by Cushnie-mansour, Mary M. ; Jamieson, Bethany (EDT); Tanguay, Danielle (EDT)
“Yes.” She got up and left the school. I knew where she was headed—without me. As I watched her leave, I noticed the change in her movement—her feet did not dance as they had a few short months ago. It was at that point I knew something was drastically wrong!
Eventually, Sylvia was kicked out of school. She gathered together her few possessions and then dropped her pens on my desk. “Here,” she murmured, “you have more use for these than I.” She shuffled slowly from the room, her shoulders slumped, her steps heavy.
I wanted to confront Samwell and demand to know what he was doing to her. To ask why there were black circles around her eyes…why her back was hunched so…why her feet did not dance anymore? I needed to save my friend.
I watched their comings and goings. I saw a difference in his walk, too. He would stagger up the hill, bumping from tree to tree, falling on the path—probably from drinking too much. I feared, more than ever, for Sylvia’s safety. I prayed for a night when my parents would go out so I could go up to the shack and find out what was happening.
Finally, the perfect night unfolded. My parents were invited to a 25th wedding anniversary house party for some old friends, and an October pea soup fog had rolled in. The Marshalls lived in the country and had insisted their guests stay over. Mom called, instructed me to lock everything up and go to bed. I had Mrs. Winter’s phone number in case of an emergency.
I smiled, headed to my room, dragged my rocker over to the window, and sat down. Samwell would be along soon and my eyes would have to be sharp to see through the blasted fog.
My alarm clock ticked softly. I kept shaking off sleep. I needed some music…the deep notes beat in my veins.
Time passed.
The music stopped.
Silence, but for the ticking clock.
Sleep…
“Damn!” I jumped up; it was one-thirty.
I had probably missed Samwell’s return, but I needed to go up there anyway and put an end to whatever was going on.
I shoved my feet into my runners, grabbed my jacket and house key, and ran downstairs. I almost tripped over the Halloween pumpkin by the back door. Outside, the fog closed in around me, penetrating the fabric, dampening my skin—or was that nervous sweat?
I could have gone up that pathway blindfolded, I had travelled it so many times. As I drew closer to the shack, I noticed a candle trembling in the window. I heard loud noises from the inside, and then, I heard the ugliest voice.
“You witch! Where’s the money?” There was a loud slapping sound, but no whimper followed.
“Tell me!” the voice roared.
“Go to hell and fry!” a female voice screamed. Then, there was another slapping sound, followed by a crash.
I moved quickly to the door and with all my valour, I burst into the room. Sylvia was cowered beneath a table. She was half naked, her clothing tattered and torn. Bruises and bloody scratches played snakes and ladders on the exposed skin. But her eyes held a fiery madness like I had never seen before! She was glaring at Samwell with such hatred that even he momentarily stopped his assault.
I seized the moment and grabbed the fire poker by the door—the one Sylvia and I kept there in case any unwanted strangers tried to invade our world.
This was our secret place—Sylvia’s and mine.
Samwell was unwanted.
I swung with all my might.
my trembling fingers. Sylvia showed me how to smooth and shape it. “You can create anything you want with clay,” she smiled.
We worked all night on the new piece. In the morning, I ran down to my house and left a note for my parents, informing them that Sylvia and I were sleeping in the shack and I would see them tomorrow. We slept for a few hours and then continued our work. Finally, we sat back and observed our creation. He was magnificent, just like when we had first seen him.
“Not bad, for a beginner,” Sylvia smiled. She began to dance around the sculpture. “You know what…I think we will enter this in the Pumpkin Fest pottery show. There is a new category this year: ‘Real Life Creations.’”
“I could write a story to go with it, an amalgamation of two arts,” I added with a smile.
“Good idea.” And Sylvia smiled again.
proud of their world renowned artist and writer. Sylvia inherited her mother’s property when her mother passed away. We live in the main house, however, we still spend a lot of time in our secret place. We fixed the walls and broken windows. We also expanded the shack by adding two rooms—one where I write my manuscripts, one where Sylvia works her magic with clay.
However, it is our statues and the stories that go with them that have truly made us famous. Sylvia and I won the grand prize with our first entry ten years ago. We win first prize every year, and after each show, we add another statue to our ironfenced garden on the hill. The stories are encased in a glass box beside their inspirations.
At the moment, we are working on another statue, one of the most exquisite we have ever executed. Unfortunately, it will not be ready for this year’s show, for the clay is too fresh, and I have yet to write the story.
There is a part of me that wishes it had never happened, yet the satisfied part of me cannot help but to smile. Sylvia smiles, as well. And she dances, too—like a mad fairy—in the garden of statues.
summer. Mom and dad were heading back to the city and to their mundane jobs. She would be staying for another six weeks, being of an age now—nineteen—that her parents were not hesitant to leave her. She smiled; she’d been waiting a long time for this opportunity.
“Caroline, we’re leaving now, love,” her mom called up the stairs.
“Be down in a sec,” Caroline shouted.
“Your father has the car running, dear; please don’t dawdle.”
“I won’t, Mother.” Caroline’s eyes squinted—she hated to be pressured. She pushed her chair away from the computer; no need to turn it off today because she, and her cat, Princess, would be the only ones in the cottage after they left.
“Caro…”
“Here, Mother,” Caroline shouted as she bounded down the stairs.
“Careful, dear, you’ll fall.”
“Where’s Dad?” Caroline asked, ignoring her mother’s concern.
“In the car.”
“He couldn’t wait in here to say goodbye to me?”
“He wants to leave before the traffic gets too heavy; you know how he hates driving bumper to bumper.”
“He should have thought of that before he bought this place way up here in cottage heaven!” Caroline said with a sneer in her voice.
“He bought it for you, dear, to help you recover from your breakdown.”
“He did?”
“Yes, and it did help you…the peace and quiet of the area…the lake. You love going out on the water in the boat, and swimming in the early morning and at sunset. I think it helped, keeping you away from the city’s summer hustle.”
“Did it?” Caroline smirked, and then laughed. “Oh, Mother, give me a hug and a kiss; I won’t be seeing you for a while.”
Mother and daughter embraced. “Are you sure you’ll be okay, dear?”
“I’ll be fine,” Caroline sighed, pulling out of the embrace.
“Don’t forget, Mr. Malcolm is just across the lake. He can be here in a jiffy with that boat of his. Just call him on the CB.”
“I’ll be fine, Mother.” Caroline didn’t like Mr. Malcolm—he gave her the creeps.
“If you take our boat into town, make sure you leave early enough so you can return before nightfall. It gets dark early now and…”
“Mother, we’ve gone over all this. Stop worrying, I’ll be OK. You better hurry or Dad will leave you behind, and then you’ll get fired from your job for not showing up!” Caroline laughed as she headed out the door.
Her father was in the car, impatiently tapping the steering wheel. “Good-bye, Dad.”
“Oh, finally…good-bye, Caroline; is your mother coming? We’re going to
miss the ferry to the mainland.”
Caroline winced. “Of course…she was just giving me last minute instructions—again.”
Caroline’s mother scurried into the car. “Sorry, Gerry, I was just going over things with Caroline and…”
“Buckle up, Lucy.” Gerry put the car into drive. “See you in a few weeks, kiddo; take care of yourself.” The car sped off down the lane way.
Caroline waved to her mother, who would keep waving until the car disappeared around the bend. Mother was always pokey, something she couldn’t help. Caroline had figured that out before she had turned ten years old.
Caroline headed back into the cottage. She plugged in the kettle to boil water for a pot of tea. Princess came out of hiding and began rubbing around her legs. Caroline checked the cat dish—it was empty. She filled it with kibble.
Princess pushed Caroline’s hand away with her nose and began chomping on the kibble. Her tail puffed and she started purring.
Caroline poured a cup of tea and buried her nose in the fragrant steam. Peach was her favourite. She locked the front and back doors and then checked all the windows to ensure they were closed and locked, as well. There was a chill in the air this morning. With everything in good order, she headed up to her room.
The screensaver had settled in on the laptop computer. Mystical creatures: unicorns, dragons, fairies, and vampires travelled across the screen, camouflaging what was beneath them. Caroline set her tea cup down, moved the mouse and smiled as she read the words on the screen…
“Finally, they are gone,” Ruth murmured under her breath…”
Princess jumped on the desk, settling on a stack of papers. Caroline began to type…
…how she hated always playing ‘the game’…now, they would all have to play hers—especially Mr. M., who lived across the lake.
Ruth looked around. She had secured everything in place: the traps…the notes…the plan…the room. She slipped on her jacket and stepped into the crisp morning air. She wanted to check the traps. It would be weeks before anyone ventured up this way again.
It was not a fruitful morning. The traps were empty. Ruth was sure Mr. M. didn’t suspect anything—what was there to suspect? He figured he had everyone fooled—but not her—she read right through him—she knew what he was capable of…
Caroline typed throughout the afternoon. The story was taking shape in her computer. Princess occasionally cracked open an eye, making sure her mistress hadn’t deserted her. Finally, Caroline pushed away from the keyboard. “Time to get something to eat, kitty.” She scratched Princess behind the ears.
The sun was beginning to disappear behind the pines.
out some leftover lasagne, popped it in the oven, and then headed down to the basement. Her father had purchased some steel traps a couple of summers ago because they’d had a raccoon infestation. Her mother had protested, so he’d gone out and bought some humane cages to appease her. Caroline knew her father had used the traps anyway; she’d followed him one day when he’d snuck out early in the morning. She followed him a lot—she’d seen a lot; learned a lot, too.
Her father was quite meticulous; one would never suspect the traps had ever been used. Caroline took them off their hooks, returned to the main floor, set the traps by the back door, and then pulled her supper from the oven. She glanced at the clock—only 4:30, but she needed to sleep early so she could wake early to accomplish what she had to do.
She took her supper out to the front veranda and sat in one of the Muskoka chairs. The sun had disappeared behind the tall fir trees that surrounded the lake. The water was tranquil. Caroline picked up her binoculars from the end table by the chair and focused on Mr. Malcolm’s cottage. It was easy to see across the lake on a clear day, but if one wanted greater details, they had to use binoculars.
He was chopping and piling firewood. Apparently he lived there year round. There were stories about Mr. Malcolm, but Caroline’s father thought that Mr. Malcolm was a good man. Caroline didn’t get that feeling.
He paused in his work, turned, and stared over at her. Caroline shivered and headed back inside the cottage. She put the binoculars up to her eyes and watched Mr. Malcolm through the blinds until he resumed piling his wood. Then, she made sure the locks were fastened on the doors and windows and went upstairs to her room.
Princess was still sleeping on the desk. Caroline set her clothes out for the morning. She didn’t want to have to turn on any lights—he might be watching. She flicked the television on just in time to catch the 6:00 news.
“A young woman has gone missing from the Lake District, the fourth one this summer. Cindy Logan was last seen, with her German Shepherd, Duke, heading off on some hiking trails. The dog returned to the campground around 5:00 this afternoon, without his mistress…”
Caroline flicked the television off. She reached under her bed, pulled out a scrapbook, and began flipping through the pages. Every summer since they’d owned this property, young women had been disappearing. She’d kept the newspaper articles and had made her own notes alongside each one. She also had some photos—ones she’d taken—photos that could be incriminating for a certain someone. She put the book back and lay down. The alarm clock was set for 4:00 a.m. She had no time to waste now that there was another victim!
bolted from bed, dressed, and headed downstairs. The moon cast a path of light through the kitchen window. She gathered up the traps and headed out the door.
The early morning whooping of the loons greeted her. Caroline clutched the traps close to her chest so they wouldn’t rattle and then headed to where her canoe was tied to the dock. The motor boat was housed in the boathouse on the other side of the cottage. Caroline hated using it, so her dad had finally purchased a used canoe for her this past summer.
Caroline laid the traps in the canoe’s belly and stepped in. She manoeuvred into a comfortable position and began to paddle. It took longer than she expected to cross the lake, despite its relative tranquillity. Finally, the canoe grated on the shore, just down from Mr. Malcolm’s cottage. Caroline tied the canoe to a tree, gathered the traps, and headed for the woods that skirted his property. She had noticed him go there quite often. Sometimes her father went with him.
Just inside the trees, she saw a well-worn path that led to a marsh. A couple old camping chairs sat near the edge, a battered tin pail, filled with cigar butts, placed between them. Caroline surveyed her surroundings. She checked for footprints and then began setting the traps. Satisfied that at least one of them would do the job, she returned to her canoe.
Back in her cottage, Caroline made a pot of peppermint tea. Princess meandered around her legs, begging for breakfast. Caroline filled her plate and then took her tea and headed up to her room. She turned the computer on and pulled up her story…
Ruth hadn’t checked the traps for a couple of days—she’d come down with a terrible cold. She lay in bed wondering if she’d caught any prey. Her cat was curled at the foot of the bed, fast asleep. “I better check things out today,” Ruth said to her cat. “I don’t want anyone else to come upon any prey I may have caught…”
Caroline pushed her chair back as she noticed the time at the bottom of the computer screen—11:55. Her throat felt scratchy. Another pot of tea would be in order, she thought as she stood and headed downstairs. “Come on, Princess,” she called to her sleeping cat. Princess flicked her ears and continued her nap on the foot of the bed.
Caroline decided on a cup of soup instead of tea. While her soup was heating in the microwave, she took the binoculars to the front window and looked over at Mr. Malcolm’s cottage. All appeared quiet. Of course, he was most likely having his lunch, unless he had gotten caught up somewhere. The microwave timer beeped. Caroline smiled and set the binoculars down. It was probably safe to sit on the porch.
As Caroline sipped the soup, her mind wandered to the young woman, Cindy Logan, who had just gone missing. She also wondered about the other girls featured in her scrapbook. All of them h
ad disappeared without a trace, as well.
She glanced across the lake. A thick fog was just beginning to roll in, but Caroline caught a glimpse of Mr. Malcolm on his front porch. He was staring over at her, and he waved. She just about spilled her soup in her haste to get inside the cottage. She clicked the lock into place. Caroline leaned back against the door and slid down to the floor. Princess came pattering down the stairs, headed for her dish, and began meowing.
“I just want this to be over,” Caroline mumbled to her cat as she rubbed Princess behind the ears. “See you upstairs; I’m going to work on my story.”
Caroline climbed the stairs to her room and sat down at the computer. She reached over and flicked on the desk light. The room was dark, the fog having closed a curtain on the afternoon sun. “Oh, Ruth, what shall you do now?” Caroline asked as she began to type…
Ruth prepared a TV dinner and took it down to the basement. She walked to the far end, stopped before a large steel door, took a key from her pocket and put it in the lock. The door swung open. Inside was dim; the only light filtering through was from a small, barred window. There was a stale human odour—male. A groan came from the far corner.
“Want your supper?” Ruth asked with a sneer in her voice.
Another groan.
“Speak up, I can’t hear you!”
Another groan. Ruth leaned over the figure. “This ankle looks pretty bad; is it painful?” she asked, giving it a poke.
This time, the groan was filled with agony.
“Oh, forgive me—you can’t talk with so much tape on your mouth. Here, let me help you with that!” Ruth reached over to the face and ripped the tape off.
The man screamed…
Princess jumped onto the desk and walked across the keyboard. “Silly cat,” Caroline said, scooping her off the desk and putting her on the floor.
Caroline’s throat was extremely sore now. Must have been the early morning dampness she had endured crossing the lake, and while setting the traps. She knew how susceptible she was to such weather, especially since her mental breakdown, which seems to have affected her immune system as well. She reached into her desk drawer, pulled out an Echinacea spray, and gave her throat a shot. She glanced at the computer time—5:00 already.
