up the steep mountainside. It
was as the trees thickened overhead, chilling the sweat on
my body, that the image of the girl’s fierce eyes returned to
me, dark as pools of water when they’re blotted from the
sun.
I kind of wished I’d pointed her out to Jasper so that
I could have confirmed whether or not she was real. But
another part of me was still glad I hadn’t told him. Why? I
wondered. In case he didn’t see her?
Jasper was huffing along behind me and Dad, doing
his best to keep up and actually keeping his whining to a
minimum.
“Are we… there yet?” he gasped. Sweat formed a ‘V’
at the neck of his grey T-shirt.
“I’m not sure,” Dad replied. We were still on the
trail, but the tall trees surrounding us made it impossible to
see how close to the summit we were.
When the path finally leveled off, we stopped to take
water from our packs and guzzle it down. We could barely
see the lake through the trees, and had to crane our necks
to glimpse patches of water.
Dad screwed the lid back on his water and jammed it
into his pack. “Let’s go a but further, maybe there’s a
lookout somewhere.”
18
The Girl Across the Water
Jasper emitted a noise that was something between
an ‘aw’ and a strangled cry of desperation. Ignoring it, I set
off behind Dad. Jasper hesitated for a minute, looking
terrified, and then launched his body forward, seemingly
propelled by the weight of his stomach.
Further along, two fallen trees on the slope below
the path afforded us a better view of the lake. We stopped,
and I gazed up toward the northern end. This was the first
I’d seen of it. Scanning the area, I caught sight of
something small and red close to the shore. “Hey, what’s
that?”
Dad took his binoculars from his pack and handed
them to me. After focusing, I swept them around, trying to
locate the red square. And there it was — a cabin. I
brought the binoculars into sharper focus.
It was about the same size as ours, but with a
disused appearance. I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like
one of the windows had been broken, and another one
boarded up.
I handed the binoculars to Dad and pointed it out.
After locating it, he said, “That must be that other
cabin we heard about. The abandoned one.”
“What is it? Can I see? Can I?” Jasper bounced up
and down like a medicine ball on legs.
“I wonder if it is abandoned,” I said, while Dad
continued to look. “Or maybe it gets used sometimes? It’d
be good for hunting, I guess.” Not that I knew much about
hunting.
19
The Girl Across the Water
“I wanna see!” Jasper whined.
Dad handed him the binoculars, and for the first
minute Jasper complained he couldn’t find the cabin. Then,
after Dad patiently helped him locate it, he said, “Oh. Is
that it?” and handed the binoculars back.
After drinking some more water, we began to make
our way back down the slope. Jasper seemed much happier
now that we were descending. “Hey, what’re we having for
dinner?” he asked over his shoulder, narrowly missing a
tree root with his foot.
I had trouble falling asleep that night. The two
bedrooms were on the second floor, which meant that they
got the heat of the sun all day. Not only that, but the
wooden frame of our window was warped, preventing it
from opening all the way. Tomorrow, I resolved as I lay
there sweating and trying to cool myself in a four-inch gap
of air, I’d fix the window.
Jasper slept in the bed by the wall, snorting,
snuffling, and turning over every few minutes. Every time I
thought I was finally drifting off, he’d make another sound.
How could someone sleep so loudly? It made me glad I
didn’t live with him. When he blew a huge fart into his
sleeping bag, I jumped out of bed, saying “That’s it! ” I
jammed my feet into my runners and headed down the
dark staircase.
20
The Girl Across the Water
Once downstairs, I went to open the front door, and,
as I went to unlatch it, noticed it wasn’t locked. Had Dad
forgotten, or did he figure it didn’t matter out here?
Grabbing the big flashlight from the side table, I
headed outside. The woods and lake were so dark that I
couldn’t see anything beyond the beam of the flashlight.
Even walking the thirty or so feet to the lake was difficult:
any rise or dip in the ground that wasn't picked up by the
light made me stumble.
When I reached the shore, the water looked murky,
even when I shone the light on it. It quietly lapped against
pebbles and sand. I stood there staring out towards the
island, but couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of me.
Darkness seemed to press in heavily from all directions.
Even the stars seemed weak that night.
Since there was nothing to look at and I was already
beginning to shiver in my shorts and sleeveless tee, I
figured I might as well head back. Then, just as I stepped
away, a noise reached me. It sounded like a tiny moan.
Goose bumps sprang up all over my body. “Who’s
there?” I asked.
Ten feet beside me, a twig snapped. I swung the
flashlight beam towards it. “Who’s there?”
Silence at first, followed by a few more scraping
noises. And then the strange sound came again: it was a
creepy, unearthly noise, sort of like a murmured wail, sort
of like a cry. And sort of human… but sort of not.
21
The Girl Across the Water
I crept towards the bushes, my heart pounding.
Tentatively, I pulled aside a leafy branch.
Two glassy, reflective eyes stared back at me. I
yelled and sprang back, dropping the flashlight in terror. As
I tumbled to the ground, a shape darted out of the bushes
and charged away, caught briefly in the beam of light. A
furry body with stripes that blurred by as it ran… a raccoon.
I got up, shaking, and retrieved the flashlight. Now
that I knew it was just a raccoon, I wanted to laugh, even
though my heart was still going a hundred miles a minute.
Shaking my head at my own stupidity, I headed for the
cabin.
My foot was on the bottom step when I heard the
gunshot.
It was distant, and came from the direction of the
neighbor’s cabin. I froze again, my hackles rising. What
