Tangled Webs

by Bibiana Krall

  “Come on Mom. We both know you’ve been reading a strange book and not getting enough rest. Are you telling me a ghost was in our den thinking about hurting Ethan while he slept? Ghosts don’t exist. Nothing like that does, Ma.”

  As calm and logical as she was acting, her internal distress grew and grew.

  Had she told her mom about the creepy incident at the lake? Or about the mist-like vision? The answer made her stomach twist and buckle.

  “Oh yes. She was real.” Mom was calm and cool as she remembered more, “Right over there. I saw her. Didn’t look like an angel this time. Dressed in a wedding gown, but the hem was dirty and shredded. I locked myself in the bathroom for a while. Although if she is a ghost, guess she could’ve passed through the door? When I peeked out a few minutes later she was gone, and Ethan was asleep. So, I went back to bed with the lights on.”

  “That’s weird. I don’t get it. We need to take a deep breath and talk this through. When is the last time you saw Dr. Scotia? Maybe he could help you figure this out?”

  “Nothin’ for me to figure sweetie.” Her mom’s tone was belligerent and terse. “I’ll make an appointment so he can pick my brain, and so you’ll stop asking me about it, but I saw her. If I’m guessing right… by the look on your face, you have too?”

  Deep sigh. Count to three. Exhale. Avoid the last question at all costs.

  “Okay. You win. Don’t forget to make the appointment. I’ve just decided that I do need that hike with Ethan. I’ll be back home by suppertime. Maybe this will give both of us a break? Have been jonesing for a kubie slider. Kielbasa on a bun is even more delicious with a side of truffle fries. Boyko’s is doing curbside pick-up again. I’ll put in my order for two.”

  “Yup. Heard the same. Sounds like a plan kiddo.”

  Mom picked up her book and coffee cup and drifted back to her bedroom. She didn’t slam the door, but she may as well have.

  There are some arguments you can’t ever win. The wisdom comes when you no longer desire to have the last word.

  Seychelle switched gears and stepped inside the laundry room to pull on a pair of thermal tights to wear under her jeans.

  Cold, wet air seemed to seep down into her bones, but it was not the temperature in the house.

  A white sweatshirt layered under her hot-pink and black flannel shirt finished her sporty chic look, in case she and Ethan met up.

  The need for comfort was probably more about something else––she was simply unwilling to admit it.

  One o’clock seemed like a long way off and she was too curious about the island to wait for Ethan, “Why do I have to sit around waiting for anyone?”

  Funny how that works. She was a free agent, but deeply regretted having a disagreement with her mom and knocked lightly on the bedroom door before leaving.

  “Hey Mom. I’m really sorry. Don’t always listen so good. Love you lots. Please call Dr. Scotia. Okay? Be home with dinner for us. Bye.”

  No answer, but she hadn’t expected one and hoped things would be better later on when they’d had a chance to put some distance between them.

  The backpack and trail mix downstairs were all she needed to go out for the afternoon, as she kept a case of bottled water and a broken-in pair of mountaineers in the backseat of her Jeep.

  The time of day didn’t really matter anymore, as ever since Covid, either everything was open or it wasn’t.

  Thankfully the gas station already had its pumps on and she filled up, knowing that it’s better to have extra fuel when you aren’t sure which way you’re headed.

  Her old Garmin worked a lot better than her smartphone, so she plugged it in and decided to come around from the other side of the lake.

  There were tons of idyllic places to stop and take more photos.

  Every day is an opportunity when you live a creative life.

  The miles flew by as she cruised the scenic pass with the window down and circled into the basin where the lake dropped off and wild blueberries grew.

  The island connected to the beach with grassy mounds you could easily use to get out there when the water disappeared.

  Medicine Lake looked more like a prairie this time of year where small plants, poked through the mud in green clumps. Perhaps hoping they would be the lucky ones to make it past winter.

  The bite in the air reminded Seychelle to bring her gloves and stuff her down jacket into the top flap of the backpack.

  It wasn’t far to go when she parked and enjoyed a stroll, as shallow ponds of water in the flats reflected clouds in a surrealist fairy tale.

  Nobody was around, but it was still early and slack time between the summer campers and leaf peepers.

  You might think that living in a place like this year-round would make a person stop appreciating the view, but it didn’t.

  Awestruck, she watched the pink and violet bands disappear beyond the ridge when the sun rose higher.

  Wet earth, pinesap and fresh air cleared out her nose and frazzled mind. Being extra careful, she adjusted the straps on her pack and balanced on a boulder sticking out of the water.

  “Ghosts, killer fish and invisible church bells. Whatever dudes.”

  Determined to get a grip, she hurried across the mud and finally made it to Spirit Island.

  It wasn’t a huge island and in less than fifteen minutes she’d walked its circumference. A boulder next to the biggest tree helped her pinpoint where she’d spotted the distraught woman the day before.

  The fleabane and fireweed grew thick and soft. If anyone had been stomping around, she would’ve been able to tell.

  Not knowing what else to do, she set her camera up on the tripod and attempted to find the ledge where she’d been the day before.

  As she was leaning in to look through the lens, something brushed the back of her neck and the stink of rotten eggs and oxidized iron filled her nose.

  Black ooze dripped off the lip of the cliff and a stoic woman stood up there. A statue was silently watching her. It was not a hiker and it sure as hell wasn’t Ethan.

  The wedding gown was traditional with pearl buttons up her high collar and covered in old-fashioned lace. The hem was so black and frayed that it resembled the top of Mount Wilcox.

  A hawk flew over, but he didn’t stop.

  Seychelle realized that she had miscalculated on what it might look like if monsters were real or if people could actually return from the dead.

  The canyon was wide and she had plenty of time to collect her things and just pretend it away. Walk on, not say a word. Vowing never to return or speak of it.

  If she ignored it long enough, it would disappear. Seychelle could will trouble away. She was good at that.

  Fools dream in pastel pastiche, but philosophers know that certain situations and especially vengeful things can stain the rocks for centuries.

  The air moved and rippled. The shallow waters did the same. She felt it before she heard it.

  A battle cry. The wounded angst of a she-ra come undone.

  Black ooze turned to mist and the web traced the flats from the woman down to the island. When the fog reached the grass, it hesitated.

  “Oh. Okay. That was bizarre. WTF?” Seychelle coughed nervously into her hand and realized that at the very least, she would have a great story to share later.

  Maybe mom wasn’t as sick as she’d first imagined?

  Just as she was feeling in the clear and ready to trek back across the stones to the parking lot, the mist reformed into a beautiful young woman with thick, dark braids.

  She wore a cathedral veil that billowed and undulated behind her body. If she didn’t have such a devilish expression, she would’ve been breathtaking.

  There was no more time to evaluate, as the bride’s hands wrapped tightly around Seychelle’s neck and squeezed hard.

  The pressure steadied. Sharp pain eked into her temples and crumpled her thoughts like a paper bag.

  She thrashed from side to side and tried to kick out the woman�
��s shins, but her hiking boots merely sliced through the phantom bride like a cloud.

  Struggling to find a way to loosen her captor’s grip, she punched, clawed and scratched, but all she connected with was a soft, silky puff of tepid water, or was it tears?

  Before she lost consciousness, the ghost began to rant and moan as she dragged Seychelle by the scruff, kicking and wheezing across the mud flats towards the center of the lake.

  The woman’s grip was hard and unfeeling, like the steel maw of an animal trap.

  The more Seychelle struggled against it, the more she grew accustomed to the pain, as if she were under a spell or heavily drugged.

  Suddenly the ghost let go of her and she fell forward, her hands mired in filth.

  The thick mud greedily sucked her body under and she screamed out with the agony of a true believer, “Help me!” as phantom bells began to ring.

  Ethan wasn’t worried about Seychelle. She had traveled to dangerous places alone and knew how to take care of herself.

  He was secretly hoping that she would be waiting there to hike and share a laugh, but he totally understood if she wasn’t up for it.

  Being engaged for a few years and then calling it off like she had takes guts. He wasn’t sure if he would’ve found the strength to do the same

  There’s enormous pressure from friends and family to grow up and settle down. Around here, getting married was usually what that meant.

  At some point we all have to decide, are we in it or not?

  His brain engaged in pitiful nonsense when he was by himself or driving around in his truck.

  The Health Canada guy wasn’t much of a talker and after he’d delivered the case of freshwater samples from three rivers and two additional lakes, the scientist grunted, ‘Thanks’ and went straight back to work.

  Introverts like him appear to be the smartest, but Ethan reflected that they were rarely fun to chat with.

  Returning to his truck with a panoramic view of Pyramid Lake, he’d cracked open a packet of dry-roasted sunflower seeds and sipped his lukewarm coffee.

  Six shots of espresso was enough caffeine to grow a decent mustache and a handful of roasted seeds held the tepid coffee down. The breakfast of champions.

  A snooze in the truck seemed like a good idea as the VHF had been quiet all morning. Why oh why did he get up so early?

  Odd, that he’d slept so deeply last night, but when he woke up and swallowed… it felt as if something alien coated the lining of his throat. It was sticky like peanut butter and tasted like damp potting soil.

  Not wanting to disturb anyone, he’d chugged two mugs of Lipton with a spoonful of honey, scribbled the note to Seychelle and left.

  It wasn’t like they were dating. It wasn’t like he could or should just show up like he had last night. He’d wanted to explain for months why he was so open to hanging out. Why he couldn’t get her out of his mind, no matter how hard he tried.

  Nobody likes to be crowded and nobody worth keeping appreciates it when you move too fast.

  Patience was something he had in most things, but he really, really liked her and wished sometimes they’d met somewhere else, so his family and everything that went on in small towns wasn’t a part of this.

  Hanging his head and throwing a few swear words around only made his stomach slosh.

  Wanting to be somebody else is a total waste of time.

  Snoozing off, and feeling much better as the warmth in the cab let him drift.

  Ethan had tossed and turned on the sofa the night before, wishing she were next to him. Feeling electrified and restless that she was sleeping only twenty feet away, but may as well have been walking on the moon.

  His CB radio started spluttering.

  Zipping from frequency to frequency. Someone spoke French, as if they were underwater or a million miles away, “Je profite de votre silence.”

  He hadn’t done well in his secondary language class and he struggled, trying to figure it out.

  I make money from your silence? No, that wasn’t right. I bask in your silence? What the heck did that mean?

  The connection hummed, crackled, and hissed with a schwa loop, as if he was turning the dial on an antique radio and it couldn’t get a strong enough signal.

  Then the eerie sounds came in loud and clear.

  Weeping. Deep waves of sorrow and grief cut through the grogginess of his midday nap.

  “That’s nuts man.” The caffeine hadn’t done a dang thing, but this freaked him out enough to instantly blast him awake.

  Like vines twisting up through the shingles, her poison ivy reached for him.

  He picked up the handset and tried to get it to work, but the channel was jammed. The dramatic sounds and genuine emotion made him feel so distraught, he wanted to crash the truck into the nearest tree or throw the radio off a cliff to make it stop.

  Ethan managed to keep calm and did neither.

  Flipping off the power mode on the radio, he hit reverse on the drive shaft and blew out some gravel.

  It wasn’t a mystery as to where he needed to go. For the millionth time he wished his phone worked out here, but knowing that you’re on your own is an important part of life in the Canadian Rockies.

  Time has a frustrating way of slowing down when you need it to speed up. Why was he trippin’ anyway?

  Seychelle probably didn’t even show. And whatever this crazy situation was, he would handle it. Maybe, just maybe he would finally be straight with her about how he felt.

  Bristlecone pines, Douglas fir and balsams shaded the single-track road covered in white gravel. A solitary movement in an ocean of evergreens, as his pickup hugged the curves of the mountain.

  One more pass and he would be there.

  The sky above the forest was tinged with deep purple and indigo blues. The promise of a storm coming. Nature’s symbolic sign of storms and change.

  If a human heart has wings his did. He didn’t breathe again until he got to the parking lot, but that’s when the worry got real.

  Her Jeep was locked up and it gnawed at him when she wasn’t there.

  That could only mean one thing and he yanked up the parking brake on the steering column and jumped out.

  The keys were left in the Jeep ignition and something deep down made him wonder what he might find?

  What if? Nature was not the only danger out here. His inner monologue would not shut up. Worst-case scenarios don’t help you stay focused when things are falling apart.

  Doesn’t matter now does it, huh? Gotta find her. Gotta stop this wimpy, ass whaa… what the hell is this thing I’m looking for anyway?

  His hackles rose the closer he got to the lakeshore. Something was definitely off and thankfully her boot prints were easily followed.

  Why had she walked the perimeter of the entire island?

  Her expensive photography equipment was scattered, as if something had startled her and the backpack lay open on the ground. Her house keys were a few feet away in a tuft of grass, as if someone or something had tackled her.

  Regret tastes so bitter; it could go down in flames and wreck the back of your throat.

  Where the hell was she?

  Ethan was a ranger for lots of reasons, but one of them was his ability to track animals and to find lost humans.

  You might be surprised at how many things happen in the wilderness, considering about eighty percent of it has nothing to do with wild animals.

  His great-grandfather had been a gas and oil diviner, and a tracker, but he sold out to industrial companies that made their profit from killing off most of the beaver and fox habitats, the hole diggers who arrived looking to exploit natural resources.

  Bird tracks and human boot prints decorated the mud. The light v-formation was similar to a seagull and not as deep or imprinted as a goose.

  The prints covered the point and he licked his index finger, and then stuck it down in the goo to see if the edge of the boot track was still soft.

  It was.
Which meant less than twelve hours in the current conditions.

  So she went after a bird, but left her wallet and expensive camera?

  His gaze stopped on something white flapping on the breeze in the middle of the almost empty lake.

  Tons of things happen in Jasper, but this one felt different. Hostile. Evil. Feral.

  A wedding veil? As in some hippie, tourist chick just got married out here and it blew away?

  It was too strange to ignore and he hurried back to his truck to grab the stand up paddle board he carried around on the roof rack, in case he had spare time to paddle.

  The plan was to take off the fins and flip it end on end until he could safely get out to the creepy veil.

  The water in the deepest part of the lake was less than a foot deep, but the mud was still unforgiving and he took his time.

  As he got nearer, a deep dread overtook him, even though he was surrounded by majestic, immeasurable beauty.

  Something terrible was here with him now. Something so oppressive, soul sucking and dark, that when it began to rain, he felt almost relieved because it masked how freaked out he was.

  Finally, he was at the mysterious white gauze and the lake water was now at least an inch higher than before from the torrential rain shower.

  Tugging and pulling, he tried to pry the fabric loose, but it was embedded in the filth.

  Shloop. The mesh-like gauze finally came loose and he fell backward on his bum when the tension broke. What he hadn’t figured on was that it was also attached to a human skull.

  It’s impossible to describe how unnerved he felt, as his hip hit the paddleboard and the skull tumbled away to land unceremoniously in a mud puddle.

  Fury. The sky offered a glimpse of another world with clouds streaming in and out of the valley. Purple-bruised globs threaded the sky with exclamation points.

  Thunder came soon after.

  The weeping began again, but this time it was all around him. It was everywhere, in the rain, in the air and inside his mind.