Lovely, Dark and Deep
Rated: T
Disclaimer: Not my characters.
Author's Note: This is take 2 of this story!
The morning dawned crisp and bright over the Berkshires. June could be this way in the mountains.
Eddie and Baker Showalter had been looking forward to fishing all week. Now that the day was here they were eager for an early start.
"Got the beer, got the bait, got the poles, got the canoe. We're ready, bro," Baker smiled as they pulled up to Knightville Lake. The dam loomed over them, giving both the feeling they were in a deep, quiet canyon. There were only a few cars in the parking lot and all were covered with frost.
"Cold night to camp," Eddie said, teeth chattering, breath coming out in white puffs. The camps were on the other side of the lake where the old road ran through the wilderness.
They sat the canoe in the dark water and began to paddle out to the deep spot. Normally the surface reflected the sky but this morning it was still and inky. Eddie was already in the Slim Jims as the lines went in, making ripples in every direction. "Funny to think of all those ghost stories about this place," he said, watching the bobber for any slight movement and adjusting the brim of his lucky Red Sox ballcap.
"Can't believe everything," Baker frowned. His line caught on a log and he cussed softly, rocking the canoe back and forth. "People are too damn superstitious up in these hills. Knightville's long gone and there's hardly a soul alive who can recall it. That don't stop people from making up stories about it, though. Shit. Hand me my pliers."
Eddie reached over with the pliers. He wanted to pretend there was no such thing as ghosts. God knows he loved a good story and he heard plenty of them in the general store. There was the Cobble Mountain Critter, like a Massachusetts version of Bigfoot. The Old Mansion and its ghost garden. Then the Route 20 Lady, who sits on the guardrail at night where her car went off the road. Eddie drove past the spot sometimes and couldn't bear to look, in case she was waiting...for what he didn't know.
But it was Knightville Dam that topped them all. He read every article about it and even went to the Hampshire County Historical Society to read up on it.
"Hey. If you're not gonna talk, we shoulda brought a radio," said Baker. Eddie realized he'd probably been staring into the water for about five minutes.
"Shut up and pass me the coffee, motormouth," Eddie smiled, hoping his brother didn't see the goosebumps.
Three hours later and not a fish had taken their bait. Most of it ended up snagged on many of the dead trees that lay underwater. The sun was slowly growing hotter in its upward climb. The small thermometer on Baker's keychain sat at 75 and it was only eleven.
"Damn! That was the last of the bobbers! I'm not giving up just because we didn't bring extra floats," Eddie scowled, chopping his line.
Baker snorted in disgust. "Maybe some of the campers have some."
They had floated almost clear to the other shore. There were several tents and canoes at the water's edge. "Hang on," said Eddie. "I'll go check."
Everything was quiet in the camp. Eddie said hello several times and got no reply. He shrugged back at Baker, who was fussing with the remaining cans in the cooler. "I'm going in the forest to see if they're in the biffy or something," Eddie shouted to his brother, who didn't acknowledge.
The forest was cool and green. Birds chirped overhead. There was no sign of anyone along the old roadbed. He thought of all the wagons that passed over the sandy soil to reach the little town. Eddie could almost hear the horses grunting and snorting and the sound of the buckles jingling on the saddle and the wheels crashing over each rock.
He stumbled.
It took a second to spot what had tripped him up. It was a horseshoe. A lucky find. Forgetting about the missing campers, Eddie snagged the horseshoe and turned around, excited to show his brother the find. He ran back down the old road, feeling the weight of it in his hand.
When he reached the shore, there was no sign of Baker or the canoe. "Real funny, asshole! Wait'll you see what I found!" Eddie called. There was no answer, just the slight sound of the water lapping against the rocks. "Hey, Baker!"
A loon called from the other side of the lake and made Eddie jump.
"Not funny, you fuck!"
Something caught his eye among the rocks just down the beach. He picked his way to it and found a white Coleman cooler with a red top, upside down. It was the same kind of cooler they had in the canoe but Eddie shook his head. It was a common color schene, Couldn't be theirs. But when he opened it, out tumbled the still-intact ice and Busch cans he'd packed inside earlier that morning.
"Baker, for chrissake!"
The sun passed overhead, sending glints all over the water. Eddie squinted in their brightness. In the almost blinding glare, he saw something that hadn't been there just a moment before.
The horseshoe dropped out of his hands and he walked towards the water like a man bound for the gallows.
The campers came back from their bird-watching hike at one. The overturned canoe had washed up, along with Eddie Showalter's lucky hat.
