Whatever caused those spikes in the reading was located towards the center of the lake.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I removed my shoes, gloves, and hat and set them on the beach along with my purse. Then I hiked up my skirt and stepped into the water.
It was colder than I anticipated and I caught my breath as my ankles dipped below the surface. Holding the EMF reader above my head, I waded deeper. I knew the lake was deceptively shallow and I was able to walk out a considerable distance, feeling ahead with my toes. As the water reached my knees, the device emitted a shrill whistle.
Bingo!
The further I went out, the more the machine reacted.
As the meter pulsed, my ring pulsed in cadence, gripping my finger so tightly it hurt.
Now I was waist-deep and shivering, but the urgency of my EMF whistles, magnified by the pulsating ring, pushed me forward.
I felt an old, familiar thrill.
I was onto something. I knew it!
The moon rose from behind the woods, as gold and foreboding as Mr. B’s eyes. With each step, I felt myself growing strangely disconnected from my body, no longer concerned about being wet or cold or alone. In fact, I felt oddly at peace.
“Baylee…”
Someone called to me.
I looked out over the water that was now up to my chest, searching for the source.
“Baylee… Baylee… Baylee…” More voices now. A sea of them, echoing around me, all sighing my name.
The lights on my reader spun like a funhouse sign. Red. Green. Red. Green. I must be close to…something.
“Baylee!”
This last voice was firm, insistent. Was it summoning me? Or warning me?
Just a little further in, and I’d know.
I took a large step, feeling a slimy, moss-covered rock beneath my bare foot.
With a gasp, I slid forward, submerging entirely in the murky water. My reader slipped from my grasp, dancing momentarily in the air, before disappearing into the depths.
Something grabbed hold of my foot. Seaweed? A hand? I fought it, but the more I struggled, the firmer its grasp.
As I was dragged under, I saw my husband, Ryan, staring at me through the water. He put his finger to his lips and pointed upwards.
“The portal is open,” he mouthed.
FIFTEEN
“Well, aren’t you the biggest fish I e’er did catch.”
The old man regarded me with one squinted eye as he pulled me from the lake by the collar of my blouse.
I choked, gasping for air as I floundered in his row boat.
How long had I been under?
The last thing I remembered was the spectral image of my husband, pointing towards a swirl of white light.
I shook my head, both to dislodge the water in my ears and the vision in my mind. If I’d had my purse, I’d have been reaching for one of Dr. Friendly’s “anti-seeing things” pills.
“Let’s get you dried off,” the man said, gathering his oars. “You’ll catch your death out here like this.”
He leaned forward and back, his sturdy arms rowing us towards the shore. A soft layer of fog muffled the edges of the lake, like a snow skirt around a Christmas tree. A lantern sat on the bench between us, the only source of light now on the water.
I shivered under a light blanket as I slurped at the thermos of lukewarm coffee he offered.
“Thank you,” I said, smiling sheepishly. “I was foolish to come out here alone.” I shrugged, knowing no explanation would suffice.
“You ain’t the first person I’ve fished out of this oversized pond.” He inspected me through his squinted eye. “But you’re the prettiest. You should be a far sight more careful. The water ain’t the only thing that can get a person out here.”
“Pardon?” The hairs on my forearms saluted at his ominous words and I forgot all about my near-death experience. “What do you mean?”
“Folks have been known to experience strange things out here on Ogie: Time lapses. Disembodied voices. Funny lights. Some say it’s the ghosts of Indians and old fishermen,” the man continued, as water lapped at the edges of the boat. “Others say it’s a band of Yeti, set on scaring the locals away. Hell, some folks even claim there’s a lake monster down there gobbling people up.” He shrugged, then pulled us into the dock of a rundown tackle store I’d seen earlier.
“You make it sound haunted,” I said, hoping the prompt would get him to say more.
“Haunted?”
He leapt out of the boat and into the shallow water with surprising ease, his hip waders keeping him dry.
“I ain’t sayin’ Ogie is haunted. I don’t like to label things. Lived here sixty-eight years and seen lots of tragedy. Heard about even more. All I know is, the lake takes, and except in rare instances, it doesn’t give back. You doing alright now, young lady?” He reached for my hand as he pulled us to the shore.
I momentarily resisted taking his hand, knowing I was defenseless against his memories without my gloves. But his touch was warm, comforting, even parental. He was one of those rare individuals who was exactly what he appeared to be, without dark secrets or hidden agendas. I smiled, relieved.
“I don’t know how to repay you,” I said, rubbing my hands together for warmth.
The old man led me up the wobbly wooden steps to the dock, where a fire burned in an open barrel surrounded by four rusty beach chairs.
“Call me Jax,” he said. “Short for Jackson. And you can repay me by not getting sick. The ladies’ room is in back. There’s an overcoat hanging on a hook. It ain’t much to look at, but it’ll keep you warm. Might smell a little fishy, though.”
The “ladies’ room” was a closet with a commode and a sink, plus an overhead water feature that served as a makeshift shower.
I rinsed beneath it, reveling in the warm water, then found the overcoat. It was indeed quite fishy, but preferable to my own soaked clothes. I tied the belt and hung my wet clothes over a towel rack, wondering how I could sneak home without alerting Alex.
Oh, no!
I realized I had left my phone and purse on the beach. It was well past dinnertime. Alex was probably calling already, worried.
I quickly finished drying and rejoined Jax on the dock. “I left my phone on the shore. I have to go find it,” I explained.
“Don’t worry, young lady. I sent my grandson to fetch your things.”
He pointed to the cleanest beach chair and I took it, watching with fascination as he warmed a tin coffeepot over the open flame, just like they did in cowboy movies.
The coffee was strong, just what I needed to recover my senses. Soon my head cleared, my body warmed and I relaxed under Jax’s care.
“I haven’t been out on the lake at night for over a decade,” I said, leaning back in the chair. There was no sign of anything unusual out on the water, and I wondered if I had imagined it all. “I almost forgot how many stars are in the sky here. No light pollution to block them out.”
Jax stirred the fire, his gaze never leaving the flames. He had sharp eyes and soft gray whiskers, and several missing teeth on the left side of his mouth. I wanted to know more about him, but sensed that the old fisherman’s story could not be told in one night.
“What were ya doing out there, if ya don’t mind me asking?” he said.
I swallowed the last of my coffee. “I suppose I do owe you an explanation.” I was too tired make anything up, so the truth would have to do. Or at least part of it. “I’ve heard rumors of lights in the sky over this lake, possibly UFOs. I came to see for myself.”
His eyes shifted as he dropped his stirring stick and sat back in his chair. “How do you know about them lights? They finally make the papers?”
“So you’ve seen them?”
He coughed or laughed into his fist, his eyes sparkling beneath his bushy brows.
“I seen ‘em plenty. Well, twice. The first time, I thought I was just getting old in the head, but when I seen them the second
time, I knew it was more than old age. It wasn’t like anything I’d seen before out here. The lights were so bright they blotted out a full moon. It was like an eclipse, only closer.” He looked up and my eyes followed, though there was nothing out of the ordinary on this night.
“Do you think the lights are extraterrestrial?” I asked.
“Hell, I don’t know. Some might. As for me…I think they come from right here.”
“Right here?”
“An old curse, maybe. This place was crawling with bog witches a hundred years ago. Some of that magic is bound to live on.”
Bog Witch was a derogatory term for the old wise-women who lived near the water. They practiced earth magic – healing mostly, as well as midwifery.
Legend held that most were run off by superstitious townspeople. It made sense that these witches would curse those who sent them away. Still, that didn’t explain the recent disappearances, or the fact the missing women were in no way responsible for the witch’s exile.
Jax skewered a marshmallow with a long fork, then set it ablaze over the fire. It withered to a charred nub as the flame consumed it. He pulled it off, eating the burned shell in one bite.
“An old friend of mine disappeared out here,” I pressed. “Her name was Carrie Brighton. I haven’t seen her since we were children, and I need to find out what happened to her.”
“Carrie Brighton, you say? I knew her. She was an odd duck. Marched to her own beat, that’s for sure. Some say she had the second sight.”
“Second sight? No. That must have been someone else.” Carrie had never shown any particular talents around me, and she fully knew my own.
“Yup. It was her. She took care of her sick mother a while. She came out here sometimes to get away. She bought soda pop from me, mostly with change. I liked her well enough, though she kept to herself.”
“Did you ever have talk to her?”
“Yup. But like I said, she was an odd duck. Kept talking about judgement and reckoning. I think her whack-a-doodle mother got inside her head.”
I chewed on my lip as I thought about poor Carrie. How long had she been back in town and living with her mother before she disappeared? I asked Jax.
“Dunno. First saw her out here about four or five years ago. I remember once, not long back, she showed up smiling. Said her mother was finally taken to heaven. Seemed relieved. Can’t say I blame her.”
The low rumble of a vehicle approached, followed by two bright headlights that cut the dark. A pickup appeared and stopped beside the shop. The driver got out and jogged up the steps, my purse dangling from his hand.
“Davie?” I asked, rising to get a better look. “What on earth are you doing here?”
Dave Cullins raced to the top of the stairs, then lifted me to my toes and swung me around. Placing me back down, he kissed the top of my head.
“Baylee, thank God you’re alright! When Grandpa called and gave me the description of the woman he’d just pulled from the lake, I knew it was you.”
He handed over my purse, phone, and the other items I’d left on the beach.
“Thank you,” I said, beating my hat against the back of the chair to get the sand out.
“I only found one of your gloves. Sorry.”
I held the limp white glove in my hand and sighed. “On the bright side, I’ve got the start for my Michael Jackson Halloween costume.”
“Or you can go as a one-armed mime,” Dave teased. “There might be a market.”
“Probably a niche sort of thing.” I resumed my seat, tucking the overcoat tight around me, to avoid both the cold and Dave’s searching gaze.
“Baylee, I haven’t seen you looking so natural since…” Dave raised one eyebrow and I blushed as we silently recalled long ago summer nights, skinny dipping in Lake Crystal.
It didn’t get more natural than that.
Jax excused himself. When he returned, he handed over my clothes, now half their original size.
“Sorry ‘bout that. Thought I’d surprise you with some dry gear, but guess your stuff don’t go in the dryer too well,” he said.
I looked at my clothes. They’d come from vintage boutiques in New York. I’d probably never be able to replace them. Not in Reed Hollow, anyway.
“Oh, my blouse,” I lamented, tugging on the hem in a futile attempt to stretch it back out.
“Baylee Scott, you just survived death,” Dave reminded me. “You’ll survive your shrunken clothes.”
“The good news is that your unmentionables made it through intact.”
Jax handed over my “unmentionables,” and I quickly tucked them into my purse. Dave grinned, enjoying my embarrassment.
“Is the bus still running?” I asked, tapping my cellphone. It blinked in and out of service.
Dave shook his head. “You are not riding a bus. I’m taking you home. You can wear Grandpa’s coat and I’ll deliver you right to your front door.”
“No, you both have already done too much for me. I couldn’t.”
“You could and you will. It’s settled.”
Riding along with Dave at night in his dad’s beat-up pickup was like being transported back in time. Except that we were adults now, and our youthful exuberance had been replaced with grown up anxieties. Still, I couldn’t help but look as we passed the multitude of make-out spots we’d frequented as teenagers.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Dave said, grinning at me. “I’d offer more, but I’d need to sell my business.”
I decided to tell him what was second on my mind, rather than first. “I’m wondering why you didn’t introduce me to Jax before. I thought I knew everyone in your family.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. He and my dad didn’t get along. It wasn’t until dad passed that we were able to have a relationship.”
“I’m sorry about your dad,” I said. “Alex told me.”
Dave absently fiddled with the radio as he stared straight ahead. “Dad was over involved in my life and I couldn’t wait to get away from him. But now that he’s gone, I miss him more than anything. I guess you know what I mean.”
“I do know what it’s like to want to get away, and to lose a father.”
“At least I still got Mom,” Dave said, giving one firm nod. “I shouldn’t be so insensitive.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me. I feel my own mother close to me every day. In fact, sometimes it’s like she never left at all.”
Dave ran a hand through his brown hair. “Never pegged you for a religious type. Didn’t you get kicked out of Sunday school for asking too many questions?”
“Ha-ha! Yes! I suppose telling the pastor to ‘cite his sources’ was not one of my smarter moves.”
“I, for one, enjoyed it.”
Though the night was cold, I rolled down my window and breathed in. Frogs were sporadically chirping out their last calls. The wind stirred, rousing the trees, hinting they’d soon be stripped of all their glories.
Dave rolled down his own window, letting in fresh cool air. “The cold air keeps me awake,” he explained.
“And what do you need to stay up so late for, Davie Cullins?”
“Driving, for one thing. Plus, all the best things happen at night.” He lifted one brow. “I remember a certain young lady who told me that, many moons ago.”
“Moons? No wonder I didn’t see anything tonight. It wasn’t a full moon. Dave, you’re a genius!” I consulted the calendar on my phone. The next full moon began on Sunday.
I turned to Dave. “I haven’t ruled out UFO abduction, but I think we need to consider other reasons for the disappearances. If the disappearances all occurred during a full moon, that has to mean something. I think I need to come back to Ogie this Sunday.”
“Then I’m coming, too. Grandpa’s getting old - he can’t be fishing you out of the lake every couple of days.” Dave pulled to the side of the road, letting the engine idle. He reached behind his seat, produced his messenger bag, and removed his laptop.
“W
hat are you doing?” I asked, sliding closer.
He powered up the device and began clicking through pages. “You’re wearing that moonstone ring, Baylee. It belonged to a witch, right? And now we’re out here investigating disappearances coinciding with full moons. You said you thought the events were linked. Sounds almost…sacrificial, doesn’t it?”
“You think Ella is capable of human sacrifice? And to a larger point, why?”
“Who knows why the superstitious do the things they do? Same reasons we all do, I suppose. Money. Power. Ego.”
“I’ve met Ella. She’s quite a force, but I never got the sense that she’s evil.”
“Baylee, you read people and you’re good at it, but here’s the thing: Evil people never think they’re evil. You can’t read what someone else doesn’t see in themselves.”
Ryan had told me much the same thing, once upon a time:Don’t trust every memory. Some are framed to showcase the least amount of guilt possible. We all lie to ourselves to justify our actions.
Dave brushed a stray hair from my shoulder. “I don’t mean you shouldn’t trust your instincts. I just know you tend to believe the best about people, and that worries me sometimes. It’s a good trait, though. Don’t lose it. Ugh! I’m digging myself further in, aren’t I? What I’m trying to say is, ‘Dave sorry, big dummy. Baylee forgive?’” He snorted and pounded his chest with one hand.
I smiled at his terrible Tarzan imitation.
“I can’t fault you for worrying, after my dip in the lake. Something caught my leg and if it weren’t for Jax…” I stopped, as a gruesome idea came to me. “Dave? Do you suppose those women drowned?”
“The lake’s not that deep. You’re just short.”
“I’m being serious.” I said. “But, if you’re going to short-shame me, be prepared to have your messenger bag ridiculed. Its pleather. I can tell by the way it beads when it sweats.”
“It is? I knew I shouldn’t have bought it from Honest Harry.”
Dave’s eyes narrowed as he returned to his laptop.
“There are no records of any recent drownings in Ogie,” he said. “But I do recall Grandpa saying some parts of the lake are deceptively deep, and to be careful. Old Jax knows some local divers. We could ask them to look around down there, under some other pretext.”
Touch of Light: A Baylee Scott Paranormal Mystery (The Reed Hollow Chronicles Book 1) Page 11
