Tales From the Lake, page 12
***
The next day I was in history class, falling asleep through the lesson on the Spartan war. My mind was imprinted with the image of the woman and those eyes staring at me. What did she want? I jumped up in class with a slight shriek, causing everyone to laugh at me.
“Give him a break, will you?” Kristen Avery stood up for me, our eyes meeting as she handed back the papers I’d knocked to the floor. It’s the longest I think she ever looked at me, and it made me go numb with butterflies inside.
Mr. Dwight, our Neanderthal-looking professor, who used a pool stick as a pointer in class, was attempting to bring the students to order the Spartan way by slamming the stick on the desk in the front row. Luckily, class was over and I escaped my Spartan enemies by retreating into the hallway.
About halfway down the hall, I heard someone calling my name. It was Kristen. She had my notebook raised over her head. Kristen’s eyes had a way of saying I know you, even though I had hardly said two words to her all year. I wished we’d said more, but I never had the courage to talk to her. She had long brown hair and always wore some shade of lavender clothing. She was one of only a handful of kids in town with divorced parents, something taboo in Durham, and so, according to the masses she was considered an outcast. She also hung out with the older kids. As freshmen, to hang out with older kids meant drugs or alcohol were involved. So, rumors circulated that she was also wild in addition to having a poor upbringing. But none of that mattered. To me she was just Kristen, the pretty girl I wished I had the nerve to talk to in history class.
“You forgot this.” Kristen smiled, as she handed me my notebook covered in doodles. “I could give you the notes you missed. Mr. Dwight hinted at giving a pop quiz on Monday.”
“That would be cool,” I mustered, wiping the sweat from my forehead, hoping she didn’t see how nervous I was just talking to her.
“Rough night?” We walked to her locker, where she put her books away for first period lunch.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“You should hang out with us this weekend. We’re all up late enough. You’ll sleep afterward.”
Kristen didn’t have to explain who the “we” were, it was assumed. Sometimes they were called the Pisgah Rats, since they hung out up at Pisgah Mountain getting drunk every weekend.
“Uh, since I’m doing so shitty in history, I’m, uh . . . ” I didn’t want to tell her I couldn’t go, because I was unofficially forbidden to go anywhere until my grade improved.
“I get it,” she said, looking down, sadly. “Here are the notes. If you can get them back to me before the end of the day. I need to study, too.”
I watched her turn the corner towards the lunchroom feeling like a loser, until I looked at the paper. She had scribbled her phone number in the top corner and the message, “Eight o’clock, Pisgah, bring a jacket.”
At home, Mom had pizza ready for dinner, and by the time Dad came home, I excused myself to my room explaining I had to study for my history quiz. Mom seemed rather surprised, and Dad seemed happy. I was sad to disappoint them when seven-thirty came around and I snuck out of the bedroom window and made for the George Washington trail, heading toward Pisgah Mountain.
With flashlight in-hand, and Kristen’s notes, I was a bit anxious to see her. What would we talk about? Uh, yeah, so there’s this one-eyed woman stalking my house at night . . . or not!
I followed the trail to a fork, and went left to another well-worn path, occasioned with dead branches and overgrown brush. The darkness took on a shape of its own, making it hard to see past the immediate trees. A fox whined in the distance. I felt the sensation that I was being followed, half expecting to turn around and see the woman with the one blue eye, especially with the frequency of strange sounds emanating from the darkness—footsteps, and lots of them.
“Davey Crockett’s gonna lead us, boys!” Duff, one of the Pisgah Rats, rushed out of the woods, followed by a half dozen other high school seniors.
“What’re you doing here?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.
“Hey, I think we scared him,” said another kid.
Then I saw Tad’s bushy mop of hair and his favorite green jersey poke through the group. “Ooh, someone’s gonna be in trouble.”
The group laughed and started walking ahead. Tad lingered behind, curious what I was doing. “Which girl you got a crush on? Beth? No, it’s Kristen, isn’t it?”
I tried to play it off, but he kept teasing, until I punched him in the arm.
When we finally reached Pisgah Mountain, I was sweaty and self-conscious about seeing Kristen. There was nothing I could do about it. We took a short cut to the top, which only made me even more drenched and disgusting. At the top, we heard voices and heavy metal music played on a portable radio. A group of girls, including Kristen, lounged around a bonfire that provided warmth and light. The smell of cedar filled up the air, reminding me of cold winters when my dad and I would make a fire to heat up the house. There were at least twenty-five kids sprawled out over different areas of the smooth purple and white rock. Some moved on to higher, more private spaces, while some danced or played hacky-sack in a circle.
Kristen saw me just as Tad and his friends disappeared toward the dark part of the outlook. “You came.” Her cheeks were flushed and her hair curled. She wore a lavender hooded sweatshirt.
After we made small talk and I gave her back the history notes, Kristen led me to her favorite spot, a private area where tiny blue flowers grew along the edge. Some kids walked by, poking fun at us for being alone, assuming something more intimate was going to happen. Kristen shrugged them off. “This is how it all begins.” I looked over at her, confused. “The rumors. I’m not sure why I come. Maybe because I can’t stand to be at home.” She sighed and I waited for her to continue. “My mother usually has a boyfriend over. Sometimes she drinks a little too much.” She looked up at me quickly. “I’m not wild, Davey, regardless of what everyone says. I come up here to do my own thing, not get wasted. I could do that at home if I wanted to.”
I thought that was kind of cool. “I don’t listen to rumors,” I said. She smiled.
We were quiet with one another. I walked to the edge and tried to glance over the side.
“It’s bad luck to look over where someone died.” Kristen pointed to a pile of rocks gathered to form a base that held up a cross, constructed from two sticks and string.
“Who was it?”
“Don’t know. Some of the older kids might. It happened a long time ago. Whoever it was must’ve died instantly. It’s a really long drop.”
I sat next to her, wanting to take her hand, but didn’t want to ruin the moment, plus I was too scared.
Kristen pointed. “In the daytime, you can see the center of town from here, the church steeple, and even the Dairy Serve. You can probably see your house, too.” She glanced over at me and smiled. “So, what’s keeping you from sleeping? You look so tired in class.”
Her voice trailed off, as I laid back on the rock. It was peaceful. An occasional breeze filled the air with the smell of burnt embers. I wanted to answer and tell her about the window and the footsteps, but my eyes grew heavy. Kristen’s voice faded as she encouraged me to rest.
Through the web and darkness of my dreams a young red-haired woman knelt at the edge of the cliff. She was singing a song, softly. A bottle of rum was beside her. A mixed crowd of teenagers called for her, “Daphne, come on, you’re missing all the fun.” Daphne joined the drunken dancing and laughter, and then one kid pushed another. Daphne lost her balance and in an instant her body disappeared over the side.
The teenagers disappeared. Time had passed. The night seeped along the edges of the cliff where the cross took the place where Daphne once stood. Then a scraping sound, like metal on stone, filled up the void. It was coming from the side of the mountain. A pale arm reached up out of the abyss and pulled its battered body onto the purple rock. The woman with the one-blue eye came at me, sneering, as worms and maggots spat out of her mouth as she tried to speak. One twisted leg dragged behind her, but she still came at me fast. She reached out and grabbed my arm, sending an electric current of images to my waking mind: a full moon, a lavender shoe left behind, a newly erected cross, Kristen’s tearstained face, my hand covered in blood, a bouquet of blue flowers, discarded, and rain.
I screamed, waking myself, pulling free from an invisible grip. At first I thought I was alone, but behind me two grungy work-boots stepped closer. I tried scrambling to my feet.
“Where’s Kristen?”
“Never mind about Kristen.” Duff, who was all muscles under his jean jacket, glared at me. He was also Kristen’s ex-boyfriend.
“Duff, leave him alone.” Kristen’s voice came from behind him.
“He needs to leave you alone,” he said.
“We’re not together anymore. You have no say.”
“Really?” Duff stepped closer and hit me. I fell backward, touching my hand to my face. Blood. I was seeing my hand with blood, like I had seen moments earlier when the woman touched me.
Duff grabbed a protesting Kristen and left me, as I used my shirt to wipe my face. I started to go after them, but lost my way, and ended up circling back to the cliff’s edge, until I finally found the trail back to the bottom. It was two o’clock in the morning. Hardly anyone was left. The fire was out. I asked if anyone had seen Kristen or even Tad, but no one did. I was forced to head home, hoping my folks were still none the wiser that I’d gone out.
Shadows encroached from the forest around me, as I reached the bottom of the mountain, and picked the George Washington trail home. My flashlight gave me little advantage to see ahead. Then somewhere to my left, I heard a sound, like something was being dragged. My first thought—the one-eyed woman was close by.
I started to run, nearly wiping out as I leaped over a decaying log, and then almost into the water of a small brook. When I thought I was a safe distance away from her, I turned my flashlight back, but she was still there coming for me. Her boots made that horrible sound, echoing in the night air. I ran faster, trying to lose her, but it was as if we were glued together by an invisible cord, one I couldn’t get free from.
The light from the porch became visible through the last stretch of woods, as I ran as fast as I could, fear taking over me. I didn’t stop until I was safely up the steps. The woman coasted by me, toward the side of the house, and neared the second-story window.
“Davey!” My mother’s voice made me jump. “Where have you been?” She was waiting for me by the kitchen sink, her angry face turned to worry as she glanced over my appearance. My shirt was covered in blood, and my boots were caked in clay and mud.
“I think someone’s out there.” I wanted to tell her about the woman. She looked concerned, and for a moment, I thought she’d skip grounding me, until Tad showed up, grinning. “Hey, Mom. Sorry I’m late.” He looked at me, kicking his boots off on the porch. “Looks like you beat me home from Pisgah.”
“Pisgah? I told you both to never go up there.”
“It was my first time,” I told her, but that only made her angrier.
“One too many!” She threw the sponge at me. “You’re both grounded, and you can start with washing the dishes.”
“But Mom,” Tad started, giving the usual excuses, like that we were only there was a little while, like that mattered, or that we weren’t doing anything bad, like drinking. But she stopped listening, and went to bed.
We did the dishes in silence, then slithered off to bed. I slept with one eye on the window, but it never opened. Not that night at least.
***
The next morning I slept in late and spent most of the day cleaning my room. Each time I thought I was done, Mom would inspect it and find something else for me to do. The last task to organize was the closet. Underneath my clothes, a deflated football, and board games, I found a box that wasn’t mine. Inside were photo albums and books, like Flowers in the Attic. I flipped through the yellowing pages and a photograph of two teenagers fell out. It was Mom with Daphne, the woman from my dream.
“Lunch is ready.” Mom leaned in the doorway. “What did you find there?”
I hid the picture and pulled out the box. “I think it’s yours.”
“I was looking for this. I must’ve missed it.”
Before I could see any more of the box, she closed it, and took it away, but I still had the photograph.
Later in the day, I tried to call Kristen, but the phone just rang and rang, not even an answering machine picked up. Oddly, when I went downstairs I saw Kristen’s mom leaving from our back porch. Mom was sitting at the table where candles and incense were lit.
“What was Mrs. Avery doing here?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but she was calling on me for a little advice, that’s all.”
On the table were tarot cards spread out in a pattern. Mom was collecting them in her hand.
“I didn’t know you still gave readings.”
“Occasionally. Seems like I lost the gift.”
“Grandma Issy could see things in the future, right?”
“Yes, and when she died, it passed on to me.”
“Do you think I could have the gift, too?” I wanted to tell her about the vision and the woman, but didn’t think she’d believe me. Besides, I didn’t want to bring up Pisgah Mountain again.
“I don’t know.” Mom put the deck into a red velvet bag.
I sat in the chair at the table. “Why don’t you do a reading for me?”
“Like I said, the cards are cold today.” She blew out the candles and packed up her things. “Another time.”
“Mom, do you know a woman named Daphne?” I could tell I caught her off-guard.
“No,” she said flatly. “Why, where did you hear that name?”
“Nowhere.”
“You had to hear it from somewhere.” She tilted her head, curious.
“It was nothing. Forget it.”
Later on, Tad and I had stayed up watching a rented movie. I went to bed around midnight. The house was quiet and I dosed off quickly. Around two a.m. I woke to the creaking sound of the window opening. I sat up in bed, just as the woman’s footsteps rushed toward me—before I could move, she was there, hovering, grabbing me by the arm, her rotted face, swelled and bloated, was nearly pushed into mine, and the one blue eye stared at me. “The way the wind blows . . . ” she howled. She covered my eyes, sending an electric current through me, along with a vision . . .
Pisgah Mountain. Daphne and my mom, and some other kids from school were out late, partying, when a gale of storm hit. No one seemed to care, drunk and dancing. Then one guy pushed another, causing everyone to buckle—Daphne lost her balance. The wind was so strong, and there was nothing to grab ahold to. She disappeared over the side. My mom screamed for her, trying to stop her, but it was too late . . . then the vision switched, and it was Kristen on the mountain, with Duff and the other Pisgah Rats—the moon was full, and a storm came from nowhere . . . then I saw a newly erected cross anda lavender shoe left behind, and Kristen’s tearstained face, screaming, as she slipped over the side . . .
I woke abruptly. I was alone, the window open, the house cold. The woman—Daphne—was gone.
Outside, a storm started. I was disorientated, unsure of what I’d seen, but once the rain started on the window, I knew I that the vision was a warning, and I had to do something.
I ran downstairs to my old room and woke Mom. “Mom, we have to get help. Something bad is going to happen to Kristen.”
“What are you talking about?” She sat up groggy, startled even.
“Remember how you said I might also have the sight, well, I just know. We have to hurry.”
Mom met me in the kitchen, dressed. I had two flashlights ready.
“Where are we going?”
“Pisgah,” I said, watching the muscles in her face tighten.
“You know I don’t like that place.”
“But you never told me why. It’s because of Daphne, isn’t it? You couldn’t save her.”
Mom started to cry, her face sad. “I’ve been blaming myself all these years.”
“But she showed me, Mom, that it was the wind, the wind that caused her to fall. You weren’t to blame. It was just an accident.”
“Daphne told you this?”
“I think she’s been trying to tell you for years.” I explained to her about Daphne’s visits each night.
“I guess I shut her out, too unwilling to let go of the blame.”
We embraced.
“I think she’s here to stop another fall.”
“Then let’s hurry,” Mom said, hurrying me out of the house. “That mountain’s taken too many children.”
We traversed the George Washington trail, to the base of the mountain. The rain and wind were already a torrent. Lightening flashed and thunder rang out overhead.
At the top, we found the remnants of a bonfire, beer bottles, and kids fleeing for shelter. I also found a bouquet of blue flowers, discarded.
“It’s just like the vision. It’s happening right now.” I searched the area. “Where is she? Kristen,” I called out.
“We’ll find her, Davey. Let’s go this way.”
“How did you know that’s the way to her special spot?”
“I know my way around this mountain; it was my special spot too.”
I led the way, along the edge of the mountain. The rain got heavier, and when the lightening flashed, I spotted Kristen through the trees, in her special spot, struggling with Duff. She screamed.
“Kristen!” The rain made the rocky surface slippery, just as I rounded the corner toward her. The thunder exploded above us, forcing me back against the rocks.
“Davey,” Mom called.
“She’s over here.”
“Davey, keep away from the edge!”
I reached the spot, but Kristen and Duff were gone. Then a figure appeared, moving toward me. I aimed my flashlight to see who it was, when someone came from behind, knocking it from my hand. I was pushed into the rocky wall, face to face with Duff.
