Black Water

by Jon Fore

  The girls had managed to get each other into a giggling fit that did not seem likely to subside soon. Chris was just sitting and watching the fire closely, intently, as if it offered the answers to deep questions only he had thought to ask.

  Ethan’s legs felt good, if not oddly sore, and he looked forward to stretching out to watch the stars move slowly across the sky as he fell asleep. First, there would be major helpings of Abby, but then silence, the calming sensation of solitude, and the wonder of gently passing stars. He really did like camping.

  The girls had finally ceased their hilarities, and Abby was getting that warm comfortable glow to her face, the precursor to a quick bout of passion that never failed to satisfy Ethan in a major way. However, a slow moving unease came over Ethan, working its way up his back and standing hairs up as it went. It was not unlike the sensation that someone was watching him, but mixed in with it was a dread with which he was not familiar, at least not recently.

  He tried to shake the feeling that something was about to happen, that something horrible had come close and should not be. He began to search the edge of the fire’s light, looking for a source, the darkness beyond becoming more loathsome and unsettling. Without much thought, his hand found its way to the revolver in the top of his pack. The grip felt good in his hand, but lent no comfort to him as the dread began to rush over him.

  The darkness that was the tree line became a border of reality to him. Just beyond this line waited the most horrible of creatures, the abomination of life itself. It waited there, silently, watching for an opportunity to do whatever wicked thing it had come to do. That’s when Ethan saw movement for the first time, and he drew the revolver from his pack and rested it next to him, drawing the hammer back until it clicked softly into its pent-up ready position.

  Chris and Madison began to talk softly to each other, their sleeping bags beginning to boil and roll with their play. Softly, Madison giggled, and a large black man stepped into the firelight. He was barrel-chested and shirtless; the torn remains of his dungaree cover-alls the only clothing on him. He walked through the edge of the firelight barefoot, paying no mind to the people arranged there in their sleeping bags. Ethan raised the revolver and tracked him as he walked through.

  If it had not been for his past troubles with his imagination and his reality, the numerous visits with doctors who just asked questions and listened, and the short stay in a special hospital, he would have shouted at the man walking through. He clamped down on his voice and refused it flight. Then, an older man came through, mostly naked like the first man, but trailing a young girl with him. This man was old and grizzled, but still healthy of body and ample of muscle. The type of physique earned through endless hard labor. He wore shorts, not nearly enough to protect him from the cold, and a straw hat, useless in the darkness. He, like the first man, paid no attention to those gathered around the fire.

  Ethan lowered the gun as a woman came through. She was dark of skin, darker than he was used to when compared to the friends he had back at the college. She wore a torn and soiled sundress, a bit too small for her frame but functional. In the crook of her arm, she carried a small bundle, most certainly an infant. Before she left the firelight, a boy came through, really more a young man, trailing behind him a visibly exhausted male child. They were as thread bare and as mostly naked as the adults were. Not one of the many feet that had passed through wore shoes of any kind.

  As the boy reached the edge of the light, he vanished—not like a wisp of smoke, more like an over-active imagination catching itself in a lie and trying to quickly right itself. Ethan jammed the gun back in the pack after relieving the hammer, satisfied he had an episode like the ones he used to have as a child. He had been off medications for a couple of years now, and it was an unsettling thing in and of itself, but he felt secure in the fact that it had all been in his mind.

  He tied his pack tight and decided not to wait for Abby to come to her sexual senses. He took her gently, and she willingly allowed him. It was as short but as powerfully sweet as he had hoped and he was soon staring at the slowly moving stars with Abby a steamy puddle of satisfaction next to him.

  It was not until the morning when Chris found footprints that Ethan began to wonder.

  Chapter 3

  “Well, who the hell would have walked through here barefoot? It was pretty freaking cold out last night,” Fear was prominent in Chris’s voice.

  “I don’t know, man. What’s the big deal?” Ethan asked trying to sound more irritated than scared.

  “And look here, there was more than one: a child it looks like, and two or three other bigger people. What’s going on here?”

  “Relax, Chris, we got here late, it was dark, maybe they were here before we got here? It’s no big deal.”

  “I guess. It’s just creepy; not like me to miss something like that.”

  “Can we just go now? It’s cold and I want to make the house before sunset,” Abby half whined while clutching her coat around her.

  “It’s not hard to tell which way to go, huh? Just keep going uphill and you end up at the Heart House,” Madison mused more to herself than to anyone.

  “It’s still creepy. Man, do I have a headache,” Chris muttered as he began to follow Ethan uphill.

  The sun had not been in the sky long, so the air was still chill and a while away from being warm. The travelers could see their breath as they climbed, now beginning to encounter large boulders with a dried moss fixed to their surface.

  The group did not speak much as they walked, more strained than yesterday due to sore legs and blistered feet. They were not disgruntled yet, the idea of an adventure still fresh in their minds, but just not as jubilant as the day before. The idea of someone walking through their camp was a bit nerve-racking for most of them, except for Ethan, who was just flat out frightened.

  “You know, I just thought of this… Slaves walked this same trek trying to get away. They very well could have passed over this very ground,” Abby said wistfully, clearly taken by the idea of touching history. Her statement did nothing more than give Ethan greater reason to be disturbed.

  “Did this house handle a lot of runaway slaves?” Madison asked.

  “No, actually they didn’t. This was a side stop, sort of. When the main trail was impassable, the runaways would come in this direction. So, no, not many slaves past through here, but some did.”

  Ethan toyed with the idea of saying something, telling them about the people he had seen last night, but was afraid of their reaction, and for not telling them in the first place. It had to have been an episode, that was all. The doctor had told him they might return, and if they did to contact him or another qualified psychiatrist; this he would do when they got back. The University had them on staff if he needed them—hell, a whole department of them, actually.

  “Did any of them die on this mountain, trying to get to the house?”

  “Got me—there is not much written history about the Heart House, which is why I chose it as my project. If it does well enough in class, I will submit it to a publisher; see if I can’t earn a little money.”

  “I hope it works out. Are you going to put me in the dedication or something?” Chris asked.

  “No, not you, just your headache and a bottle of Turkey.”

  This brought a few chuckles, and the mood of the group began to lighten.

  Chris worked his way behind the others to watch Madison and Abby walk up the mountain. He so enjoyed women, and the opportunity to watch two rather nice looking ones work their way up the steep climb was an opportunity he did not wish to miss.

  “Hey, how good are you with that camera?” Madison asked Abby.

  “It’s what I am studying. Why?”

  “I was thinking of adding some more risqué pictures to my portfolio and wondered if you wouldn’t mind shooting them at the house up there.”

  “What do you mean?” Abby asked slowly.

  “Well, nothing too bad, you know—n
ot exactly pornographic, but implied nudes and full nudes…and maybe some with the guys back there watching our butts.”

  “I’m game!” Chris shouted.

  “Well, yeah, I guess. I don’t want credit for any of them…and you can’t tell anyone I shot them.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m trying to be a photojournalist; it might hurt my chances if a serious news magazine found out—”

  “Oh, well, okay, that’s fine. I just want to spice up my portfolio.”

  Abby almost ran directly into Ethan. He had stopped without warning and was just staring into the trees to the left. “What’s wrong, Ethan?”

  He looked pale and shaken, and did not reply to her question. She followed where he was looking, and there, standing next to a tree, was a soldier—not a modern soldier, but one wearing what looked like the remains of a eighteenth century British uniform. He was clearly wounded in many places and bleeding from most of them. He was just standing there, breathing heavily, and looking up hill.

  “What the fuck?” Chris hissed.

  Ethan turned. “You see him? It’s not just me?” he whispered.

  “I see him…” Abby said as she pulled free her camera, much like an old western gun slinger, and began snapping shots, one after the other with different zoom settings, as fast as she could take them.

  The emotion of everyone was thick enough to taste. Then the distant call of hounds started again, but this time uphill. The soldier turned and fled silently down the hill, plowing headlong but making no sound whatsoever.

  “Yeah, okay. I think it’s time to head back,” Madison said shakily.

  “And what, not take any of those pictures?” Chris asked absently, still staring off in the direction the soldier had fled.

  “Did we just see a ghost?” Abby asked.

  “The hounds have stopped,” Chris commented.

  “We are almost to the top and it’s past noon; we would not be able to make it down by nightfall. Should we just continue?” Ethan suggested.

  “Wouldn’t going down be easier than going up?” Madison argued.

  “No, it’s a lot trickier. It’s very easy to trip and fall—”

  “Let’s continue, get to the house, and take the pictures. We can come back down in the morning,” Abby decided.

  “Are you two scared of ghosts or something?” Chris teased.

  “You didn’t just see that?” Madison whispered.

  “Well, yeah, I saw something, but it’s gone now, and it didn’t hurt us or anything. Probably just a trick set up by farmer Joe-Bob down there to make us talk to other people about it, bring in more tourists. I don’t know—start an urban legend?”

  “Come on. Let’s get up there and out of these woods. I, for one, would be more comfortable if we were more in the open or even under the roof of a house,” Ethan said as he began climbing again. “That and I’m hungry.”

  The others paused a moment before following. Abby guessed that even if there was such a thing as ghosts, they could not hurt anyone—they were, after all, ghosts. She really did want to get these pictures taken and finish her book. She was certain it would not be a best seller, but if it sold anything at all, she would be able to get rid of that rusty blue Nova waiting for them at the farmer’s house.

  “Do you believe in ghosts, Abby?” Madison asked, still shaken by her experience.

  “Well, I didn’t, but I am not so sure now. If I was the only one to have seen it or if someone was trying to convince me they had seen it, then no.”

  “Do you think that was a joke or a trick or whatever?”

  “Did you notice there was no noise when the guy took off running?”

  “Yeah, but don’t they teach soldiers that? You know, in basic training or whatever?”

  “He was running headlong down the mountain. He was not attempting to be silent at all, yet there was no noise—that’s what bothers me.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. I think it was a trick, you know, to make us talk and start rumors or folklore or whatever—make more people come and see this house.”

  “It’s possible, I guess.”

  The mountain finally made a lazy layover, and the uphill climb became the littered floor of a forest. “We must be close now, maybe a few hundred yards,” Abby called ahead to Ethan.

  “How could someone live up here with no roads and stuff?” Madison asked.

  “There was a road, but it winds up the mountain and is now mostly grown over. It would have taken us a few days to walk it,” Abby explained.

  “Oh…”

  They continued in silence, Madison evidently having run her brain dry of questions. The forest here, although thick, seemed runt and twisted. None of the trees seemed to grow very tall but they were obviously ancient, most of them showing signs of illness or at least a rough life in this part of the woods. Some were even burned—small circular scorch marks almost completely obliterated by bulging bark growth.

  The forest suddenly gave way to a barren field made mostly of sun-baked mud, and only a few scrub weeds were brave enough to try growing there. It looked very much the definition of scorched earth, and to everyone, it just seemed wrong. However, in the very center stood a pristine white mansion, large and lavish looking. It held many windows in its three floors and glared a brilliant white on one side, the other drawing shadows along the dead earth.

  “Wow!” Abby whispered. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Jesus, it’s huge!” Chris muttered.

  “Oh, I could live here in a heartbeat; needs some landscaping, though,” Madison said brightly.

  Ethan just stood there, staring at the mansion. “What’s wrong, Ethan? See another ghost?” Chris asked sarcastically.

  “Hey, bonehead, who has been coming up here and taking care of this house?” Ethan shot back.

  “What do you mean, and don’t call me bonehead, jackass.” Chris sounded genuinely hurt.

  “That house could have been built yesterday. The paintjob is like new and the windows aren’t broken. I mean, come on, the house is like two hundred and fifty years old, and I know that farmer down there isn’t coming up here and taking care of it. Hell, his own house is about to fall over.”

  They just stared, considering what Ethan had just said, and once more, fear rose among them like a thin fog.

  “I would think a haunted house would look less, I don’t know, hospitable?” Abby commented.

  “Maybe that’s its power: draws people in, welcomes them home…” Ethan almost whispered.

  “Well, now you’re freaking me out, dude,” Chris said.

  “What should we do: just stand here?” Madison asked.

  “No, let’s go ahead, see what’s up there. It’s just weird—the fact it’s not all run down and all,” Ethan commented before starting out across the field and toward the white building known as the Heart House.

  Chapter 4

  A short iron fence skirted the house, which was more decorative than defensive. Near the front walk, it ended abruptly, allowing passage to a narrow gravel path leading to the house. There were no bushes or grass, just sporadic weeds strangled by the dry, infertile soil, battling for their right to survive in this dead place. The foundation of the house was a neatly piled line of red bricks, which included a stair leading to a wood porch, still whole and solid, still a dazzling white.

  Ethan, as he had been doing for the past couple of days, led the group along the walk, past the small statue of a black man holding a lantern, and to the foot of the brick stairs. Here, some minor weathering shown in the paint, and some of the boards of the porch were slightly warped and askew. The front part of the house bore wood shingles painted a brilliant white. The front door was a deep red, ominous in its color, simply too much like cooling blood. There were no windows along the sides of the door, but large glass bays adorned either side, indicating large rooms just beyond.

  “It’s bigger than I thought it would be,” Abby said to herself.

  “Sort of scary, do
n’t you think?” Madison asked, her voice more excited than apprehensive.

  “Are we going up or not?” Chris worked his way between the others to mount the steps.

  Ethan waited, watching to see if the porch would actually hold him, if a brick would work itself loose and send him sprawling. He did not expect any of this, considering the condition of the house, but if Chris was so adventurous, it was not a bad idea to just wait and see.

  Chris made the porch quickly—taking two steps at a time—and strode to the front door. He tried the old iron handle, more a gate latch than a doorknob, but found it securely locked. “You guys coming?” he asked as he headed toward one of the large windows to one side. “This place is huge! Wait till you see the inside.”

  Ethan began his ascent of the stairs, careful to use each one before the girls behind him. They were solid and seemed not very old at all. They were affixed with a cement not quite the same as modern buildings, grainier and darker blue in color, but which held firmly. The porch, however, was made of thick planks of wood, each giving slightly under his weight, but certainly sturdy enough to be safe. The two behind him followed shortly after and almost in perfect unison.

  “There is a huge stairway in there—I mean big, like Life Styles of the Rich and Famous big,” Chris called to them as Abby began to dig in her pack for the key.

  “There’s some furniture in there, old-style stuff,” Madison observed from the other window.

  Ethan strolled over to where she was and looked in. “It looks like stuff from the late eighteen hundreds, not as old as I would have thought.”

  “There have been a few families living here. The Hearts owned the house until 1878 before the last one died. The house was then sold off in a tax auction or something in the early 1900s,” Abby reported.

  “You’ve been reading up on this house, haven’t you?” Ethan asked while looking through the window.

  Abby stopped what she was doing and looked up at Ethan. “That sounded pretty nerdy, huh?”