4 Days In June Lake

A psychological suspense thriller about a young boy confronting the shadows of his past.

 

1.

 

     Ryan gazed out upon the multiple masses of cows through his passenger window smeared with fingerprints. They drove rapidly down the single solemn highway with endless patches of field on either, side and no sign of civilization before or beyond it.

     His skinny elbow wrestled tirelessly within the hard plastic cushionless armrest to find a comfortable position and he rocked his tired head of shaggy dirty blonde hair back and forth, debating whether it would be better to take rest leaning back or sitting upright.   

     His father Rick, a bold and monumental tower of a man, who looked as though he spent his youth playing football, riding motorcycles, and living the American dream, sat just to the left of him, behind the wheel of his champagne desert Chevy Suburban, grand in size and power. He held his right foot locked and fully extended, flooring the gas pedal and keeping an eagle’s gaze on the dim stretch of road paved ahead, meditating on the hundreds of miles still to go.

     Ryan wriggled around a bit more, looking over at his father, who peered back at him menacingly. “What’s with the look?” Rick said, as if being challenged, and then clamped his right hand into a death grip around Ryan’s left knee, causing him to writhe in agony and laughter in an attempt to break the hours of silence before.

     In the back seat with plenty of room to spare sat Rick’s wife Gilda, who donned a hot pink visor that protruded over her long curly blonde hair, shadowing her eyes and most of her face, leaving only the red tint of her lipstick visible. She sat reading her paperback edition of “The Joy Luck Club,” unmoved and in total silence.  

     To the far left of her sat their daughter Leah, whose delicately decorated face was framed by a plum of wild curly brown hair that danced all around her, bouncing with every subtle motion she made. She was sitting in deep concentration, staring down at a puzzle book with steady conviction, penciling in an answer or two every few moments, biting her tongue when a thought was just at the tip of it.

 

     The family sat windows up, music off, bubbled in a comfortable quiet, feeling not the need to speak, nor anxious, nor bored, just content...

     Ryan treasured fondly the moments they had shared on their annual vacations to June Lake, every first of June, where he would spend countless hours fishing, and doing what brought him the most peace in life. He had loved every bit of the sport, and it was something he had only ever done and would only ever do with his family, once a year, at June Lake; it was ritual.

     Though, since the incident, they had not been in ten years, and were only going now by his special request, by his need to gain closure and overcome the fear of the thing that had haunted him for so many years, holding him in its power like a dark and ominous shadow you can never see yet know is there, always.

 

     Ryan let out a deep exhale and brought his mind back to signature memories and moments of the past like The Tiger Bar, toy spiders filled with candy, the deer he had chased, reading comics by the beach, and the smell of fish and crisp, cold air in the morning just before sunrise. Icons of the lake that he had cherished and would keep locked in the deepest chambers of his mind for all time.

 

     After what seemed like an entire day of driving, all the way from Pasadena California, he could finally start to make out symbols of the town, and a rush of excitement and release swept through him. He began to spot every rock, building, and idiosyncrasy of the town that ignited familiar feelings and sensations of the past, as a wave of nostalgia and comfort boiled up from inside of him, making him feel more at home than any place he had ever lived.

     As they turned down a street passing The Tiger Bar, his favorite burger joint, Rick looked over to him with a worried, nervous expression and asked, “So kid…are you sure this is what you want?” 

     Ryan lowered his eyes and smiled dimly, nodding his head slowly with deep sincerity.

     “Yeah, I definitely need this, it’s about time I’ve moved on.”

     Rick lifted the corner of his lips upward, but his expression did not change.

     “Well just keep me updated on how you’re feeling, and if at any moment you wanna go, I’ll understand…”

     Ryan jumped in his seat a little bit and looked out the window with a boyish grin.

     “Nothing’s gonna keep me away from this place, not this time…” he said, overcoming Rick’s reluctance and doubt with glee.

 

     They drove cautiously down a pebble paved road, Ryan taking great joy in the sound of the tires rolling over the billions of tiny stones beneath them, and pulled into their old spot, as if it had been waiting for them all this time in vacant reservation.

     When the vehicle came to a halt, Leah and Gilda looked briefly at each other, then over to Ryan, and Gilda shouted, “Well, we’re here kiddo!” in a somewhat clownish but motherly voice, and they made their way to the back of the truck to gather their luggage.

     When they were halfway to their cabin, the building manger popped out of his office, wearing large horn-rimmed spectacles and a cowboy hat. He nearly lost his hat while jogging over to them, his eyes wide as if he’d just seen a ghost and was trying to catch it.

     “Damn Rick, well howdy do, that really is you?” He said as he reached in for a firm handshake.

     “When you called and said you were coming up, I didn’t quite know what to make of it, but hell, here you are!” And his eyes popped wider open still as he glanced over Rick’s shoulder.

     “And that’s"“

     “Yep, that’s my son Chuck.  He’s here too.” Rick said sternly, trying to shake the disbelief out of him.

     Chuck stared for a moment, as if gazing at the pedals of a rose that only bloomed once a decade, then continued, fidgeting his finger around his ear and thinking of what to say.

     “Well that sure is one heck of a kid you got there, a brave soul.”

     Rick nodded slowly and stared into the man’s eyes with stone silence while Chuck shifted his gaze over to Gilda and attempted to change the subject.

     “Well, looks like you got the wife and daughter here too, the whole family, just like old times, that should be a real treat.”

     “Sure should.” Rick said, now staring through the man as if he was a door impeding his path.

     “Well, I’ll let you get to it.” Chuck finally said, “and if there’s anything you need, I’ll be just right here.”

     “Appreciate it, Chuck.” And with one final nod, Rick was off toward their cabin, followed by Leah, Gilda, and Ryan who each waved kindly at Chuck as they passed him by.

     All but Ryan made their way inside; he paused for a moment, looking up at door number 7.

     It was their own special little cabin that they had always rented every time they came to visit, and Ryan released a deep warm smile, relishing the building as it stood exactly where it always had, welcoming him exclusively.

     Ryan walked inside, delighted to see everything practically just as they had left it; same dusty brown couch, same old tin popcorn maker that looked like a medieval torture device, same stained duck wall paper, same sheets on his bed, tucked as if he’d just made it this morning.

     He could almost close his eyes and lay flat on his bed, pretending to wake up like ten years ago was yesterday, as if nothing had ever happened.

    

     After they were all finished unpacking, Rick plopped down onto the couch next to Ryan and wrapped his bear like arm around him.

     “How bout we get a bite to eat?” he asked, knowing nobody would refuse.

Leah, Gilda, and Ryan unanimously agreed, making their own loud gesture of approval. They had not eaten anything since that morning, and the tire and exhaust of travel rested hard on their stomachs.

     Ryan put on his favorite black hoodie and his special June lake hat with the brown leather bill and the rest of them put on their coats and were out the door and up the hill in an instant.

    

     They had walked up to The Tiger Bar, that was only a block away from their cabin, and Rick was the first to the door, hiking up the hill in his shorts and tank top that he wore no matter how cold it got, holding it open to let them all in, as he always did.

     It was loud, bright, and full of people, who crowded around the bar, sat in booths, and played games of pool. Pictures of various tigers littered the walls around them, all colored in crayon by the children who had visited earlier in the day, something Ryan had fondly remembered doing in the past as he scanned the walls, hoping maybe his version might still be there.   

     After a long vain attempt, he finally sat down at the booth by the rest of them and looked briskly through the menu, knowing already what he wanted.  He focused instead on the memorable pictures decorated throughout the laminated tablet of paper trimmed in red leather and golden metal tips embedded in each corner.

     He and Rick enjoyed a juicy red burger, rare, like they always liked it, and Leah and Gilda shared a large chicken salad, drinking iced tea and diet coke. Ryan stared out through the window and up into the mountains, gazing upon the houses in the hills, envying those that lived here and could walk to The Tiger Bar everyday if they wanted.

     When Ryan was finished with his burger, he shyly asked the waitress if she wouldn’t mind fetching him a blank picture of a tiger that he could color, for olds times sake, and she gladly handed him crayons and a paper, giggling at the thought.

      He chose to color a red tiger with large yellow eyes and dragon wings which he invented on the sides, making fire come out of its mouth, then folded the paper into four parts and stuffed it into his pocket as a memento. Four cokes later they were finished and ready for the bill, which Rick paid in full, and they were back down the hill and headed toward the cabin.

 

     Ryan kicked stones down the hill, listening closely to the crickets in the weeds.  He stood on his tiptoes to just barely make out the fog of the lake in the distance and leered at the silhouette of the dock by the bay.

     “Can I go down for a bit, just to look around?” Ryan asked his father. Rick winced as if suddenly reacting to a loud stomach cramp and looked over at Gilda who shook her head back and forth with wide eyes. 

      “Nah, not tonight buddy, we gotta get some rest and wake up early in the morning. We’ll have plenty of time tomorrow, don’t worry.”

      Tomorrow, Ryan thought, I can wait till tomorrow, what’s the rush? The lake will still be there in the morning. But Ryan couldn’t wait till tomorrow, at least his mind couldn’t.

     He stayed out on the couch watching TV and snacking on Nutter Butters while everyone else went to bed, hoping that maybe the television would calm his anticipation and distract his mind from thinking too much.

 

     Gilda sat up in bed reading her book while Rick lied beside her filling out his Sudoku puzzle. Leah was fast asleep in the other room. Finally Gilda said, “Do you think it’s right? Us bringing him here like this, I mean I know it’s been ten years but"“

     “I know.” Rick said, trying to sooth her anguish with logic.

     “But the boy’s got a point, he can’t let what happened haunt him forever and take away his dreams of doing what he loves most in life.”

Gilda put down her book and stared sadly into Rick’s eyes.

     “I guess you’re right, it was a once in a lifetime thing, and all the new ranger stations they’ve built up here have made it a pretty safe place, I guess…but if it were me I’d never want to come back, and I think it kinda odd that anyone ever would, even after 10 years, even after 100.”

     “He’s a strong kid. 17 years old, almost a man now. And a man must do what he has to do to find his place in the world.”

     They held each other for a moment as Rick turned off the light, then fell fastly to sleep in each other’s arms.

 

 

 

2.

 

     Ryan slumped gradually down till his head was resting on the arm of the couch, and dozed off to a slumber as the dream came again, the same dream that had come many nights before, and almost every other night since the incident, just as vivid and as clear as the time it had been real.

     He was 7 years old again, playing in the forest, chasing a deer as his family sat by the shore in lawn chairs, watching their fishing poles in the sand. Suddenly the sun fell down, and the wind blew coldly against his cheeks. He had long lost sight of the deer and began turning around to head back when a tall black shadow of a man appeared before him, whose face he could not make out.

     Before Ryan could make a noise the shadow grabbed him and shoved him under his arm, running off into the darkness of the woods, holding his hand over Ryan’s mouth so he could not speak or breath.

 

     After what seemed like hours of running, watching his view of the lake and his family drift farther and farther away from him, till he saw nothing but trees and darkness, they arrived at a small shed, where Ryan was locked inside, enveloped in pitch black, breathing warm, stale air that hardened his lungs and brought his eyes to water.

     For 4 days he had stayed there, with no food, water, or sunlight, unable to tell up from down, unable to distinguish where his limbs ended and the darkness began.

     Crawling, scratching, digging at the walls, prying for a single crack, a crevice, a groove of any kind he could bear his bloodied, dirt filled nails into, finding nothing and falling to the ground, sitting and waiting as his energy left him, waiting for the last of his breath, the last of his life to run out.

 

     Then he awoke, startled in a cold sweat, lying on the couch beside the TV that was still on, though it was not the sound of the television that woke him. He turned the TV off to listen better, and outside could hear a small but sharp scratching sound at the window, harder and more constant than any branch could make, no matter how violent the wind.

     He stood up, half trembling, and reluctantly made his way to the window. The winds were calm and there were no other sounds, natural or otherwise, that he could hear, just the scratching.

     When he was but a foot away from the window, the scratching stopped, and he gripped his fingers round the curtain, ripping them hastily open like a bandage to reveal the source.

     On the other side stood the stark, black-silhouette of a man without eyes or a face, just pure darkness in the shape of a human head. 

     Though it had no eyes or facial features, Ryan could feel it peering through him with a charcoal burnt expression, burning his lifeless gaze into Ryan’s eyes with malevolent conviction, standing just inches before him with only a single pane of glass between them.

     Chills flooded through his nerves and Ryan flew back as an ice-cold cringe shot sharply from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes, drenching his body in fear.

     Nothing came from his lungs as he attempted to scream, and he bolted upward instantly, scattering his feet across the hard wooden floor towards the bedroom door of his father and commenced banging upon it until it flew open with Rick standing on the other side in boxer shorts and a bathrobe.

     “What is it?” he commanded, as Ryan stood huffing frantically, gasping for both air and words at the same time.

     “A man…at the window…it’s him…”as Ryan pointed to the window where the silhouette stood.

     Without question, Rick slipped on his shoes and grabbed the shotgun hanging on a rack above their bed, and headed outside to confront the being.

     The wind was blazing now, and it had started to rain. Rick stared hard and long into the darkness through the trees, searching for signs of life, the dimly lit street lamp above him guiding his eyes. He took several steps out toward the lake with Ryan trailing behind him for one last glance, and then froze where he stood, feeling the grip of the gun slip between his fingers, as a large being came lurking from the shadows behind a tree stump.

     Rick yelled for Ryan to run back to the cabin as a large black bear came storming out from behind the stump toward Rick. It had been sniffing for food, as most bears do, and having come up empty for days, was ravenous and full of hunger.

     Ryan instead lunged for the shotgun, which had dropped by his father’s side. He squeezed the trigger and fired off one loud shot into the sky as the bear stood up and growled, quickly making its way back toward the lake from where it had come, trotting hurriedly with its tail between its legs. Rick looked up and grabbed his chest, as if nearly having a heart attack, and grabbed for Ryan as he made his way to him, handing over the gun.

     Soon after Leah and Gilda came flying out the back door in their robes, holding their hair in place as the rain threatened to undo it, screaming out at Rick and Ryan. Rick wrapped his hand around Ryan’s shoulder and jogged back toward the door, ushering them all back in side.

 Rick spoke prominently over their panicked voices and told them that it was only a small bear, lying about its size and how close it had come to them.

     “Ryan heard scratching and I let off a warning shot to shoo it away, that’s all. I’m sorry if I startled you, now get back to bed.”

     Gilda and Leah both swept their hands to their foreheads and let out deep moans of reprieve as if just dodging death by the skin of their teeth. Rick shot a glance to Ryan and ruffled his hand through his hair, letting out a deep, grateful sigh of his own. Ryan peered back at his father, hesitant to mention what he saw in the window out of fear that they would try to take him home, which he definitely did not want. He had come up here to enjoy himself, and shadows or no shadows, that’s exactly what he was going to do.

    

 

Maybe I was just seeing things he tried to convince himself, as he lied down in bed, waiting for the sun to rise. He fell asleep shortly after, and dreamed of nothing at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

3.

 

      Ryan awoke to the sound of bacon sizzling on a frying pan and threw on his close before he even had a chance to fully open his eyes. As he reached for his hat he looked over at the windowsill and glanced at the collection of various stones and wood pieces he had gathered every trip sitting upon it, reflecting tiny beads of daylight.

     He reached over to one stone in particular, stained with dark reddish brown blotches in the pattern of fingerprints, and held it in his hand. It was the stone he had held in the days of his capture, which he had used to gouge markings into the wall, one for every day he had been there. A plate of rotten fish meat had been slid to him beneath the crack in the door once a day, which was how he knew how many days had passed.

     Ryan held the stone now reminiscently, feeling that it had served its purpose but would be of no use to him any longer, he was there to let go, and that’s exactly what he would do. He tucked the stone away into his pocket, waiting for an opportunity to dispose of it once he was near the lake, and headed out to the kitchen.

    

     Leah stumbled out of her room wearing duck pajamas and asked for the time as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

     “5:30 A.M!” Rick said, as if he’d been up for hours drinking coffee, fully dressed and half finished cooking breakfast.

     “Today will be the last day of bacon and eggs. For every day after, we shall have fish! Ain’t that right boy?” he said to Ryan, who was the prized fisherman of the family, having caught the most and biggest fish of all of them combined, whether it be luck, skill, or a tad bit of both.

     “Yes sir!” Ryan shouted back, pretending to be wide-awake.

 

     Ryan grabbed his lucky tackle box filled with all of his favorite lures and baits and the rest of them gathered their supplies after quickly finishing a hearty breakfast and headed down to the dock to get a head start on the day.  It too was just a couple blocks from the cabin, which was one of Ryan's favorite things about the lake, that everything you needed was within walking distance, along dirt roads and concrete trails surrounded by fields of grass.

     When they reached the dock, Rick went inside the tackle shop to pay their tab for the day while Leah and Gilda carried the supplies to the boat. Ryan stood at the edge of the dock, fondling the stone in his pocket, and at last threw it into the lake, feeling yet another piece of his past being alleviated.

     He then cruised the shop and glanced at all the fish mounted up on the wall, reading the headlines of newspapers and flyers involving stories by the lake. He was pleasantly comforted to see that there was a picture of him at age 7 holding a 6-pound rainbow trout in his hands, practically half his size. Above the picture was the heading "First time fisher makes his first big catch."

     He remembered the excitement and the effort he had gone through in reeling the fish in, the surprise in his eyes when he had seen its size in the net. He wanted to feel that again, to enjoy life as he had before everything went so sour.

 

     After the payment was settled, they headed out to the boat and Rick started the motor while Leah and Ryan helped to untie its leash from the dock. It was a small trolling boat made of thick aluminum with three long 2x4’s spread across the middle for seats. The only thing new about it was the engine, a large black 4-stroke motor barely reaching speeds of 30 miles per hour. The rest of the boat had been soiled and aged by paint chips, colored bait, dried fish blood, seaweed and lake water stains that soaked deeply into the wood, then were dried out by the sun.

     The lake itself was very quiet and serene with a scarce amount of people few and far between, especially at this hour.

     It was a place surrounded by nothing but snowy mountain peaks, where one could reflect, relax, and find peace in the silent little haven of nature that was June Lake.

     Ryan used his intuition to pick a good spot to stop and when they arrived Rick dropped the anchor into the water and helped each one of them bait their hook.

     Ryan felt good about the rainbow bait today, while Rick experimented with some new worms that he put on Leah and Gilda's hooks.

    

     They had been sitting there for a good hour, when suddenly Gilda's pole started to jiggle. She quickly threw down her book, nearly dropping it in the water, and darted over to her pole to begin reeling it in, while Ryan grabbed the net in preparation. He was the self-designated net boy for the fact that it was his most enjoyable part of the process.

     Gilda was standing completely upright by this point, and the line had hit a hard snag, nearly rocking her forward as the wind started to blow swiftly, lifting the pink visor off her head.

     As she made a grab for it with one hand, trying to steady the pole in the other, she lost her equilibrium and toppled forward, over the side of the boat and into the water. She had knocked her head hard on the railing and was nearly unconscious by the time her body was completely submerged.  

     Without a moment’s hesitation, Ryan threw the net down and dove in after her, feeling the chill of the 20 below degree water sweep through his senses, practically rendering him motionless. He wrapped his arm from under her left rib, around her right shoulder as she started to sink and held her head above water, while frantically paddling with his feet back toward the boat. Rick braced himself with one arm and helped pull her up with the other, using all of his massive body weight and strength to lever her in.

     When she was safely inside, Ryan grabbed onto the tip of the boat and hoisted himself up, rolling in to the center, shivering in a coiled ball.

     Rick started the motor as Leah pulled the poles out of the water and they together wrapped Ryan and Gilda in everything they had that could provide warmth as they speedily headed back toward the dock.

     After several minutes the chill had subsided to a dull numbing sensation and Ryan and Gilda tried as best they could to make their way to the cabin, hardly feeling the ground beneath their feet as they jaunted.  

     They arrived at the cabin, took soothing hot showers, and wrapped themselves in warm, dry clothing.

     "How's your head?" Rick asked as he softly ran his fingers through Gilda’s damp golden hair.

     "It was just a bump, no bleeding or anything, I think I'll be okay." She said, feeling a bit embarrassed and trying not to make a big deal out of it. 

     "You gave us quite a scare." Rick finally confessed.

     "It was a good thing our mighty net boy was there to save you." he said as he grabbed Ryan and squeezed him unbearably tight in gratitude.

     "So, you think you're dry enough to give it another go?" Ryan asked Gilda as Rick chuckled, anxious to get back out on the water.

     "No, all this drama has made me quite hungry. I think we should get a bite to eat, maybe drive down by Silver Lake and do some site seeing." Agreeing happily to the idea, they all headed to the car.

 

     Ryan drifted off into a delightful trance, gazing upon the thousands of hundred foot lush green trees and meadows that hurled by them on either side of the road at 80 miles an hour. Up in the sky he could see scattered rays of sunlight shooting through holes in the clouds as the sun continued to rise over the misty blue peaks that engulfed them. A red tail hawk soared through the sky, almost completely statuesque, keeping still as if the world was drifting past it.

     Before he knew it they had arrived at a large 2-story building built of Lincoln logs with a sign in front that read "The Four Seasons." He had no idea they were going to such a luxurious place, and suddenly felt well underdressed.

     Since they had not caught any fish for the day, Ryan treated himself to a bottomless plate of fried trout.

     The most fish he had ever eaten in a single helping was 3 full meals of 4 7-inch fish, and he had it in his head that he would try to break that record today, feeling very hungry and good about his odds.

     Rick had ordered a rare New York steak and Leah & Gilda had endless bowls of clam chowder, which was a specialty of this particular restaurant, and they all ate joyously and quietly at the table together, heavily enjoying their meals.

     After a full afternoon of classical music and fine dining, Ryan was stuffed, having only finished 10 pieces of fish, convincing himself that the pieces had gotten larger since the last time he had eaten there.

     They all sat leisurely for a good time, soaking in the sophisticated atmosphere, letting their food settle, enjoying the entirety of their experience. This was to them the essence of a vacation: nowhere to go, nothing that needed to be done, but to just be, and take life as it came, without the boundaries of space and time to confine them.

 

     Having been there for almost 3 hours, they headed out at around 2:30 in the afternoon and decided to visit Silver Lake, which was the friendly neighbor of June Lake, being quite larger and consisting mostly of cutthroat trout.

     As they wandered through the wilderness, Rick & Gilda hand in hand, Leah walked over to the black-pebbled beach to skip stones across the lake, listening to Mariah Carey on her Walkman.

     When the rest of the family seemed distracted enough, Rick lounging on a boulder that overlooked the lake while Gilda sat beside him reading her book, Ryan took the opportunity to do some exploring, and perused through the ample patches of trees between the lake and the road that stretched out for miles.

     He bent down periodically to pick up a stone or small branch that struck his fancy, which he would later add to his collection of earthly items sitting on the windowsill by his bed in the cabin, pristine and undisturbed just the way he had left them.

     In particular were the several wooden pieces he gathered, all roughly the size of win bottle corks, which he favored mostly of his entire collection.

     He loved to peel away at the bark on the surface, as if unwrapping a Wonderball, and marvel at the intricate patterns and designs insects had carved across the wood, sometimes bearing uncanny resemblances to animals, figures, and faces of people.

     His most prized piece was one that resembled a wolf, standing on a hill, staring up at a large bright sun whose rays had stretched across the entire piece of wood in all directions, like a spider-web.

    

     He suddenly dropped the stone in his hand and froze for half a second as he stared on at a collapsed man-made structure in the distance, in the shape of a hollow rectangle, just large enough to fit a small child inside.

     He closed his eyes and shook his head, thinking to himself that it must be a coincidence, that there were dozens, possibly hundreds of structures like this in these woods, which had been built in the olden days when pioneers took refuge and shelter in these lands.

     He walked over to it and concluded by the looks of it that it was an old wooden outhouse whose walls and ceiling were caved in, having long since been unattended.

     He pulled back the door, groaning on its rusted hinges, mounted at a 45-degree angle to the ground and crawled inside. Throughout the edifice were several holes and cracks, corroded by weather and time, where shattered bits of sunlight shone through, creating a shadow box effect. Nothing of it seemed familiar or haunting; just a simple outhouse, neglected by man long ago.

     He sat for a moment, staring out at the lake through an aperture in the wall, sifting the cold and damp soil beneath him through his fingers, then glancing up at the cobwebs above him.

     Then his eyes trailed to a spot on the wall before him and his heart stopped instantly as his gaze locked on in horror, glaring at 4 long marks gouged into the wood, parallel to each other, as if scratched by claws of stone, bearing dark brown stains within the grooves.

    4 single lines in a row of equal size and distance from each other, deliberately carved, there was no coincidence in that    

     Ryan punched the door wide open, flying out in a heartbeat, collapsing the structure to the floor where it remained indefinitely.

     It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be... he thought over and over again in his head, racing back towards his family. As he ran he stumbled over a boulder and fell to the ground. He lied there for a while, catching his breath, resuming his calm. He silenced his mind and thought only of the leaves in the wind, swirling around him, blanketing his backside. With a deep breath he stood up, brushing the pine needles and dirt from his clothes, pretending that nothing had happened, that it was all in his head.

     “Just an ordinary outhouse...” He told himself out loud.

     “This is an hours drive from the lake, there’s no way that"“

     A loud yelling that echoed in the distance interrupted his train of thought, and he honed his ears toward the source to listen. It was his name, someone was calling his name; his father, probably wondering where he was. How long had he been gone? How long had they been searching for him? He doubled his pace, running even faster toward the sound, shouting back to alleviate their worrying.

     “I’m over here! Don’t worry, I’m coming.” He yelled, as he came within visible distance to them. They all stood together, a look of wonder and relief across their faces.

     “Why did you take off like that?” His father barked at him.

     “You should especially know better never to do anything like that out here.”

     “I know...” He said, dropping his eyes to the ground, searching for an explanation.

     He couldn’t think of what to say, had no idea how to describe to them what he saw, or if he should even mention it, not even sure if it even meant anything at all. He convinced himself that it didn’t, and decided to say nothing of the matter.

     He only apologized sincerely for wandering off and promised that he would not do it again.

     Gilda and Leah stared blankly at him, puzzled over how and why he would do such a thing, after all that had happened.  They made their way toward their truck and drove back to the cabin, watching the sun set as they arrived.

 

     After changing into his pajama’s, deciding that he would not bother going out for the rest of the night, Ryan immediately nestled himself into the couch and browsed through the channels on the TV to see what was on. He stopped on a channel that was playing The Cosby Show and giggled slightly in disbelief.

     “Wow, they’re still playing this show?” He asked his father who was sitting at the kitchen table, fiddling with fishing gear.

     “Why wouldn’t they?” he said in protest.

     “It’s a classic.”

     He sat watching for awhile as Leah talked on the phone in her room and Gilda sat quietly reading her book in the recliner beside him, then he turned off the television and asked if anyone was up for ordering in a pizza and playing a game of Monopoly.

     Leah was the first to agree, declaring herself a master of Monopoly and being highly competitive when it came to strategic board games.  Rick and Gilda went along with the idea, thinking of nothing else better to do.

 

     When the pizza arrived, Ryan was only 2 properties and $300 dollars behind Leah, but had just acquired Boardwalk and was feeling especially good about his chances. Rick ordered the lot of them to freshen up for dinner as he gathered plates and silverware from the kitchen.

     After washing his face and hands thoroughly, Ryan started to feel a slight head ache and reached into the medicine cabinet behind the bathroom mirror to look for Tylenol.

     In the cabinet were several varieties of bandages colored in his favorite cartoons, and cotton swabs in a tiny glass jar along with a small green bottle of mouthwash. He trolled around through the various items and found a single bottle of baby Tylenol that he figured would suffice.

     Upon closing the mirror he caught a glimpse of a man standing just outside his bathroom window, clouded in a dark shadow, leering at him through the foggy glass.

       A violent shiver pulsed through Ryan’s body and he dropped the bottle of Tylenol into the sink.  Pills scattered clockwise down the drain as he quivering compulsively in a terrified daze. He abruptly shook himself from his state and developed the courage to look back over at the window, relieved to see nothing there.

     But as his eyes trained further on the glass, he began to notice that there was something upon it, and as he walked toward the window he could see 4 vertical markings drawn downward on the glass, each the size of an index finger, identical to those he had seen in the old outhouse.

     His throat sank into his stomach and every fiber of relief and disbelief he had felt before evaporated instantly into the pit of his darkest nightmares. His shadow was upon him once more, haunting him for reasons unknown, and this time he feared he would not be able to escape it.

 

     He staggered back towards the living room, his body numb and his mind blank, attempting to resume a state of cool, trying harder still to believe that it was all in his head.

     He ate his pizza and finished the game of Monopoly all in one blur of a moment, with no one the wiser, and sat back onto the couch to watch some television in a futile attempt to distract his mind from his thoughts for however long he could, while the rest of his family headed to bed.

     When he could no longer keep his eyes open, Ryan turned off the TV and sheepishly made his way to his bedroom, turning on every light in his path as he did and leaving on the lamp in his room.

     He lied there and thought desperately of the morning, of fishing and lounging in the sun, of gathering around a barbecue to eat what he had caught with his family. But only thoughts of the shadow emerged, poking through his bubble of peace like a rusty saw blade stabbing through whipped cream, until all its holes bled into one all-encompassing sea of darkness and isolation.

     Ryan had been sleeping for hours when a sudden disturbance in the air woke him and he reached for his blanket to nullify the tight coldness of his goosebump-riddled-body. As he rubbed the blurriness away from his eyes he noticed that the lamp was off and his door was shut, leaving him enclosed in a deafening black.

     The wind blew forcefully at the trees through the window, but he could hear no sound, and as he scanned his eyes across the dimensions of his room, trying to distinguish the distance of shapes between him and the night, he could barely start to make out a dark grey outline forming the shape of a tall person at the foot of his bed.  

     As his vision became clearer, he widened his eyes and the air from his lungs retracted. He lied disabled in the paralyzing grip of fear and shock, unable to breath or move.

     The shadow simply stood there, silent, waiting, watching him as he wriggled in vain to free himself from panic, bound by a mystical and unknown force that wrapped all around him like a cocoon.

     As the last efforts of his life crawled by, suffocated in a mass hysteria, moments that felt like hours past and he awoke to an empty room in a cold sweat with sunlight blaring through his window, staring into the tranquil day.

   

 

4.

 

     Ryan took large gulps of breath, as if his lungs had been sewn shut, and wiped the sweat from his face as he looked out the window into the bright day to see that he was still alive and that it was just a dream.

     But just as he started to feel signs of reprieve, the sharp and pungent smell of smoke flooded his nostrils, drying his lungs and bringing him to cough. 

     He stormed out of the room in search of the source and found the kitchen engulfed by a tornado of flames, with Leah lying on the floor, unconscious.

     He dove out to her, dragging her by the shoulders away from the fire and grabbed the fire extinguisher from inside the pantry to quench the flames in a festoon of solid white smoke.

     Moments later Rick and Gilda flew out the door of their room holding their shirts over their faces to avoid inhaling the fumes.

     When the worst of the fire was eradicated, Ryan rushed over to Leah to see if she was still breathing, which she fortunately was.  He politely tapped his fingers across her face till she woke and turned her on her side as she began to cough sporadically.

     Rick and Gilda stood as statues, witnessing the event as spectators at an event. Rick stood staring at the charred remains of the kitchen that had spread across the cabinets and countertops like quick black venom and Gilda knelt over by Leah’s side to rub her shoulders and help her to speak.

     “Oh my god. What happened?” she asked, even more startled than when she had fallen into the lake the day before. Leah eventually explained that she had awoken early in an attempt to cook them breakfast when the stove caught an oven mitt on fire as she was washing her hands.  Whilst trying to pour water on the flames she had slipped and hit her head on the ground. She woke up to find Ryan by her side with the room clear of smoke and the fire extinguished.

     “My god...” Rick said in a stunning release of emotions.

     “Thank Goodness you’re alright, and that Ryan happened to be awake and use his trusty Eagle Scout skills to save you.” Rick continued in a tone half boastful and half humorous.

     “Well, the insurance we paid will cover the damages here, in the mean time, let’s go out for breakfast and leave the cooking to paid professionals this time,” he said.  Leah cracked a smile, feeling incredibly embarrassed and ashamed.

 

    They went out to a small mom & pop-diner for a traditional meal of bacon, hash browns, and eggs, and then casually strolled over to the lake for some fishing, where all their gear was waiting for them in their boat.

     Hours later they came back with aluminum strings full of fish, Ryan having caught 12 beautiful rainbow trout all on his own, which he had slung over his shoulder in a manly gesture, uncaring of the slimy coat of fish mucus that would leave his shirt.

     The limit per person was six, but since Leah and Gilda had only caught 3 each, they were willing to let them pool their amount together.

 

     After eating a fish filled lunch, they decided to check out the local fair that was held once a month in the town’s park and shop around for nifty trinkets and fishing paraphernalia.

     Ryan had always admired the golden railroad spikes they sold with model trains welded onto the sides, he thought they were fun to look at, but could never think of much practical use for them, which was why he never asked for one.

     They bought a bag of home-made kettle corn, marveled at the sculpted art, and chatted with a few of the locals they had known and seen on practically every visit.

     Ryan sat on a large boulder casting stones and sticks into the lake, waiting for them to finish their conversations, and as the sun began to set, they headed back to their cabin and cooked the rest of their fish for dinner.

     Rick stood over the barbecue, making small conversation with Gilda as she, Leah, and Ryan sat on the picnic bench out front playing a game of go-fish.

     “The cabin manager says that we can have the contractors come out to fix the cabin now and pay extra to stay in a hotel, but I told him that we’re only gonna be here one more night, and that the fumes aren’t that much of an issue, so they can fix it once we’re gone, and we can just go out to eat or use the grill, which is what we already do.”

     Gilda nodded her head, half listening and agreeing to what he was saying, but focusing mostly on the game. Though Leah was queen of the board games, card games were Gilda’s cup of tea, and she didn’t tend to lose often.

     After a few more games and a couple dishes of Rick’s special recipe fish, it was getting too cold to stay outside, and they all went in to prepare for the night.

     “Welp.” Rick said.

     “Last night here, better make the most of it.”

     It was hard to believe they had already been there 4 days, and yet so much had happened, both expected and otherwise. All in all Ryan was glad to be returning home. The longer he was left to determine whether or not his visions were reality or fantasy, the sooner he would find out, and it was a mystery he would rather never know.

    

     Awhile after they were all inside, Rick busted out his fancy chips and they all played a long and final game of poker, a card game Ryan felt he had a chance at against Gilda.

     Minutes rolled into hours with the back and forth tossing of chips and in the end Rick had won the whole lot, which he usually did. Ryan at least felt satisfied in the fact that he was the last one to loose after Leah and Gilda, and gladly gave the title of champion to his father, who obviously had many years of experience in the game.

 

     It was near midnight, and the crowd was getting sleepy. Even Ryan, who was usually a night owl, was beginning to doze off.  A moment later they had all changed for bed and were tucked away in their chambers, waiting patiently for their final day at the lake.

     Ryan had done everything he had wanted to do and achieved all that he set out to, but the anticipated sense of joy and deliverance was lacking, and he knew exactly why.

     He thought to himself, just a few more hours, then back to normality. 

     His visit had unfortunately aroused more woundings from his past, than it had healed, and he painfully came to the realization that it would take a lot more work than a simple reunion to the place where it all had transpired for him to ever feel a sense of true peace again.

 

     Ryan gathered the bulk of his things back into his bags so he would not have to do so much packing in the morning and retired to his bed for sleep, leaving on the lamp by his bed for a sense of comfort and security.

     As the light illuminated the area by his bed, he noticed a slight tweak in the otherwise expected appearance of things. On the windowsill, among his collection of various wood pieces and stones, stood a single rock, with dark reddish-brown stains, in the pattern of fingerprints on it. The rock he sworn he had thrown into the lake days before.

     All hope of a decent night sleep came crashing to rubble before him, and he strained impetuously to rationalize its sudden manifestation.

     I must have picked up the wrong rock to throw in the lake, that’s all.

      It could not make sense in his mind, but he swore that it must, for the sake of his sanity.

     Just a few more hours, then back to normality, he thought to himself again, becoming more at ease with every second that ticked closer to his departure.

     He held the rock in his hand, scratching away at the dark rusted stains with his fingernails, as if to test his courage, and placed it back on the windowsill with the others.

     It was all just a test, he concluded, to see if he could truly let go, and he admitted that he had failed, at least this time. The fear had taken over and left him delusional--I mean the sheer possibility of"he stopped mid-thought, as his mind became silenced by a faint scratching noise upon the window.

     He looked out to see that it was only a branch, moving up and down in the wind, as if to wave hello, or goodbye. He didn’t care to think about it any longer. He took a couple of prescribed sleeping pills packed securely in his tooth brush kit, used seldom for emergencies when he had extra difficulty sleeping, and tucked himself into bed, closing his eyes to the night.

 

     He awoke several hours later, as he had in his dream the night before, with the lamp off and the door shut, entrapped in silent dark. There was no outline of a man as he had immediately feared at the foot of his bed. Just the usual pitch black and a sudden urge to pee, which he had never encountered in a dream before, meaning he must have been awake. Those damn pills are useless he cursed to himself in his mind.

     As he threw off the covers and sat upright in his bed, he felt a sudden breeze blowing from the east wall, and noticed that the window was open. He froze in dead alarm as the wind sent chills writhing up and down his spine, causing him to tremor.

     Before he could move to turn his head a dark shadowy hand came from behind his right shoulder and coiled itself tightly around his nose and mouth, strangling his ability to speak or breath.

     Another arm, black as the midnight sky, came around his waste and yanked him backwards, crushing his bladder and causing him to wet himself, half from pressure and half from fright.

     He felt his body jerk backwards with brutal force as if he had been pushed from the front and was falling downwards. The heels of his feet burrowed clumsily into the carpet like plastic shovels digging into concrete as his legs shot out from beneath him, being held up only by the pits of his arms as his attacker dragged him onwards, out the window and into the woods.

 

      He struggled radically, flailing and slamming his feet against the grass and leaves that slid against his soles while prying at the arms that held him with his hands, striving to breathe.

     His endeavors were all but useless. The shadow towed him through the forest with supernatural speed, as if Ryan had only weighed a mere 40 pounds, and he could not help but feel like a child all over again.

     He could see the streetlights between the trees dim and fade beyond his site until he was solely immersed in the bitter, drab cold of the lake and the wind, biting at his face and backside.

     In one final explosion of energy, he gesticulated ferociously, willing every fiber of his being to thrust free from the shadows grip, but to no avail.    

     The shadow’s embrace was locked fatally around Ryan’s chest and head with a raw inhuman strength, twisting and strangulating into Ryan’s flesh like icy barbed wire constricting around him as he was drawn deeper and deeper into the gloomy pitch-black center of the woods.  

 

     Alas they reached a sparse wooden shed, solid and sturdy in structure as if it had been built just yesterday, with only the aged rotten wood to indicate otherwise.

     Ryan’s limbs had been rendered lifeless and numb, his heart pumped arctic airless blood into his veins at a slowing rate and he could feel the over-exertion of energy and lack of oxygen to his brain begin to exhaust the life from him.

     The shadow ripped open the door to the shed without removing his clutch from Ryan’s mouth and shoved him inside, immediately slamming the door behind him.

     Ryan’s first furious breath was of bitter stale air that choked his lungs and drew him to his knees, but just as the darkness began to absorb him, the door flew open again, bouncing off a rock that was caught in the jam.

     As the damp morbid air coursed through Ryan’s lungs and veins, giving him one last burst of energy, he hauled himself forward and charged at the shadow, knocking it to the ground.

     Ryan took another heaping gulp of frigid forest air and uprooted himself from the shadow’s torso before it had time to grasp him, staring into its soulless black eyes, which haunted the very core of him.

     He rolled lifelessly across the ground as leaves tumbled around him, clinging to his damp clothes.

     Ryan plunged deeply and desperately within himself, tapping into a reserved well of energy he had never known, and trudged his body upward, coaxing his legs to move. He could not feel the feet beneath him as they dashed mechanically across the dirt below and he looked upward and onward, rushing barbarically through the trees with a strength and force that was no longer his own.

 

     His mind drifted to black and his body soared through the night on autopilot as his heart pumped recklessly through his chest from the top of his throat to the bottom of his pelvis.

     He ran till he could not see or feel or move any longer, and as he crashed to a halt, a single brilliant beam of light came blaring through the darkness, piercing through the trees and shadows and blinding his all but blurry and fleeting vision.

     He fell motionless to the floor, panting like a fish out of water, eyes open upward toward the midnight sky, yet seeing nothing. Dogs, footsteps, and thundering voices came hurling at him, shaking his body, slapping his face, demanding a response, of which there was none.

 

 

5.

 

     Ryan awoke lying face up on a cold hard floor of cement, staring at a bland stone-grey ceiling, his head and back aching tremendously. He slowly sat up, muttering groans of pain and wakefulness as he looked forward at 19 vertical steel bars, barricading him in an 8x10 ft. cell of solid concrete with no furniture or windows.

     He shot upright in a state of disarray and plunged toward the bars, bracing his hands around them and sticking his head through, screaming out at whoever was there to listen, hearing his unanswered cries echo back to him. 

     Moments later a jail guard walked by, opening his cell and forcing Ryan to follow as he walked down an eerie dimly lit corridor.

     “Where am I? Why am I here?” he demanded, yelling at the guard who pretended not to hear his requests.

     The guard took him to a slightly larger room and sat him down in a scanty metal chair sitting before a large iron slab of a table with a single lamp hanging above it.

     On the other side of the table sat a man in a ragged brown coat, wearing large horn-rimmed spectacles and smoking a cigarette. He leaned forward in the lamplight to reveal his face and began to speak in a very soft yet clear voice.

      “You have been charged with the murder of a Mr. Richard, Mrs. Gilda, and Ms. Leah Coombes, who were all found dead 4 days ago in cabin number 7 at The June Lake Lodge. At which point a Mr. Ryan Coombes, that’s you, was reported missing until now. What do you have to say about that?”

     The man sat in a cool silence, patiently waiting for Ryan’s response.

          “That’s outrageous!” Ryan yelled, livid by the notion.

     “My family’s not dead, I’ve been with them these past four days. Listen...there’s a killer out there, I think it’s the same man who kidnapped me 10 years ago, even though they said he had been caught. He dragged me into the woods and attempted to take me again, but I escaped. He’s still out there! You have to"“

     The man interrupted him, sliding a manila folder out in front of him with pictures of his family, all dead.

     “We traced your fingerprints on the shotgun you used to kill your father, we gathered your blood and hair in the tub you used to drown your mother, and found the matches you used to torch the place, with your sister inside, in a bag with your name on it. There’s mounds of evidence stacked against you, plus you were the only person anywhere near that cabin on the night of June 4^th.”

      Ryan reeled back in astonishment, unable to even look at the pictures or listen to a single word the man was saying.

     “No. Today’s June 4^th. Not 4 days ago, that’s when we got here. I don’t know what kind of sick joke this is, but you have to take my family and get us out of here at once, you have to find the murderer that’s still out there and"“

     He cut Ryan off for the final time, disgusted by the site of him.

     “Alright, that’s enough! We figured it would be like this, you trauma victims are as crazy as they come.” he said, taking the folder back and motioning to the guard.

     “Send him back to his cell. We’ll finish this in the morning.”

      Ryan sat completely beside himself, dumfounded by the impossibility of his current predicament. It was all too much to handle--first the incident ten years ago, then the return of his captor, and now this? His mind was in a frenzy, he couldn’t even believe where he was anymore, who he was, what was really happening and what was even real at all.

     He passively let the guard usher him to his cell, turning his mind off from all thought and any hope of explanation to this madness.

 

     He sat in the furthest corner of his cell, cuddled in a ball, rocking back and forth, waiting for his nightmare to be over. He had not been able to feel his hands or feet for some time now, and his nervous system was slowly shutting down, leaving him to function on the fumes of an empty tank of adrenaline.

 

     Without awareness or knowing of it, he gradually shifted into a somber and dreary state of unconsciousness, and continued rocking back and forth with his eyes open into a dreamless, empty black sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

6.

 

     When he eventually came to, he was staring up at a pitch-white ceiling, strapped to a white bed in white clothes, enclosed in an 8x10 ft. cushioned white room, pondering his surroundings blankly.

     His body was completely strapped to the bed beneath him in the fashion of a white leather cocoon. The only part of him he could move was his head. He rolled it back to peer out a small glass window encased with steel bars, its thickness shutting out the noise to the outside world.

     Moments later a door by the foot of his bed opened and a man with large horn-rimmed spectacles walked in wearing a long white coat, accompanied by half a dozen men and women in similar uniforms.

     “Hello Ryan. How are you feeling this morning?” the man in glasses said, patiently awaiting Ryan’s response with a vacant smile upon his face.

     Ryan was speechless, unable to move or think. Eventually large men came around his bed and began removing his straps, and he sat upright scratching his head as a kind-faced woman with red hair handed him a class of water. The man in glasses continued to speak as Ryan drank.

     “I do apologize for the restraints, you were quite rampant when we found you and we were unable to detain you otherwise.  It does seem however, that you’ve become rather calm and collected over the past four days.”

     “Where is this place? Did you take me from the police station last night? I would like to see my family.” Ryan uttered in an agitated tone, his words all rolling into one long phrase.

      “Yes, you have been mentioning them a lot. But no, we did not take you from a police station last night. The truth is you have been here for the past 4 days ever since we found you, alone in the woods near half a mile from an abandoned shed, where we had assume you have been kept for the last ten years.”

      Ryan was furious and ready to be done with all the chaos and nonsense that had been burdening his mind all this time. He spoke in a loud and defiant voice.

     “No! I have been with my family the last four days, as I told the officer last night. And I am telling you now that there is a killer still out there, in the woods, where I was found, and you must catch him before he does what he has done to me again!”

      The man shook his head disappointedly and looked remorsefully at the other doctors in the room. Then looked Ryan in the eyes and gently clasped his hands around his as he continued to speak.

     “Ryan. You have been missing for the past ten years. The man you speak of has been captured nearby where you were found and is currently locked up in another facility.”

     Ryan removed his hands from the man’s and stood up from the bed, attempting to leave the room.

     “Where is my family? I want to see my family. They will confirm that you are full of s**t!”

     The large men who had untied him from his bed grabbed hold of his torso and held him steadily to the ground as he struggled to wrestle free.

      The doctor looked into his eyes again with an expression of deep sympathetic regret and finished his statement.

     “Your family was murdered ten years ago by the man who held you captive. We thought you had died as well. We do not know how you came free after him keeping you all this time. It is a miracle you are still alive. We understand that your mind has endured much shock and torment over the years, and we have rarely ever dealt with a case so severe as yours. But in time your wounds will heal, and hopefully the damage your mind has suffered can be repaired.”

     Ryan continued to wriggle in the arms of the two bulky men as the nurse with red hair hastily pricked him with a needle behind his back.

 

     His energy began to flee from him and his vision grew blurry once more. They placed him on the bed, strapping him back into it, and the doctor stood by his head while the rest of them left the room.

     “Just give it some time, rest, and let it sink in. I know you’ve been through a lot. I can’t imagine what’s going on in that mind of yours, being trapped in a small dark wooden shed all this time, but if there’s anything left to salvage, we’ve got the finest doctors in the nation to help you. Now sleep, my son, and may sweet dreams come to you.” and with that the doctor had left, shutting the door behind him, and Ryan again succumbed to a state of dreamless unconsciousness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

7.

 

     Ryan slept for an entire day, and awoke again in the same white room, staring up at the same white ceiling, wearing the same white clothes.

     Again at precisely the same time as the day before, the same man, wearing the same lab coat and glasses walked in, followed by the same crew of people.

     His head swelled unbearably and his mind felt numb and sedate as he strained to formulate a single word or thought.

     “Good morning, Ryan! It’s time for your monthly evaluation. How are you feeling today?”

     Again the men came around, removing the straps that bound him to his bed, allowing him to sit up and drink the glass of water the lady in red hair handed him.

     He sat for a moment in silence, feeling the blood rush from his head.

      “So. What is your name? The man asked.

      Without thinking he responded, cold and robotically, as he willed his mind to gain full awareness of himself.

     “Ryan Joseph Coombes...”

     “And how old are you?”

     “17...”

     “And what happened to you ten years ago?”

     Ryan thought for a moment, unable to coherently gather his thoughts, feeling fatigued and woozy, his memory and his mind blurring into one long dial tone that rung through his brain without end.

     “I was kidnapped by a man and held in an outhouse for 4 days.”

     “And what happened to your family?” the doctor asked, scribbling his thoughts on a small notepad as the group of people behind him did the same.

     “I don’t know...” Ryan said, feeling a pulsating throb panging in the center of his head.

     “Interesting...” The doctor said, continuing to scribble in his notepad.

     Ryan pressed at his eyes with the palms of his hands and stretched the skin of his forehead towards his ears, attempting to alleviate the pounding in his temples.

     “Is this where you tell me that I’ve been held prisoner in the woods for ten years and that a man killed my family and is now safely locked away in a prison somewhere?”

     The doctor seemed very impressed by his remark and shot a look of assurance to the group behind him.

     “Not quite.” the doctor said. “But you are getting rather close, and your improvements over the years, especially of these past 4 days, have shown a great recovery in your grasp towards the truth.”

     “Enlighten me doctor.” Ryan said in a slurred uncaring voice, feeling miserable, restless, and practically dead inside as the throbbing commenced.

     “What really happened?”

     The doctor fumbled through a tremendous book of notes, locating areas of particular importance to make reference to as he spoke.

     “Well. It is true that you were detained in a small wooden shed on June 1^st of 1994 and held there for 4 days. But your family and the captor have been reported missing ever since, and you have been held here for the past ten years, working with the finest doctors in the nation towards your recovery.”

     “You have been in a state of severe denial and your mind has locked away the truth deep within its subconscious in an attempt to salvage the last of your sanity.“

     “You have been held in a state of dementia and delusional fantasy, fashioning various fabrications of visiting the lake with your family, inventing stories such as rescuing your father from a bear, saving your mother from drowning, and sparing your sister from a fire that you put out; all in an effort to create a sense of liberation and saviorism to redeem your feelings of loss from your family, whom you could not protect. ”

     Ryan continued to sit in silence, letting it soak into the empty sponge his mind had become.

     “Being that you have extended your sentence here and are near becoming the age of a legal adult, we are prepared to release you, if you can admit to these truths and show signs of logic and rationality towards them.”

     Tears rolled from Ryan’s eyes, pouring down numbed cheeks he could not feel, dripping into his sensationless hands.

     In that moment, he surrendered to every last piece of truth and normality he had ever once possessed, and let the calm dark void of his new reality take him.

     “Yes. It is true. Everything you have said is true. My family is gone. My childhood is gone, and the shadow haunts me no longer.”

     The doctor let out a joyous smile and the entire group began to clap, as they congratulated each other for the progress they had made.

 

     Ryan packed up several supplies that had been left and given to him by the staff, and stood out by the entrance of the asylum, where his Aunt Patricia had arranged to pick him up.

     He walked as far as he could down the road, keeping his eye on the security guards by the gates, and when their attention was averted from him he ran down the hill and into the woods.

     He ran until he could just make out the view of misty June Lake through the assemblage of trees, observing its snowy mountain peaks through the foggy grey clouds in the sky.

     The asylum was a good mile away from his old cabin, within walking distance, as everything he needed to get to was in June Lake, and as he meandered through the trees, dragging his feet in the leaves, catching his breath, he could see a small gathering of young adults, sitting around a bright orange fire in the woods just by the lake.

     He walked softly and stealthily over to them, trying not to be noticed, studying their faces, envying their freedom.

     They were just simple kids, roughly his age, who had probably shared many adventures and moments of joy and happiness together, having needed to worry about none of the trauma or upset he had endured. Just simple kids, free to live out all the dreams and goals he had fantasized about as a child. He wished more than anything that he could be in their shoes at that moment, and when he was but a few yards from them, he crouched down behind a large tree and marveled at them for a time.

 

 

 

 

 

8.

 

     Becky dug her hand into the bag of marshmallows, trying to fit as many in her palm as she could.

     “C’mon Beck, save some for the rest of us.” John yelled, grabbing at the bag as she held it up just out of his reach.

     “Hey! Do you see that?” Charles murmured, sitting just to the right of John, staring into the woods.

     “See what?” yelled John, still fighting Becky for the bag of marshmallows.

     “I think it’s...a boy. Crouching over behind that tree.” He said as he pointed out by the lake.

     “There’s no boy.” John snapped back at him.

     “There’s nothing around here for miles. Just some burnt down buildings and abandoned cabins that haven’t been used for years.”

     “I know who it is.” Paul said, sitting just to the right of Charles.

     “It’s ‘The Shadow Of June Lake.’” He said in a haunting voice. As Becky and John looked over at him, pausing mid-battle.

     “Rumor has it that ten years ago a boy and his family were kidnapped in these very woods. And the kidnapper tied the boy to a chair in a small shed, and killed a member of his family each day, right in front of him.

 

     On the first day, he shot the boy’s father right in front of him with a shotgun.

     On the second day, he drowned the boy’s mother in a tub, right in front of him.

     On the third day, he tied the boy’s sister to a chair, doused her in kerosene, and set her on fire, right in front of him.

     But on the fourth day, just as the kidnapper was about to strangle the boy, he pulled himself free from his ropes, jumped at the kidnapper, and picked up the knife the kidnapper had dropped, sticking it into his belly and gutting him like a fish.”

     The group fell to a dead silence, hanging onto Paul’s every word as he continued.

     “Ever since then he has roamed these woods as a delusional psychopath, seeking vengeance for the death of his family.”

     They sat in stillness for a moment, and then Allison, who had been sitting to the left of Becky, spoke up, as if to correct Paul.

     “That’s not the story at all.” she said.

     “I heard from a guy that lives up here that the poor boy was held hostage in a shed for 4 days, while his kidnapper was caught, trying to kill his family, but by the time they got to the child, he was dead.  He never made it out of the wooden shed alive. They say his ghost roams these woods. Searching for a family of four on June 1^st of every year, haunting them for 4 days, crying out for help.”

“Oh yeah!” Paul said.

     “There was that story about that lady with her husband and kids that mysteriously fell out of a boat and drowned a couple days ago”

“That’s not mysterious, that’s just being clumsy.” Becky said, rejecting his implication.

     “Ah. Who knows what really happened.” John said.

     “All just a bunch of fishing myths used to keep kids out of these parts, but they ain’t scaring us.”

 

 

 

     Charles sat with a concerned look on his face, blocking out the chattering of his friends, looking back to the place where he had seen the boy, seeing nothing now but an ensemble of trees and the snowy blue peaks that surrounded the peaceful haven of nature that was June Lake.