Hedge Lake

by Brian Harmon

  But regardless of any doubts he had, he now said to Karen, “I believe her.”

  “Okay,” was her only reply.

  “Isabelle will let you know I’m all right.”

  “She’d better.”

  “Has she ever let either of us down?”

  “True. You behave yourself.”

  Eric rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mother.”

  “Call me.”

  Before he could reply, she hung up.

  Eric had no intention of calling her and she knew it. He hated cell phones. He hated how all his students were addicted to the obnoxious things and he’d never felt any desire to own one of his own. But as soon as they were married, Karen had insisted that he carry one. For emergencies, she told him. Although he’d long suspected that it had less to do with being prepared for an emergency than simply keeping him connected to her. She liked that he was always only a phone call away.

  Besides, she knew as well as he did that she’d call him back long before he ever got around to it. That was how it always was. He almost never called anyone on the stupid phone. He let others call him.

  The only exception to his disdain for the phone was his relationship with Isabelle. Although he could talk to her any time he wished, he couldn’t hear her without it.

  He drove on. Mile after mile passed as that internal compass continued steering him north. He found a small town with a gas station and a McDonald’s. He filled up both tanks and stretched his legs, but the strange compulsion to keep driving kept him from lingering any longer than necessary and very soon he was back behind the wheel and pushing forward.

  A little more than an hour after his conversation with Karen, he crossed the Michigan state line. A little more than an hour after that, he finally felt compelled to pull off the highway and onto a narrow, country road.

  I FEEL IT, TOO, said Isabelle from the cup holder.

  “Energy?”

  YES

  “Magic?”

  NO, NOT MAGIC. THIS IS SOMETHING ELSE

  “Psychic energy?”

  NO, BUT CLOSE. SPIRITUAL, I THINK

  “Spiritual energy?” Eric scratched his chin. She’d mentioned spiritual energy in the past, informing him that most of the unexplained things in the world were made up of either psychic or spiritual energy (until they discovered the strange, magical energy radiated by the witches last summer) but he wasn’t sure what the difference was. Psychic energy had something to do with the mysteries of the mind, of course, and spiritual energy was somehow related to the soul, but beyond that, he had no idea.

  SPIRITUAL ENERGY IS RARER THAN PSYCHIC ENERGY, BUT IT’S NATURAL

  “Natural?”

  EVERYTHING DIES

  “Ah. Naturally… So psychic energy is not natural?”

  IT IS, BUT UNLIKE SPIRITUAL ENERGY, IT CAN’T EXIST IN NATURE ON ITS OWN. AS FAR AS I KNOW, IT ONLY ORIGINATES FROM THE HUMAN MIND. NO PEOPLE, NO MINDS, NO PSYCHIC ENERGY

  “Makes sense. I guess…”

  BUT I DON’T REALLY KNOW EVERYTHING, SO I COULD BE WRONG. MOST OF WHAT I KNOW I LEARNED FROM THE TRAPPED PEOPLE

  Isabelle could only travel between structures that existed at least partially between worlds. She was fused to these locations, unable to simply walk out the door and into the sunlight. Her only means of travel was a mysterious doorway hidden somewhere within each building, a passageway of some kind that allowed her to jump from place to place. (For the past few weeks, she’d been lingering on an empty upper floor of an office high-rise in what she was fairly sure was New York City.) Others had been trapped like her over the years, but for some reason none of them possessed the same ability to travel. In fact, with the sole exception of Isabelle, every one of them had descended into irreversible and all-consuming madness within months. However, any time Isabelle encountered what she’d begun calling “the trapped people,” something about their shared state of being allowed Isabelle to connect to them and absorb whatever knowledge still remained in their withering minds. It was how she knew so much about the psychic and spiritual world. A great many of the trapped people, after all, had landed in their unfortunate position because they thought they possessed some special understanding of the world’s mysteries. They were proud, self-proclaimed psychics and fearless seekers of answers to supernatural mysteries. She’d even run across an occasional demon hunter. But it was a limited supply of information, and not all of it necessarily accurate. Much of her knowledge was still based on educated guesses.

  But Eric had found that she was nevertheless right about things most of the time.

  He drove on, his intuition guiding him deeper and deeper into the wooded wilderness of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.

  “Can you tell me anything about this spiritual energy you’re feeling?”

  ONLY THAT IT’S STRONG. YOU SHOULD PROBABLY

  Eric frowned at the phone. “Probably what?”

  But there was no reply. After a moment, the display dimmed.

  “Isabelle?”

  He pulled over to the side of the road and snatched up the phone.

  “Isabelle?”

  I’M HERE

  Relief washed over him. “What happened?”

  GIVE ME A SECOND

  “What’s wrong?”

  JUST

  Just what? Eric didn’t like this. What was wrong? He’d never known her to get distracted. Was something happening on her end?

  The phone rang. He answered it immediately.

  “I’m sorry,” said Isabelle. “That hit me really hard.”

  “What did?”

  “That energy. It was like a blast right in my face. You’re definitely there.”

  Eric looked out the window. All he could see was forest.

  “Just a little ways ahead. I think that’s where you’re going to start.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’ll be fine. I just wasn’t expecting it. All of a sudden it was like you hit a solid wall of energy. It totally knocked me back.”

  Eric’s eyes washed over the surrounding trees. He didn’t feel anything. But then again, he never did. Strangely, although Isabelle felt these things through him, he didn’t perceive them at all.

  “It’s nothing I can’t handle. Like I said, I just wasn’t expecting it. I’ve never felt that much spiritual energy in one place. Something really messed up is going on here.”

  Eric checked his mirrors and pulled back onto the road. “Isn’t there always?”

  “That’s true.”

  She was right. As soon as he drove around the next bend in the road, he caught sight of a wide, gravel drive.

  “That’s it,” she said.

  He pulled into the drive and then stopped the car again. Ahead of him, the gravel wound deeper into the forest and down a winding hill. It was impossible to see where it went from there.

  “Good luck,” said Isabelle. Then she was gone.

  Eric dropped the phone back into the cup holder. “Thanks.” Somehow, he thought he was going to need all the luck he could get.

  Chapter Three

  At the bottom of the hill, the trees parted to reveal an open expanse of tranquil water.

  “Holly mentioned a lake,” Eric recalled. “You think that’s it?”

  UNLESS YOU THINK THERE’S ANOTHER LAKE AROUND HERE THAT OOZES SUPERNATURAL ENERGY

  “Right.” He did have a way of asking stupid questions, it seemed. Of course this was the lake he was looking for. It’d practically smacked poor Isabelle in the face as he approached. And yet it all seemed so peaceful. He could see all the way across the gleaming surface to the trees that lined the far shore. Only a handful of buildings could be seen, all of them nearly obscured by the thick forest. They were little more than a spattering of high rooftops and a few docks protruding into the water. There were two small fishing boats out there, but otherwise the entire lake looked deserted and tranquil. It was beautiful. It was difficult to imagine that anything sinister could possibly be going on in a place l
ike this.

  He almost wished he had Isabelle’s ability to sense these things. According to her, this entire area was saturated with supernatural energy, and yet he felt nothing but a faint, nostalgic longing for the childhood summer days he and Paul spent fishing with their father.

  What did these energies feel like? How could she tell them apart? The whole concept was difficult for him to even fathom.

  The gravel road twisted to the left and followed the winding shore of the lake for a quarter of a mile before curving back into the woods and away from the water. The only people he saw were two old men, walking between the road and the water, carrying their fishing gear. Dressed in hip waders and fishing hats, they looked like they’d stepped right out of a Norman Rockwell painting.

  I FEEL ANXIOUS, Isabelle told him.

  Eric sat up a little straighter. “What?”

  IT’S WEIRD, BUT I SUDDENLY FEEL VERY UNCOMFORTABLE

  I DON’T LIKE THAT PLACE

  He ran a hand through his hair as he digested this. Isabelle wasn’t emotionally reserved like Karen. In sharp contrast, she was actually very open with her feelings, frequently letting him know exactly how she felt about the things he experienced. But her unique existence outside of time as he knew it meant that she didn’t often suffer mood swings. She was fixed in place, frozen at the moment she was trapped, never tiring or hungering or thirsting or even growing bored with her seemingly endless existence. She didn’t feel the passage of time and so, without her psychic connection to him and her parents, she might not ever feel anything beyond the slightly despairing calm that had settled into her when her initial terror abated and she became one with her strange prison. Throughout everything they’d experienced together, she’d always been the emotional anchor that kept him grounded when he was ready to bolt in panic. That she was now suddenly stricken by such anxiety… “That’s really unsettling,” he told her.

  SORRY

  “It’s okay.” It wasn’t like she was panicking. But the fact was that he’d never known Isabelle to get this uneasy this fast. Later, he’d almost certainly find himself narrowly escaping some manner of peril and she’d tell him how terrified she was for him, but at this point in time, nothing had even happened yet.

  Eric splashed across a narrow stream and then up a small hill and through a gate flanked by signs discouraging trespassing beyond this point.

  Those signs didn’t frighten him. He’d lost count of all the times he’d ventured onto private property without the landowners’ permission. His students had no idea what a badass rebel their English teacher really was.

  As he rounded a final curve in the road, he caught sight of a house looming just ahead and realized that the road was actually a very long driveway.

  It was an aging Victorian. Larger than most, strikingly beautiful, even its flaws were endearing, as if the patched shingles and cracked siding were intentional details, conversational touches of genius. And yet it stood sheltered in these endless acres of national forest, far removed from admiring eyes, as reclusive as any of the countless, drab hunting cabins scattered throughout the northern wilderness.

  Although the yard was neatly mown and trimmed, it was impossible to tell where it ended and the forest began. The trees crowded almost right up to the porch.

  Eric parked and stepped out into the cool, spring breeze. It was one of those days where you couldn’t quite decide whether to wear a jacket or not. He’d opted to leave his jacket behind and make do with the long-sleeve shirt he’d chosen for himself that morning. Later, if the temperature dropped again or the sky clouded over, he might come back for it, but if his past experiences were any indication, he was going to be staying pretty active.

  He looked up at the Victorian. This was the place. He could feel it. Whatever he was drawn here for, it would take place somewhere near this house.

  He turned and scanned the area. Birds and insects sang endlessly in the surrounding trees, and a steady breeze stirred the budding branches, but otherwise, the place was eerily quiet. No one seemed to be around.

  He wasn’t sure what to do now.

  He’d just parked his car in the driveway. The proper thing seemed to be to walk up the porch steps and ring the doorbell. After all, it would be terribly rude to just start nosing around the property. But he had no idea what he would say. He doubted the owners of this lovely home would find him very amusing if he told them that he was simply compelled to drive here. Or if he asked them if they knew that the nearby lake was radiating spiritual energy that the little girl inside his head found ominous.

  Perhaps he should get back behind the wheel and leave. Maybe he could poke around in the surrounding woods for a while, see if Isabelle could sense anything more about the area.

  But he moved neither toward the house nor toward the PT Cruiser. Instead, he found himself scanning the overly-shaded yard, searching the crowding forest.

  He suddenly had an intense feeling that he was being watched.

  He began to move toward the front porch, his eyes washing over the many windows.

  But the feeling didn’t seem to originate from the house.

  He turned and searched the trees again. Was the homeowner out there somewhere? Perhaps he or she had been tending to some chores when he pulled up and was now watching to see what this unassuming stranger wanted.

  But if there was anyone out there, then it was someone far more talented at hiding than he was at seeking.

  He withdrew his phone and looked at the screen.

  I DON’T FEEL ANYTHING UNUSUAL BESIDES THE LAKE ENERGY AND THIS WEIRD ANXIOUSNESS

  He nodded and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He hadn’t expected her to sense anything. In the past, she’d been keenly aware of different forms of energy and of certain kinds of presences, but she’d also been perfectly blind to many of the most immediate threats he encountered. Like those nasty little imps, for example. (Sharp-toothed little bastards…)

  He turned back toward the house and was surprised to find a large cat standing in his path. It appeared to be frozen in mid stride, its big, yellow eyes fixed on him, as if it had been stalking toward him while he was looking away and was surprised to be caught in the act. He frowned at the sneaky creature and said, “Hey there, spooky cat.”

  The animal might have been paralyzed except for the occasional twitch of its furry ears. Yet it had made it to within a little more than a couple yards of where he stood before he spotted it.

  Eric squatted down, balancing himself on the toes of his feet, and held his hand out to allow the cat to sniff him. “Is this your home, big guy?” He didn’t know why he thought this cat was a tom, but somehow he was sure it was. He knew it just like he knew that this was where his dream had summoned him.

  The cat didn’t move, didn’t take its intense eyes off him.

  It was a big cat, made even bigger by the fact that it was a longhaired breed and hadn’t yet shed its fluffy winter coat. It had a plump tail, and its brown and black fur was especially thick on its chest and neck, so that it almost appeared to have a lion’s mane.

  Its big ears twitched again and suddenly it looked out at the forest.

  Eric followed its gaze, but there was nothing there. The forest was just as it had been a moment ago.

  When he looked back again, the cat was gone. But he’d barely had time to wonder where it’d gone when he felt something furry rub past his heel.

  Eric stood up and looked down at the creature, amused.

  “Can I help you with something?” came a voice from the direction of the house.

  Eric looked up to find an elderly woman scowling at him from the top of the porch steps. She was small and whisper thin, in her early seventies at least, but looked as formidable as an NFL linebacker in her blue jeans and cowboy boots, with her arms crossed over her stark white blouse. “Hi,” he said. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I was just—”

  “I know why you’re here,” she told him.

  Eric faltered. “You
do?”

  “Why does anyone ever come around here?” she asked him.

  He didn’t have an answer for her. He had no idea. He was hoping she could tell him.

  “You’re another one of those damned monster hunters.”

  “Monster hunters?” asked Eric.

  “There is no monster,” the woman snapped, as if it had been he who brought up the subject instead of her. “That’s all I have to say. You can snoop around all you want. I can’t really stop you and I don’t care. But I’m not doing any interviews for whatever stupid blog or webcast you’re writing for. And I’m not responsible if you fall in the lake and drown. And if anything comes up vandalized or stolen, I’ll give your license plate number to the police and don’t think I won’t press charges.”

  Eric stared at the woman for a moment, bewildered. “Sounds fair,” he replied.

  “You’re damn right it’s fair.”

  He had no idea how to be a monster hunter, but it was easier than trying to explain why he was really here. And all things considered, he supposed it wasn’t that far off. He did sometimes fight monsters. “So you’re the property owner?”

  “I am. I’m Lorelai Fulrick.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Eric told her. “I’m Eric F—”

  “I don’t really give a fuck who you are.”

  Eric snapped his mouth shut.

  “Just don’t steal anything.”

  With that lovely exchange done, Lorelai Fulrick turned on her heel and vanished through the front door and back into the house from which she’d come.

  Eric looked down at the cat. It was staring up at him from between his feet, those intense, yellow eyes studying him. “What a darling woman,” he told it.

  It cried up at him, seeming to agree.

  He withdrew his phone from his pocket and looked at the screen.

  WELL, YOU GOT PERMISSION TO SNOOP AROUND. THAT WAS EASY

  “Eerily easy. What do you know about monster hunters?”

  NOT AS MUCH AS I KNOW ABOUT DEMON HUNTERS, WHICH ISN’T MUCH, EITHER

  “It sounded like she thought I was one of those cryptid hunters, like on television. The ones that are always looking for Bigfoot and the Loch Ness monster.”