OAKWOOD ISLAND
Other titles by
Angella Cormier and Pierre C Arseneault
Dark Tales for Dark Nights
“The stories are amazing.” Angela Yuriko Smith, author of End of Mae.
“Dark Tales for Dark Nights, the first book by collaborative Canadian authors Pierre C Arsenault and Angella Jacob, is sure to impress all kinds of readers with its imaginative and creative genius. Each story sucked me in with its normalcy and made me jump with its sudden twist into darkness.” Sarah Butland, author of Blood Day.
“Dark Tales for Dark Nights is a well-written gem that keeps you guessing with its brilliant twists and turns! With its interesting characters, original plots and vivid imagery, this book is well worth a read! But maybe keep the lights on...” Goodreads review by Natalie Bowley.
Titles by Pierre C Arseneault
Sleepless Nights
“I thought the book was terrific, both the writing and the stories themselves. I like the way you’re drawn to the dark side of humanity; I relate. You’re on your way, Pierre.” Joan Hall Hovey, author of The Deepest Dark.
Titles by Angella Cormier
A Maiden’s Perception: A Collection of Thoughts, Reflections and Poetry
ISBN: 978-1-932926-52-1 (eBook edition)
Copyright © 2016 by Angella Cormier and Pierre C Arseneault
Cover Design: Angella Cormier
Cover Photos: Leo Paul Cormier (front photo) and Pierre C Arseneault (back photo)
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photo-copying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system without written permission of the publisher, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
Shadow Dragon Press
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Tijeras, New Mexico 87059
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http://www.shadowdragonpress.com/oakwood.html
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Oakwood Island
a novel by
Angella Cormier & Pierre C Arseneault
Shadow Dragon Press
Albuquerque, New Mexico
Table of Contents
Open Arms Orphanage
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Author’s Note
About the Authors
Open Arms Orphanage
Oakwood Island
September 1989
The muffled voices grew louder outside the orphanage. Young Maggie, a brown-haired and blue-eyed girl of eight was sitting at her small wooden desk, writing out her list of birthday wishes. Her pen glided carefully across the soft paper. Her handwriting was neat and well-spaced, just like Miss Jones had taught her. Her list wasn’t very long, especially for a soon to be nine-year-old little girl. She was just about finished dotting her last i when she heard stomping down the corridor coming toward her small room. Scott Cudmore, one of her few friends at the home, flew past her open door and then backtracked and stuck his head into the room.
“There’s a crazy woman outside! She’s trying to come in but Miss Jones won’t let her! Come see!” The two kids ran to the window pressing their noses and cheeks against the cold glass pane, trying to look down at the commotion on the front steps.
The strange woman wore a plain beige dress with a grey wool cardigan over top. Her eyes were bulging and though the kids couldn’t make out what she was saying, it was obvious she was upset and trying to push her way through to the front door. The woman appeared to be in her mid-thirties, her hair frizzy and flying around her head every time she spoke, or rather yelled in Miss Jones’ face.
Just then an ambulance turned the corner with the sirens wailing and pulled up in the driveway. Exasperated, the woman flopped herself down on the steps and reached into her cardigans left pocked and pulled out something small. She extended her hand towards Miss Jones who was too preoccupied, waving her arms in the air as the ambulance came speeding up the long driveway. Without looking up, the woman placed the small gift box she had been holding next to Miss Jones’ feet. She then saw the two men dressed in all white scrubs running towards her. She hung her head down and began to sob. The men picked her up, each taking her by one arm and carried her away towards the ambulance.
Maggie and Scott watched with wide eyes as she was placed on a stretcher and tied down at her ankles and wrists. Before the men brought the stretcher to the ambulance, the young girl could have sworn that she heard her name being screamed by the crazy woman. She locked eyes on her just as the tingling of shivers started at the nape of her neck and crept their way down her back. Scott ran out as fast as he had come in, going downstairs to join in the questioning of who the mystery woman was and why she wanted to get inside the building.
There would be no answers to those questions though, as Maggie would later find out at suppertime. Miss Jones put the last bit of questions to rest by telling the children seated in the kitchen “Some things are just best left unsaid.”
And so it was.
Prologue
Oakwood Island Ferry Boat
June
The old man stood alone at the front of the ferry, his long grey hair snagging the edges of his old brown hat. The crosswinds of the bay here were strong, smack in the middle of the expanse of water between Bayview (the mainland) and Oakwood Island, where the ferry was heading. Jack Whitefeather’s eyes, thin slits among his dark wrinkles, watched the island approach ever so slowly from a distance. His nostrils filled with the salt water fragrance that had been a part of him since birth. Having grown up on the island, Jack felt a sense of peace come over him as his home approached.
From above came a cawing sound. Jack raised his eyes but had to close them for a moment, the bright and hot sun burning a temporary blackness in his sight. He raised a hand to his forehead and now able to focus better, he spotted the large black winged bird. It flew in circles above the ferry a few times, before swooping down and landing on the ledge of the ferry right in front of Jack.
“Nice to see ya again, you ol’ squawk
er!”
The crow’s head cocked to face Jack, his black eyes looking at him for a few moments before turning its gaze to the island once more. Jack buttoned up his faded red shirt, the winds getting stronger still. Leaning forward as his fingers made their way up to the last two buttons, he whispered to the bird.
“Have I missed much while I was away?” The bird just stood still, its shiny black feathers flicking in the wind. It readjusted itself on the railing every few minutes, the wind nearly making it lose its grip and being toppled over. Jack chuckled and moved his gaze out to the view before him. The eastern side of the island was now clearly in sight. From this distance, the church steeple shone bright against the green of the many oak and willow trees that covered the land.
The island was mainly populated on this side, all the way up to the northern most part of the island, where the old lighthouse still stood watch and warned boats coming in from international waters of its presence. Several homes, a school, a restaurant and stores, a police station, and a small four storey hospital, which also contained a psychiatric wing named after the doctor whom established it, comprised the main elements that were part of the eastern side of the island. On the west and south sides, due to the dangerously high cliffs and severe high winds, this part of the island had not been developed much, shy for a few remote homes and cottages for those seeking solitude and privacy.
The island, spanning only 59 kilometres long and at its maximum width of 18 kilometres, was small yet held so much in terms of its community. The residents of Oakwood Island were very close-knit. They held an appreciation for tradition and family and through every hardship they were faced with, they always came together as a community. Jack, even as an outcast and loner (by choice) felt welcomed and accepted. The year-round population, a mere 1633 residents, had not fluctuated much over the last few decades, until this past year that is. Jack’s gaze turned downward and his head followed. Something had to be done soon, this he knew. He had to find a way to protect his homeland from the forces that were at work here over the last year.
The sound of someone approaching the deck made the crow flutter its wings a few times before it took off, flying into the salty damp air of the bay. Jack watched him fly off before turning to see who had startled them both out of their reverie, entranced by the memories that the island seemed to be beckoning them with.
Jack saw a man struggling to put on his sports coat, the wind catching the sleeves and making it very hard to accomplish such a simple task of getting dressed.
“Enough wind to knock over the best of sailors, ain’t it?” Jack called out with a grin.
The man, finally having managed to put on his coat, looked up at Jack and chuckled. Jack recognized the detective at once and felt a twinge of worry, knowing the only reason why he would be heading towards the island was because something (or someone) else had been found.
“Yes sir, although I doubt any sailors would be wearing a suit and tie!” The man in the suit came closer and stood a few feet away from Jack, buttoning up his jacket.
“You’re Detective Burke, aren’t you?” Jack stood with his hands in the pockets of his old blue jeans, swaying with each blow the wind sent his way.
“I certainly am. I guess it’s no surprise anymore to see me heading to Oakwood. I’ve seen you around on my earlier visits. Are you from the island or just a visitor?” The detective seemed very at ease with talking to him, so Jack took full advantage of the situation to try to get some information from him, to see if there had been any progress or leads in the weeks he’d been gone.
“Yup. I grew up here. My father was born and raised on the island, and he met my mother on the mainland. She was a native and grew up on a reserve over there. But one visit here was all it took for her to fall in love with the land and the sea. They settled down here and this is where they raised me. Well where my mother raised me. My father passed away when I was but a youngling.”
Detective Burke took out a pack of Peter Jackson menthol cigarettes and offered one to Jack before going on. “Sorry to hear that. Couldn’t have been easy losing your father so young.”
Jack shook his head no to the smoke, and pulled his hands out of his pockets. He placed his thumbs in his belt loops, where Burke now noticed were a handful of feathers on one side, entwined with a leather strap and some beading.
“No, wasn’t easy, but we managed. This is home to me and always will be. I love my spot deep in the woods where I can be at one with nature. I can’t say I’m too proud of the place lately though, with all the killings. No doubt that’s why you’re heading over there again?” Jack nodded his head in the direction of the island, much closer now. Detective Burke lit his cigarette with a Zippo lighter and took a long drag, exhaling loudly before he answered.
“I can’t say too much about it. One because I’m not supposed to and second, I just don’t have any answers yet. Maybe you can answer a few questions for me…off the record?”
Jack looked at the island and then at Detective Burke. He didn’t like setting himself up for trouble, but he knew that if he didn’t answer his questions, he’d rouse suspicion instead of being of help. The last thing he wanted was to delay the work being done on capturing whatever – or whoever – was responsible for the gruesome killings that had taken place over the last year.
“Sure. Ask away, sir.”
The detective paused their conversation by holding up his index finger, cigarette smoke circling his fingers and hand. He reached down into his pants pocket and pulled out his cell phone. After a few moments of searching for something on the device, he turned it over and showed Jack a picture on the screen.
“Have you ever seen tracks like these?”
Jack leaned in closer and squinted to see the picture against the glaring sunlight on the screen. The picture on the screen was of an animal track, no doubt, made in mud and what appeared to be a slimy substance. They looked like canine prints but only one thing seemed off to Jack. Whatever made these tracks seemed to only have two legs.
“I can’t say that I have. I know there have been animal remains found on the island. Are you thinking whatever made these tracks is what was found dead?”
The detective looked at Jack with curiosity, seemingly trying to read Jack’s reaction rather than his response. He took one last drag of his smoke, flicked it over the railing, into the bay and went on.
“I don’t think it was. We only found parts of animals and of several different species. Whatever made these tracks is quite probably still out there, and more than likely what is causing the body count. We did find some human remains mixed in with the animal ones. But there was so little left we couldn’t identify who they belonged to. We suspect a possible case of rabies or some other form of predatory animal that made its way to the island…somehow…”
The detective put the phone away in his pocket and shrugged.
“You said you live out in the woods, Jack. Maybe you can do me a favour and keep an eye out for either fresh tracks or animals that aren’t acting like they normally would?”
Jack nodded his head once before replying.
“I can do that. No problem.”
“Whatever it is, let’s just hope we can find it before it strikes again,” Burke trailed off as he turned to look at the island, very close now.
Jack nodded in agreement. He took off his hat, smoothed his long grey hair and put the hat back on his head. He pondered if he should mention the fact that he had once spotted a creature that may have made these tracks, but he knew that would lead to more questioning; questions that he wasn’t sure how to answer quite yet.
There came a loud voice from the speakers above the two men.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are approaching Oakwood Island and will be ready to dock in approximately fifteen minutes. Please return to your vehicles and prepare to disembark. Thank you for traveling
with Bayview Ferry Services and have a great day.”
Jack and Detective Burke turned towards the narrow door and headed down to the lower deck. Just as they arrived at the landing, the detective turned to Jack and put out his business card.
“Thanks for the chat. If anything comes to mind or if you notice anything out of the ordinary, come see me at the police station. I should be here for at least three days.”
Jack took the card and shook Burke’s hand, his tanned, leathery skin smooth against the detective’s rough grip.
“Will do,” Jack replied, tucking the card in his breast pocket.
With this, the detective turned to the left side of the three rows of cars parked on the ferry’s lower deck. Jack continued on straight down the middle row, until he reached his old red Ford truck. He got in the driver’s seat and buckled up. Thoughts of the animal he had spotted one night while bringing in wood at his cabin came to mind. It had been dark and for the first few minutes, he had questioned if someone was on his property. Rustling bushes wasn’t uncommon where he lived, right in the middle of the island. The woods were deep and animals were often spotted there.
That night however, he had sensed he was being watched before he ever heard the noise. Perhaps it was paranoia, but Jack knew better. His instincts held much power, and his mother had taught him to listen to them from a very young age. That night he had grown rattled, worried about what was lurking in the darkness, which was very uncommon to Jack. He had always been connected with nature and the animals that lived in it. He heard nothing more from outside and so he’d gone to bed shaken but convinced he was safe inside.
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