Laura watched the professor reach inside the bottom drawer of her desk and pull out a dusty photo album. She motioned for Laura to take a seat.
“Here,” she said, blowing off dust and handing the album to Laura. “This might be of much more interest you.”
While Laura sat thumbing through the album, Phyllis continued talking. “There's something you should know about this place, Laura."
Laura glanced up, saw Phyllis leaning back in an old swivel rocker. It was the tone of the professor's voice more than what she said that got Laura's attention.
⸙
"THERE'S A STRANGENESS in this valley," Phyllis went on. "There's not a name for it, Laura, but I sense you've already felt it, experienced it. It started a long time ago, back when this part of the mountains was still a young wilderness, before outsiders started moving in with their fancy RV's and golf courses started popping up on every hill that could be clear-cut. What I'm about to tell you, Laura, might sound shocking, even terrifying, but it's the truth. To understand, you need to study the pictures in this album first, read some of the news clippings I've collected over the years."
She drew back, as if waiting for those words to sink in. "You see, Laura dear, this beautiful lake you see outside the window gleaming so bright and clean in the sunlight, was once upon a time the setting of a real life horror story that not even Stephen King or Dean Koontz could have dreamed up. It happened a long time ago…”
As it turned out, the professor was right.
Chapter Seventeen
LAURA FLIPPED OPEN the album and started looking. The first thing that caught her attention was a series of small clippings from the Atlanta Journal dated August 12, 1937. The clippings, yellowed and crinkled, were tucked inside laminated sleeves. One brittle headline read: “Old Town Vanishes as Waters of New Lake Rise.” Laura skimmed the first few paragraphs of the story and read about the small town of Winfield that had been flooded back in the late 1930s to make way for a new water reservoir.
“Winfield?” Laura said out loud as she thumbed through the pages, drawn to the spread of grainy black-and-white photos depicting an assortment of street scenes dating back to the time of Franklin Delano Roosevelt's New Deal. There were brick buildings and Model-T’s, long-eared mules and wagons lumbering along dusty streets. Men and women dressed in old-fashioned attire—men in overalls and brogans, women in bonnets and long, frilly dresses--promenaded down tree-shaded sidewalks.
“That was the name of the little town," Phyllis explained. "It was named after General Winfield S. Scott, the great hero of the Mexican War and later commanding general of the Union forces during the Civil War. The place was settled around 1850 by a group of pioneers who came down from Virginia. One of them had served with the old general in Mexico and, well, that's how the town got its name. Anyway, the town soon became a rather prosperous little place, especially when a vein of gold was discovered over near Dahlonega. A couple of general stores sprang up, as did several banks, three sawmills, one or two churches and—wouldn’t you know?—at least a dozen saloons. There were rumors Winfield was going to become the next capital city of Georgia.”
“What happened?” Laura asked, suddenly intrigued. She had heard about the great general, of course, but never the tiny town of Winfield named after him. “Where did everybody go?”
“After the Civil War, it just dried up and faded away, like so many other small towns in the South during Reconstruction. People lost their spirit, gave up, moved away. There had been a lot of sectional tensions here even before Fort Sumter, some of it racial, some of it social, some of it just plain bad blood.
“Then, when the war broke out, bloodshed resulted because most of the population remained staunchly pro-Union. A Confederate cavalry regiment led by Nathan Bedford Forrest galloped in one night and burned much of the town to the ground. After that, the place never really recovered. Winfield continued to hold on until the turn of the century, through the first world war. It was nothing more than a ghost town when FDR came into office and launched his New Deal programs. That's when a group of local folks got together and formed a development firm.
“One day, they all went up to Washington and convinced the administration that what this poor, impoverished region needed more than anything else was water power. That would mean jobs and a kind of renaissance for the area. So, with FDR’s approval and the blessings of the governor of the state of Georgia, it was decided that this valley should be flooded and turned into a big lake.”
Laura nodded, slowly beginning to understand the origins and history of Bear Gap Lake.
“Here's where the story gets particularly interesting," Phyllis added. As the old professor spoke, Laura imagined what it must have been like for students attending her classes. The woman's rich, mellow voice and theatrical flair were both entertaining and captivating. "When they built the lake, they didn’t have time—or the money—to relocate the town and all its...properties." She leaned across the desk and flipped through several pages in the album until she came to a series of photographs showing water levels rising over what looked like cracked tombstones and graves in an old cemetery. "You see, they didn’t even bother to dig up the coffins and relocate the corpses.”
Laura gasped. “That’s terrible. I didn’t think it was legal to do such a thing."
"It wasn't."
"Then how did they get away with it?”
Phyllis grinned. “Simple economics, my dear. Think about it. It would have cost too much to dig up all those graves and relocate them to a new site. Besides, the developers couldn't afford to wait. They were big-time players who obviously understood they'd lose money by delaying the project. So, guess what? They dammed up a couple of nearby river systems and opened the flood gates over Winfield. The point is, when the lake was finally finished, Winfield continued to exist—only it was under a hundred feet of water. Everything that couldn't be hauled off in wagons was flooded—homes, saloons, banks, churches, even the town graveyard."
Phyllis got up and walked over to the window. She stood, with her hands behind her back, gazing toward the misty mountains beyond. From her angle, Laura could see part of the lake glistening in the early morning sunlight.
For a long time, Phyllis didn’t say anything. Then, turning around toward Laura, she spoke. "Ever since, people up here in these parts have reported seeing—and hearing—certain strange phenomena. You know, like church bells ringing in the night. Just like the things you've been hearing.”
An awful chill rippled down Laura’s spine as she thought about that calamitous event all those years ago—those terrible, rushing waters surging through the streets of the drowned town, washing everything away, even the little church with a cast-iron bell in the steeple she had seen in one of the pictures.
Phyllis leaned over her desk and stared straight at Laura. "When it storms and the lake gets restless, the currents have a way of rushing through what’s left of the old church's steeple, rocking the bells and causing them to vibrate." She watched Laura’s reaction before continuing: “It’s like they’re alive, the bells out there in the lake, alive and trying to communicate with us.” She gave a fearful glance around the room, as if expecting to hear the ghostly clang of bells erupt any moment. “You see, my dear, I’ve often heard them myself.”
Laura didn't know whether she was relieved—or disturbed—by the professor's curious explanation.
Phyllis lowered her gaze on Laura and asked point blank: "Other than the bells, Laura, have you or your daughter experienced anything else unusual…or out of the ordinary since you're been at that house?"
Laura flinched, as though she’d been pricked by something deep inside her. She wanted nothing more than to unload on Phyllis what Bit had told her about the ghostly boys down on the beach. She wanted to tell her about her daughter's strange encounter with the axe-wielding, blood-dripping brute in the forest the day before.
Instead, she suddenly found herself unable to speak, as if unseen fingers had prie
d open her mouth, reached in and plucked out her tongue.
The light suddenly changed, casting a purplish glow across the room. Laura lifted her eyes up and saw the professor’s face haloed in shadows. An odd grin seemed to take control of the older woman’s smooth, round face. In a voice, that fairly quaked, Laura asked: "What do you mean, Phyllis?
The professor’s strange grin widened. "Laura, dear, I'm talking about ghosts."
Chapter Eighteen
LAURA WAS GLAD to get out of that house. She didn’t know if it was the creepy story about the bells or the weird change that had come over Phyllis that frightened her the most. Before leaving, she agreed to return later that afternoon to finish going through the files. She knew there was a lot more the professor wanted to show her, not all of it having to do with ghosts.
"We haven't even scratched the surface," she had told Laura when seeing her off.
But right now, all Laura could think about was getting back to the house to check on Bit. She had stayed at the professor’s house far longer than she'd intended. She prayed Bit had not awakened and gone off wandering around outside looking for her. The thought of Bit going near that old boathouse caused Laura to move faster.
Laura honestly didn't know what to make of the professor's wild story. She could accept the part about the old town of Winfield being flooded by greedy developers to make way for the new lake. But ghosts?
Laura had reached the halfway point on the trail when she heard what sounded like a snorting sound coming from the woods. She slowed down to listen, but when she didn't hear it again she resumed her pace.
Then it was there again--a snorting, huffing sound, like some large-sized animal grunting and pawing around.
She froze.
Could it be a bear?
⸙
LAURA TRIED TO REMEMBER everything she had ever read or heard about bears. She recalled one expert saying that bears were really timid creatures, especially the kind that lived in the north Georgia mountains. They'd rather run away than stand and fight.
But only a fool would hang around to deal with a bruising beast as thick and powerful as an American Black Bear, with its razor-sharp teeth and long, curving claws strong enough to knock down a horse with a single swipe.
She'd heard way too many stories on the news about hikers being mauled to death by these "gentle giants." One wildlife guide had advised outdoorsmen to stand their ground should they encounter a bear in the wild. Bears were said to be much faster than the average human—even a four-hundred-pound brute—and their natural killer instincts would kick in should they sense someone fleeing. Even unprovoked, they'd give chase, going so far as to chase prey up a tree.
That sound again, the same snorting and grunting—like some massive presence rooting around the underbrush. Laura slowed down and listened, heart pounding, fearful of what might be hiding in the woods.
When she saw the bushes moving off to her right, she decided to hell with conventional wisdom.
She ran.
⸙
IT WASN'T UNTIL SHE reached the front yard and saw the back door of her house that she slowed down enough to catch her breath.
"Mom," she heard Bit calling from the deck. "Where have you been? Brad's been calling for hours!”
Hours?
Had she been gone that long?
Laura huffed up the steps onto the deck, relieved to see her daughter was okay. Before saying anything, she bent down and gave Bit a big hug.
“Mom, what’s wrong with you? You’re shivering. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, dear, nothing to worry about.” Laura felt no need to burden her daughter with the frightening details behind the primary purpose of her visit to Dr. Coleman’s. Nor did she think it necessary to tell her about the equally frightening sound she heard along the trail. “I’m just sorry I left you for so long.”
“Where did you go?”
“I’ll talk to you about that later. Did Brad say where he was?"
"No, he just wanted to know where you were. He sounded really upset. He said he'd call back at six."
⸙
LAURA WAS SO ANGRY with herself she could spit. Not only had she left Bit much longer than she had intended, she had missed Brad’s call.
And now she couldn’t even get a signal for her cell phone.
She stood on the back deck, swinging her Samsung Galaxy around in circles like a crazy woman trying to pick up some flicker from a cell tower.
On the bright side, Bit was okay. The phone had awakened her just before eight-thirty, then again at nine after she'd gone back to sleep. At least she had stayed in the house and not gone wandering around outside where she could have gotten into trouble.
Laura thought about the bear—or what she thought was a bear—and shuddered to think that thing might have come slinking up in the yard while Bit was outside playing. Her new rule for Bit was simple: no going outside on her own.
⸙
WHEN BIT CAME IN the kitchen and saw Laura fixing them a salad and tuna fish sandwiches, she groaned. "Can't we just order a pizza?"
Laura gave her a get-real look. "That's not very funny. Now sit down and eat your lunch."
"But I'm not really all that hungry."
"I said sit. Eat."
Bit saw that Laura wasn't joking. She scooted up to the table and started eating.
While they ate lunch, Laura told Bit about her trip through the woods to Phyllis’s little cabin. She left out the part about the bear—or what she thought was a bear—and her curious explanation about the mysterious bells.
After the dishes were cleared away, Laura said, "Sweetheart, I have to go back over to Phyllis's house for a little while. I want you to stay here, inside, until I get back."
"Why can't I go down to the beach?"
Again, Laura saw no need to mention anything about a bear. It would only frighten her and possibly spoil the whole vacation. "Just do as I say. I won't be long, but you are not to leave the house until I get back, okay?"
Bit frowned. "Am I being punished?"
"No, of course not.”
“Can I go with you?”
“Not this time. Phyllis wants to talk to me about some things. Grown up things. I won't be gone long."
"What if Brad calls again while you're gone?"
"If he does, tell him where I've gone. Say that I will be back by two at the latest. You can tell him that I tried to call him when I got back this morning, but the signal is very bad up here at the lake. He can try to call me back anytime after two. Got that?"
Bit nodded. “Can’t I even go out on the deck?”
“But no farther. And be sure to put on your jacket.”
⸙
LAURA LEFT BIT SITTING on the sofa in front of the fireplace playing with Teddy. She had her books and papers, so she'd be all right for the couple of hours or so she'd be gone. Before leaving, she made sure all the doors were locked and the blinds pulled all the way around on the ground floor.
She was still upset at herself for missing Brad’s call. Why had he been away from the house the precise moment he chose to call? But a thought suddenly occurred to her. He had been gone for three days now. Why hadn’t he bothered to call before now?
Maybe she should stop beating herself up. If anyone was to blame, maybe it was Brad, not her.
She shrugged. None of that really mattered right now as she strode through the ever-darkening woods toward Phyllis’s cabin.
Laura didn't really look forward to going back up the trail again because the bear might still be out there somewhere lurking in the brush. What bear, she asked herself. She hadn't actually seen one, had she? She'd only heard something that sounded big and mean—like, well, a bear. If it snorts like a bear, grunts like a bear…
She tried not to think about it as she bustled along, but it was all she could do to keep from flinching each time she heard a rustle or stirring sound in the bushes.
⸙
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER she saw the
top of Phyllis's chimney poking up over the trees. Relieved, she went straight across the yard toward the house where she found Lord Nelson tethered to a post by the steps.
"He's been acting awfully strange lately," Phyllis noted. "I can't have him running off into the woods like a little cock in heat every time he feels like it."
Laura thought the professor's choice of words rather odd, but let it go.
She had found Phyllis working in the garden, digging up radishes and onions for what she said was a spring salad. Only it wasn't spring. It was the dead of winter and there should be snow on the ground. Geez, the weather up here was awfully strange, Laura thought.
Phyllis dropped the hoe and sauntered over to Laura. “Let’s go inside and have a bite to eat,” she said, heading up the back steps with a basketful of fresh-plucked mustard greens, radishes and delicious-looking red winter onions.
Laura was struck by the professor’s unkempt appearance. She had on a pair of wrinkled jeans and soiled flannel shirt, and her unbrushed hair lay stringy and white around her shoulders. Particularly abnormal was the way her glasses dangled lop-sided on her nose. Give her a break, Laura told herself. The poor gal is probably pooped from working in the garden all morning.
"I can't stay long," Laura said quickly. "My husband called while I was out this morning. I need to be back by two for his call."
Phyllis made a clucking noise with her tongue. “Husbands,” she chuckled, “You can’t do with them, and you can’t do without them.” She led Laura up the steps to the porch. “This won’t take long,” she promised. “I’ve got all the files laid out on the kitchen table.”
⸙
THE OLD GAL WAS RIGHT. When Laura walked in to the cozy kitchen, she found dozens of files laid out neatly across the dining table. Dozens of old newspaper clippings and photographs lay stacked on top of folders, along with carefully annotated notes and what looked like vintage maps.
The People in the Lake Page 9
