Tag Archives: serial fiction

A Faraway Song (Part 17)

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I drove slowly over there, thinking about how I was going to approach him if he was home.  I had quite a few questions for him running through my mind and I realized that asking them could easily elicit  a hostile response.  Brown Suit had not seemed that friendly even at the best of times. My interrogating him about the strange things in Clyde Forks, and more specifically about his own behavior, was probably not going to improve his mood.  Still, I felt that I needed to do it.

As I turned onto Cemetery Road I slowed down even more, my thoughts switching to the mention of an Otto Clements who had been reported as living on this road.  It seemed probable that he still lived there and I was hoping to find his name on one of the mailboxes that lined the road.  That, however, turned out to be yet another odd thing about the place, as not one of them had even an address on the side.  I had not noticed it before but all of those mailboxes looked the same, the standard model you might imagine and either black or green in color.  Only one had any kind of identifying mark on it, a faded sticker of a Canadian flag attached to Shotgun’s box.  As I pulled up at the end of the road, off to the side of Brown Suit’s driveway, he opened his side door and stood there looking at me.  I walked over and put on my friendliest face.

“Hello!  I was hoping that you would be home.  Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

He was not wearing his fedora and his hair looked slightly disheveled.  He scratched at his long scar as he replied.

“About what, boy?”

“Well, you asked me before if I liked history and this place, well, I have questions about it that I thought you might be able to help me with.  You seem to know a lot about things around here.”  I thought appealing to his vanity might work.  I waited as he stared at me, still scratching at his scar.  Finally he turned around and walked inside, calling, “Fine, come in,” over his shoulder.  Once we were seated at the table, again with glasses of water, he spoke.

“What is it that you want to know?”

I took a deep breath before starting, wondering how far I would get before he became angry and threw me out.

“Does someone live here with you?”

“Why do you care?” he growled back, his voice as always sounding right inside my ear.

“I’m just wondering I guess, it’s just a getting to know you kind of a question.”

“What’s your next one?”

Strike one for me I thought before going on.  “You told me that the mine was thirty miles away.  I found out that was not true and that it really is just a few miles from your house here.  Why lie to me about that?”

“I thought it was obvious that you shouldn’t go there but you weren’t listening.  I was trying to protect you.”

“From what?” I replied.

“Danger naturally.”  Brown Suit was answering calmly now, his voice softer than when we started.

“I went there you know, with the reverend, and nothing happened.  I’m here, all safe and sound.”

“That doesn’t mean you weren’t in danger.”

“Again, from what?”

He just looked back at me with a face that was serious and also sympathetic, like I was too stupid to understand what I was facing.  He stayed silent so I continued.

“You know, I followed you one day, out toward Mississippi Mills.  Past it a bit, onto that dirt road.”  I paused, figuring that would get some kind of reaction but Brown Suit just sat there with that same look on his face.  “And then you walked back into the woods and released that rabbit.  What was that all about? What is your whole rabbit collection in your backyard here all about?”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, before speaking.  “You had no business following me around, boy.  What I do is not your concern, or wasn’t any of your concern anyway until you decided to stick your nose into it.  You want answers?  Do you want to understand something about this place? Do you really want to learn something?”  His face had darkened as he spoke, eyes seeming to glow in the deep recesses of his face.  He repeated himself. “Do you really want to understand?”

I nodded but that was apparently not enough, as Brown Suit continued to look at me silently, a demanding scowl on his face.  I spoke softly.  “Yes.”

“Fine then.  Maybe this time you will listen to me and stop this little adventure you are on.”  Leaning back into the chair he drank some of his water, then slowly and deliberately set the glass back down.  His facial features were still tense as he resumed speaking.  “Let’s begin with rabbits, which you seem to know little about.  I’m sure you think that rabbits are soft and fuzzy little animals, cute but a little skittish?”

“Well, yeah, sure,” I replied.

“Rabbits are also known as Fear Callers by Native Americans.  I suspect you didn’t know that and don’t know why, do you?”

I shook my head in reply and he continued.

“Rabbits, even when they are just sitting there looking at you, even when they may seem perfectly normal, are incredibly afraid.  It is their natural condition.  They are so afraid, so timid and scared, that they actually project that fear outward, like a call into the wilderness, a call that attracts predators.  It draws in those who want to eat them.”

“That’s creepy and weird.”

“Maybe, but it is also very useful.  They can be used to attract predators toward them and also draw them away from other prey at the same time.  Plus, they are relatively stupid animals and easy to catch, so not only do they attract hungry hunters but those animals also end up eating them almost every time.  It makes for satisfied predators.  Do you understand me so far?”

“Yes, I get it.  What does that have to do with anything around here?”

“To understand that you need to be willing to believe in evil.  Do you?”

“What kind if evil?  Cultural? Religious?”

“I mean real evil, unnamed and unseen, the kind that exists in this world but which we never want to face, never want to deal with.  The kind that is simply part of nature and hunts us all.”

 

…to be continued

A Faraway Song (Part 16)

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It was exactly five minutes later when he returned and I had made what I guess must have been decent progress as he nodded at me and tucked the last few microfiche slides away himself.  He then waved me out of the room with a softly spoken, “You can come back tomorrow if you wish.”

As I walked out past the counter I glanced over at the copier behind the main desk, wishing I had been able to use it.  As I did so I saw several sheets of paper lying on the side nearest to the doorway.  The top page had the headline about the missing local girl which had caught my eye earlier.  The pages were a printout of that article and several more related ones, including a few I had not found during my own search.  They looked just like the newspaper pages but were printed onto regular paper.  I glanced back at the room and the librarian was standing in the doorway.  He smiled and then shrugged.

“We have all of those on microfiche you know.  We just keep the actual papers around because of tradition I suppose.  Film is easier to search through.  Less messy.”  He smiled and rubbed his fingers together.  “You don’t get dirty.”  He turned away and I was not sure if he was mocking me or just trying to be friendly in a strange way.  Grateful anyway, I shouted a, “thank you,” back his way and left the library.

I thought about the situation all the way back to my usual spot on the side of the road in Clyde Forks.  When I arrived though it looked like rain and I retreated to the motel again, ending up with the same room I had vacated earlier that morning.   When I settled in that night, after another satisfying meal, my thoughts turned back to the events of the day.   I read through all of the articles again, making notes as I did so.  The additional articles the librarian had found did provide some more information and added to my list of questions.  This is how my journal entry read from that night:

Jenny Lee Wilson – age 12 – lived on Flower Station Rd with mother, father, grandmother.  Is this near Clyde Forks Rd?

Mom needed some things from store and asked Jenny to go – gave her $5 – this was around 4 pm – several versions of what she was picking up – How far was this store? 

Called back from store phone – wanted gum and chips – Mom said ok but get something for cousins

Mom figured she was heading back directly – told other girls to start going toward store also so they could help carry bags- also said Jenny would have a treat for them

They apparently went (maybe halfway?  a few versions of this seem to exist) but did not see her and just went back to house and played outside – why didn’t they tell someone?  No info on that but also no one in the articles seemed to think it was strange ?  Seems like it to me

Jenny’s mom called from the house that dinner was ready – around 5 pm – when she saw cousins come in but not Jenny they told her about not meeting her on the road

Mom walks up road to, all the way to store, doesn’t see her – asks store worker who verifies Jenny left around 430  – said she was by herself

Mom walks back, calling for Jenny, no luck, calls police from house 

Search conducted, incl. overnight, not found but one empty bag from the store was (had logo on it, looked like it had not been there long)- goes on for several days – dogs used also – dogs had scent on road all the way but police think she walked on same side of road coming and going so not useful – dogs never left road when tracking 

Nothing else ever found 

Other info: only other details collected were two people who police talked to during investigation 

Otto Clements (also reported as Clement) – lives on Cemetery Rd – interesting…I wonder which house? – said he was walking dog that night (Oct 20) – a car drove past him with a girl in the back seat  – he says it was her but also seems a little fuzzy on the details of what he saw – said car was a two-tone paint job – thinks it was a Dodge

Marcie Vaughn – was standing in her driveway on CF Road – lived right where the logging road was – car had to slow down to make turn – she clearly described the girl she saw and it matches the pictures I have seen of Jenny – she also stated with certainty that it was Dodge Lancer – black on top, white on the bottom – driven by a small-framed man wearing glasses 

How close is all of this to Cemetery Road?

Who can I get to talk about this?  

Is this the girl the reverend heard?  Can I find out more about this when the police couldn’t?

I awoke the next morning and read it again as I decided on my plan for the day.  I also realized that I was going to have to figure out a way to make some money.  My funds, the amount I had saved up from my last job so I could take my “abandoned mine adventure,” were close to depletion from the extra time I had already spent in the area.  That could wait until tomorrow though.  For today, I had decided to drive back to Cemetery Road and go knock on Brown Suit’s door.

…to be continued

A Faraway Song (Part 15)

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The next morning seemed like a whole new world to me, mostly because I had taken care of my immediate needs.  A roast beef dinner and a hearty breakfast, labeled on the menu as the Frontier Special, had me energized, bright-eyed and in a thoughtful mood.  I even took about thirty minutes to go over what I had been doing and try to determine if I had become obsessed about something that really was not that noteworthy.  Ultimately I determined that whatever it was I had stumbled across in Clyde Forks really was pretty strange and did warrant some further investigation.  I set off for the library and was happy to find it open and a pleasant man at the desk.  He was pale and thin, but had a bright smile and lively green eyes that seemed to take a real interest in me as I told him what I was looking for.  He escorted me to the room where they stored all the older newspapers, both print and on microfiche.  After a brief class on using the microfiche reader, and another on their filing system, he turned to leave after a quick pat on my back.

“Good luck to you son,” he muttered on the way out.

“Any idea where I should start?  Do you remember anything about a missing girl in this area?”

He was gone though, the door to the room clicking behind him softly.

The next four hours were weary work and I had to take breaks every thirty minutes or so to give my eyes some relief.  I had begun with the printed editions, figuring that starting with newspapers from two years ago fit the reverend’s “few years ago” reference closely enough.  I knew it was going to be a sizable task, so decided to go on the principle that a missing child would likely be on the front page of at least one section of the paper, or possibly in the first few pages of the community section.  After flipping through an entire year my hands were grimy and black from the print and I had the beginnings of a nasal issue from the dust that had seeped into the collected news pages.  Giving up on that, I moved onto microfiche which also proved fruitless, although I did learn more about the area as I paused to read interesting articles along the way.  It was two-thirty in the afternoon by then and I wandered out to the desk, telling the librarian I would be back after lunch.  He warned me that they were only open until four, so I wolfed down a sandwich from a nearby deli and had returned to my mission by three o’clock.

I started back in on the printed editions, this time three years back, and was covered in grime, ink and dust again when I pulled the paper from October 22, 1970 out of the stack and was met with the headline, “Local Girl Missing after Trip to Store.”  Slightly to the discredit of my manliness I let out a quick squeak of victory.  Maybe this was it.

The story was short but interesting and full of details.  Jenny Lee Wilson had gone to the grocery store for her mother on the afternoon of October 20th.  She had definitely arrived at the store as she had called back home from there to ask about using the leftover change from the  purchases to buy some snacks for herself.  That was the last anyone had seen of her.  Apparently her cousins, who had been visiting for the week, had run up the road to meet her and assist with carrying the groceries home, but she had not met them.  They had returned to their yard, not immediately informing anyone of this fact, and it was dinnertime before the alarm was raised.  Searches of the area had turned up nothing and the article mentioned that the mother was extremely, and understandably, distraught.  It also mentioned another fact which seemed poignant given my own observations.  It stated that given the lack of children in the area, this incident was especially troubling and had made a significant impact on the community.

Eager to see if more information existed on this story, I flipped rapidly through the following days papers and did come across some additional articles.  It seemed that not much progress had been made on the investigation, and the later articles mostly gave human-interest facts about Jenny, her family and their plans for a memorial to her.  The last article, however, reveled a startling fact.  A report had emerged, from two separate eyewitnesses, stating they had seen Jenny in a two-tone car in the early evening of October 20th. This vehicle had been observed traveling west on Clyde Forks Road and was last seen on what was described as, “the old logging road that cuts across the K&P rail line.”  It seemed like a matter-of-fact statement in the article but it stunned me.  I knew from my walk the day before that this was one way to head to the old mine.

Was it possible that this was the girl the reverend had heard?  It seemed possible but I also knew that although cutting across the old K&P line was one way to head over to the mine, it also was not the only way.  There was obviously a road through that area, a rough two-track which the reverend and I had discussed at the time, but it apparently was in bad repair and not drivable all the way through the forest.  Could there be other roads though, ones which a local might know, ones where you could reach the mine?  That seemed possible, or at least worth looking into.  An abandoned mine did strike me as a place where a person set on harming a kidnapped child might decide to go.  I heard a soft click behind me.

“We’re closing up now son, it’s four o’clock.”

I turned to look and it was the pale man, the smile on his face but a look of insistence in his eyes.

“Could I copy something really quickly?”

He glanced around the room, at the strewn newspapers and scattered collection of microfiche slides on the desk next to the reader.  He gave me another smile, although this time it was rather thin-lipped and his voice was terse.

“And get this place cleaned up properly?  I don’t think so.  I will be back in five minutes and there better be a major transformation in here.”  He waved his hand and finished with, “and I do mean all of this.”

I grimaced, shook my head and started picking things up, carefully placing them back where they had come from.  The librarian’s upcoming inspection did not strike me as something I wanted to fail.

 

…to be continued

A Faraway Song (Part 14)

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“What?  Are you sure?”

He nodded his head firmly in reply but I kept questioning him.

“I mean, I can see that this whole thing freaked you out, that’s obvious.  But are you sure you really heard a little girl calling out to you?  Isn’t it way more likely that you just heard some weird effect of the wind?  Or maybe your mind just made it up because it was so silent when you were standing there? You know, the whole idea that your imagination can come up with anything it wants to and convince you that it’s real?”

He just shook his head back and forth and I started in on the questions once again.  I had only uttered a single word though before he stood up and grabbed the front of my shirt.  His hands were cold and his breath smelled like alcohol of course, but also like raisins, which is the thing that stuck in my mind.   His blue eyes were bloodshot but focused as he spoke.

“I know what I heard in there, I know it and swear to it. That voice was clear as a bell, soft but a little worried, like she was just figuring out that she did not know the way back.  There was no wind and no mind tricks.  It was a little girl!”  He spat those last words at me and then sank back into his chair.  I was too shocked to immediately reply, wiping my face off with a handkerchief I pulled from the inside pocket of my denim jacket.  We both sat there, me lost in my thoughts about the reverend’s story, until he took a series of deep breaths and spoke again.

“And I know who it was too.”

I shook myself back into the immediate moment, unsure of what he had said.  “Excuse me?”

“I know whose voice is was, or at least I’m pretty sure I do.”

“You know who the little girl is?  How is that possible?”

“I think it was a girl that went missing from here a few years ago, before I got here obviously, but the previous reverend, well he mentioned it.”

I could hardly believe what I was hearing as it sounded almost too good to be true.  Some actual information was about to be disclosed.

“So, who is she?”

“I’m not sure of her name or anything like that.  He never told me, just mentioned it as an event in the community that I should be aware of.  He also cautioned me never to bring it up on my own, which I thought sounded a bit paranoid.  That was before I knew the people here of course, or the culture.  It makes perfect sense now.”

I sighed in disappointment.  “So, you really have not idea who she is?”

“Not specifically, no.”

“Wait a minute.  Someone tells you that a young girl has gone missing from a place but you don’t ask any questions about it?  You don’t get any other information?”

“I tried but he wouldn’t say anything else.  And once he had said it, I think he regretted it, mostly because I did ask so many questions.  In the end he just gave me that warning and said that he was leaving.”  He poured the last of the whiskey and stood up, waving the bottle at me.  “I suppose I should have asked if you wanted some, but then there would have been less for me.  Now leave me alone.”  He started walking back toward what I assumed was the entrance to the apartment he had mentioned.  I called after him.

“Can I still take a shower here?”

“No.”
“I thought you never used that apartment?”

“Well, I’m using it today.  Leave.”  After that he stepped through a green door and closed it behind him.  I heard a deadbolt being thrown and was not sure if this was because he thought I really would follow him, or just because he did not want anyone else finding him passed out drunk later.  I left the church and started to walk back toward my truck, the new information I had obtained jumping around in my mind.  Despite the lack of specifics about the girl I really felt like I was getting somewhere.

What to do next though was unclear to me.  I thought about going to the local police and seeing if they had any information about this missing girl, but was not sure if they would be willing to help me.  I also worried about what they might think of why I was so interested.  Then the idea struck me that it must have been reported in the newspaper and a search at some library in the area might uncover some information.  It could some time but I had plenty of that to spare. There was of course also the option of trying to get more information out of the Clyde Forks locals.  I laughed a bit at myself as I considered that.  I had not proven to be very good at extracting information so far, at least not without voluntary binge drinking being involved.  The library seemed like the best option and I decided to try it out the next day, which was Saturday.  Hopefully they would be open.  I jumped into my truck and moved it so that I was parked on the side of Cemetery Road, right at the intersection with Clyde Forks Road, and resolved to sit there for the remainder of the evening and just observe the activity.  I was also hoping to hear a repeat of the child-like noises I had heard the evening before so I rolled my window down and settled in.

An hour rolled past without anything happening, then two hours, a general weariness creeping over me.  I also realized how very hungry I felt, and also that I had not eaten very well since my arrival in the area.  My limited trip food, which I had packed into two coolers, was either eaten or spoiled and I had not done anything about replacing it.  In addition, I smelled truly terrible and knew that the solution to all of these problems was to find a motel.  Grabbing a pamphlet of information I had picked up before my trip I located the nearest one that had a restaurant nearby.  Reluctantly, but also with a great sense of anticipation about being clean, full and rested, I put my truck in gear and headed out.

…to be continued

A Faraway Song (Part 13)

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He stood up and retuned the flask to it’s hiding place within his jacket.  I remained sitting, looking up at him as he started to walk away.  He did not look back, content it seemed to leave it at that, so I challenged him with a question.

“Why did you agree to take me out here?  I mean, if you are so afraid of this place, so afraid of whatever it is you think you heard, why come out here with me?”

He stopped and turned around, standing there with his hair backlit by the sunlight.  Before replying he rubbed his face a few times, seeming to be considering what to say.  He was looking past me, back at the mine entrance, when he finally spoke.

“I think I was hoping that someone, you, could confirm it for me.  Or maybe not, I mean, not confirm it.  I think I just wanted someone else to come out here and see if they heard it too.  Then I would know if I was just crazy or if all of the stories about this place are actually true.  Checking on my own sanity I suppose.   And that’s all I can say.”  He turned back away from me, heading up the small incline.  I sat for a few more minutes before my brain had processed his last few comments.  Then I took off after him at a run, catching up and pulling at his arm.

“What stories are you talking about?  I thought you didn’t know anything about this place, or its history?  You told me that you knew nothing about this mine expect its location.  What did you mean back there?”

Pulling his arm away he stalked off, muttering, “Damn, I said too damn much,” to himself.  Those were the last words he spoke all the way back, although he did manage to drain the flask along the way.  I followed along, asking questions to his back for awhile before finally giving up and then spent the remainder of the time trying to puzzle out whatever lessons I had learned from the day’s adventure.  I also resolved to not let the reverend off easily.  We reached the driveway for the church and he turned in without offering a goodbye or even a glance back at me.  I suppose he thought I was going to keep on going down Clyde Forks Road toward my truck, but I turned into the driveway right behind him.  When he realized this he turned around.

“Don’t follow me in here.  I’m done for the day.”  His words were spoken with just a little bit of heaviness, the edges of the alcohol showing through.

“I want an answer to what I asked you.”

“We already talked about this.”

“No we didn’t.  You walked off and haven’t said a word since then.”

“I meant before that.  I told you what I knew before and that’s all I know.”

“I don’t think so.  I think you know more than that.  You were talking before about how secretive everyone here is, and it turns out you are too.  I just want to figure out what is going on in this place.”

He smiled at me, in a sad and condescending way.  “No you don’t.”

“I do.”

“You aren’t even from anywhere around here.  You’re just a kid on a temporary adventure.  This place will mean nothing to you when you leave.  So go now, and just forget about it.”  He turned and walked away again.  I followed him and a minute later we were standing in the small office area of the church, the reverend staring up at the ceiling in exasperation and me standing resolutely right inside the doorway.

“How about you just tell me what you heard in the mine?”

He waved me toward a chair.  “Fine.  I’ll be back in a minute.”

I was excited as I sat there waiting for him, hoping that this was where I actually started to learn something about the place.  Maybe this one story would lead to another, or to some actual fact that I could check, or maybe to a piece of information I could use in my investigation.  When he came back the reverend was carrying a bottle of whiskey.  He sat down with a long sigh, then opened the bottle and poured a rocks glass halfway full.  After taking a long drink he started talking.

“Ok, so here you go.  Take it for whatever you will and then leave  me alone.  It was the third time I hiked out there, the other two times I had just poked around the entrance a little bit, pulling back the branches, not going in.  Like I said, I’m not much of an adventurous type.  I prefer things normal and easy.  So, that third time I kind of dared myself to go deeper, to step into the mine itself.  I guess it was a self-improvement kind of thing, overcoming my fears.”

He took a small drink of his whiskey and then resumed talking.  “So I did it, I had those branches pulled back just like the other two times, but then I stepped in and let them drop behind me.  My heart was racing, I mean it too, it was beating like a hammer in my chest so hard that it almost hurt.  I just stood there, right up against the branches, sticking my fingers back through them toward the outside.  It made me feel just a little bit better you know, like I could escape easily if I had to.  It seemed so quiet in there and dark.  I mean, it was darker than outside of course, but I could see things scattered around on the ground, although I couldn’t remember any of the details later.”

He stopped talking again and finished off the remaining whiskey in one large gulp, pouring another half glass right away.  He traced his left index finger around the rim of the glass for a moment before continuing.  “After a couple of minutes my heart had calmed down and I was about to step out, figuring I had conquered it, that I had stood there and nothing bad had happened.”  He ran his right hand slowly though his hair, his voice dropping to a murmur.   “It was like a whisper, just a really faint whisper.”

He stopped talking then, for several long minutes, sipping slowly from the glass which he kept held up to his mouth.  Finally I prompted him.  “What whisper?”

A sigh escaped his lips before he spoke.  “The voice, her voice, it was just the faintest whisper.  There was no wind outside, and the mine was still, but that voice came from inside there, from somewhere deep inside there.  I’m coming, that’s all it said, maybe four or five times just repeating itself, like she was calling to someone.  I’m coming.  I was so scared that I ran for the outside.  I didn’t even pull the branches back, I just ran through them, and I kept running until I couldn’t go anymore.  I must have covered a mile or more through that forest, face all scratched up from the branches I ran through, knee banged up when I tripped over some roots, I kept going though until I couldn’t hardly breathe.  Then I just collapsed in a small clearing and I was still shaking in fear as I recovered.”  He poured and drained another glass of whiskey and then just stared at me.  My skin was tingling from the story, the hair on my neck raised up and my mind racing.

“That voice you heard, who was it?  Could you tell?”

The reverend blinked a few times and then answered.  “It was a little girl.”

…to be continued

A Faraway Song (Part 12)

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We started out walking southwest down Clyde Forks Road, an easy path to follow, and the reverend and I chatted as we went along.  I tried asking him a few more questions about the history of the area but he proved to be as unknowledgeable as he had claimed.  After that we mostly spoke about the surrounding scenery and I told him a few things about myself.  Eventually we got to a point in the road where the reverend indicated we needed to head off into the woods, which we did and emerged fifteen minutes later in a large clearing.  He explained to me that this was the former railway bed for the K&P line and that it now was used mostly as a trail which extended for many miles north and south.  We took a quick break there as he indicated that the upcoming part of the hike was going to be the hardest and then we set off again.  By the time we reached the beginning of the mine system I was in complete agreement with Reverend Currie about the difficulty of the hike.  The forest we came through was thick and constant, broken only a few times by two-track roads and once by what appeared to be an old logging cut.  I sat down on an old tree stump to rest and take some long drinks of water.

“Quite a hike, isn’t it?” The reverend was also sitting down, in his case on a large boulder next to several oak trees.

“Damn right about that.  Oh, sorry.”

“It’s okay.  I don’t really object.  Quite frankly, damn by itself is not religiously dangerous.”  He laughed a little at his own joke.

I had taken my boots off to rub my feet and replied as I did so.  “Couldn’t we have just driven over here on that two-track?”

“Not really.  You didn’t see it the way we came but that road is not continuous all the way through the forest.  There are a few creek beds in there, and several large old quarry pits, that it does not cross.  Besides, the walking is good for you.”

“Tell that to my feet,” I replied as I checked out the surroundings.  About fifty feet away from where we both sat there was a short path heading down through the forest to what appeared to be a small clearing.  Everything else around us was just trees and bushes.  I pointed at the path.

clyde forks mine path courtesy-dualsportdiary-com

clyde forks mine path courtesy-dualsportdiary-com

“Is the mine down there?”

“It is.  There is a small campsite down there also, seems to get used a little bit.  About a month ago when I came over here it looked like someone had just left a few days before.”

“Hmmm, interesting.  Do people go into the mine?”

“No idea.  I don’t that’s for sure.”  He shrugged and finished with, “I’m not much of an adventure seeker.”

“Right.  Let’s go check it out.”  I tied my boots back up and walked slowly down the path, slipping several times on the dense leaf litter that had accumulated in several places.  At the bottom, the clearing was larger than it had looked, although still closely crowded by the surrounding trees.  A black mark in the middle, surrounded by a ragged circle of small stones, marked out a place for a campfire.  There were several other well-worn areas that seemed to verify that the place was visited and used with some regularity.  The reverend walked over to the edge of the clearing and pointed into what looked to me like just another bunch of bushes.

“It’s right there.”

I peered in closer but still saw only the bushes. “Huh?  Where?”

“Stand over here and look closely.  You see that dark patch in the middle?  That’s the entrance.”

clyde forks mine entrance ref ontarioabandonedplace.com

clyde forks mine entrance ref ontarioabandonedplace.com

I still could not see it but wanted to get closer anyway so I headed down the small incline toward the set of bushes he had indicated.  He called a warning to me to be careful and then sat down on the ground, his back against a tree.  I was almost on top of it when I could finally make out the actual entrance.

Hidden by a screen of wispy branches, the kind you can pull back without damaging, the cluttered space beyond them made me pause.  It was dark and earthy, smelling like mildew and old, damp firewood.  The ground was littered with various pieces of debris along with rocks of various sizes.  There was even an old cast iron skillet hanging from a nail on the entryway frame.  It looked too new to have been leftover from the active days of the mine, but it still struck a chord with me, something about old-time miners and days spent out in the wilderness.  The space itself was both mysterious and lonely, a kind of sad junkyard of days gone by.  I stepped further in, letting the branches fall back behind me.

It was dark inside there behind the screen of leaves, but enough light filtered through to allow me to pick my way forward.  I ran my hand over the rotting wood that made up the walls of the short entry way, the logs smooth and dusty under my fingers.  After several more steps I was past that part and into the passage beyond, one that quickly faded into blackness as it got further into the earth.  I turned my flashlight on, shining it down the shaft but the darkness seemed to eat the light, the gloom impenetrable.  I remained standing there for several minutes, breathing in the musty air and wondering about how much effort, money and planning it would take to explore the place.  Probably a lot, more than I could afford, spare or come up with anytime soon.  I walked out, back into the light, and sat down besides the reverend.  He spoke as soon as I sat down.

“Did you hear anything in there?”

“Huh?  No, it was totally silent, eerie kind of.  Why?”

“I, well,  I thought I heard something one time.”

“You heard something inside there?  When?  And I thought you weren’t the adventurous kind?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  “I’m not, not at all.  I was scared both times that I did it.  The first time was kind of a dare I gave myself.  To overcome my fear, ya know?”

I nodded and kept listening.  The reverend’s face was pale now and he looked afraid.

“You know, I shouldn’t be talking about this.  It was just the wind, I’m sure it was just the wind.  Had to be.”  He bowed his head down and shook it slowly side to side.  Then he reached inside his jacket and took out a silver flask, opening it and taking a long pull.  He spoke with his eyes closed.

“We should probably head back.”

…to be continued

A Faraway Song (Part 11)

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Brown Suit drove past me, into the driveway and then around the back of his house, the vehicle disappearing from my immediate view.  I wandered off a little more to the south and could see some faint motion back in the trees, and then another building into which the vehicle drove.  A few minutes later Brown Suit was walking toward me, a good one hundred yards away still but his voice was right in my ear.

“What do you want?”

I waved feebly in his direction.  “Hi, I’m just checking out something I thought I heard.  It seemed to come from this direction.”

“What’s that?”

“A voice, a kid’s voice, kind of shouting like kids do when they play.  Is there one around here?”

The slightest tick had whisked across Brown Suit’s face when I mentioned the child but it faded quickly and did not return.

“No children here.”

“You sure about that?  I’m really sure that I heard it, pretty clear too, and it was definitely coming from somewhere down this road.”

“I told you that there ain’t no kids around here.  These woods play tricks with sound all the time.  You probably heard something from far away just echoing around.  Happens all the time.”

“So where are these kids then?  Where do they live if they aren’t here?  I’ve been around this place a bit and haven’t seen many houses nearby, especially any close enough for sounds to carry over here.    Or any children.”  I realized as I spoke that I was standing like an old-time Western gunslinger, feet spread apart and hands on my hips.  It really did feel like a showdown as I was certain about what I had heard.

“You’ve been in these parts a few days and you know everyone here?  You really are some kind of detective aren’t you?  I told you, there ain’t no kids.”  That last sentence was loud in my ear, almost screeching in it’s tone.  My head twisted a little in shock, instinctively turning away from a sound that it really could not avoid.  I shook my head and replied.

“I know what I heard.  I’ll find that kid.”

“Don’t threaten me, boy,” Brown Suit angrily answered back.  Then he spun around and walked quickly into his house.  I turned to look west, contemplating my next move and was greeted by a fierce but distance stare.

Standing out on the road, parallel  with the location of Shotgun’sproperty, was an older man, about six and a half feet tall and wearing what appeared to be very dark blue overalls.  He stood there, ramrod straight, with his thumbs hooked into the place on the overalls where the bib fastens at the front.  He was staring right at me with dark eyes, a look that was clearly challenging even at the distance we stood apart.  He had long grey hair and a bushy beard, one that cascaded down his chest in various shades of white.  Shaking my head to clear it I shouted a greeting at him but he did not reply, remaining as he was and continuing to stare me down.  I took a look back at the old building on Brown Suit’s property that had caught my eye, the one with the flash of red, and then I started walking up toward Mr. Overalls.  As soon as I did so he turned and walked off the road, into the driveway of the garage I had seen with all of the automotive parts piled inside of it.  I kept walking and so did he, passing by that garage, and the house it was attached to, finally disappearing through a break in the cedar bushes that surrounded that neat, split-level brick house which I had seen on my first trip down Cemetery Road.  This was the man from that house apparently, the one set far back off the road and wrapped in a strange aura of secrecy.  That intrigued me and I stopped in the road, right where he had been standing and staring at me, shouting after him that I just wanted to ask a few questions.  I still could not see him but several seconds later a door slammed from the general direction of that house and I stopped yelling to consider what to do.

There was obviously another property between me and the split-level brick house, and I also had Shotgun’s place directly behind me.  I glanced over that way and was relived to find that so far all my shouting had not brought him, or anyone else, out to check on what was going on.  I did not feel much like risking any kind of trespassing violation, especially in light of the “Beware of Attack Dog” sign posted on the garage full of auto parts.  It looked like an old sign, faded and with broken corners, but around here it seemed possible that warnings like that were meant to apply forever.  Resolving to come back tomorrow after my hike to the mine I walked back up the road toward my truck.

I awoke the next morning to the slightly disconcerting sight of Reverend Currie standing off to the side of my truck bed.  He smiled back at me as I sat up.

“Good morning!  I figured you wanted to get started early, and I always try to hike before the sun gets too high in the sky, so here I am.”  He smiled at me again, almost too nicely.

“How long have you been standing there?’

“About forty-five minutes.”  That just seemed odd to me, to stand there instead of maybe leaving a note for me, or going for a short walk and then coming back to see if I was up yet.  Why would you just lurk there?  That train of thought gave me the creeps so I buried it.

“Ok, give me a few minutes to try to get myself together.”  As I pulled my boots on I caught a whiff of myself, a rank odor that made me realize a shower was going to be needed very soon, today really.  I definitely felt the grubbiness of the last few days all over me.  Lacing up my boots I asked the reverend for a favor.

“You have a place I could grab a shower later on?  Like maybe at your office?”

He smiled at me yet again. That was getting pretty irritating but his answer was better than expected.  “Yes, actually I do.  Because there have been so many ministers in and out of this place over the years, my office has a small apartment attached to it.  I don’t use it, but there is a working bathroom in there.  You’re welcome to it whenever you care to use it.”

“Thanks,” I replied and then stuffed a few granola bars and three bottles of water in a small backpack.  “Let’s go check out that mine.”

…to be continued

A Faraway Song (Part 10)

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Maybe I should have been surprised, or insulted, or mad even at that point but I really was not that put off by this revelation.  Enough odd things had happened that I guess a lie about the mine’s location was not that remarkable.

“So, do you know exactly where it is?”

“I do.  I’m a bit of a hiker and stumbled across it on one of my early walks around here.  Don’t feel too badly about whatever resistance you are getting about collecting information.  I haven’t got a straight, or even a partial answer, about that place from anyone around here either.  I picked up a few details here and there I guess, but mostly all I know is that it is an old mine.”

“That’s about all I know too.  I did a little research on the area before I came up here but not enough to locate it myself.  Would you show me?”

“It’s a bit of a struggle to get back to,” the Reverend replied.  “Are you sure you’re up for it?”

“Yes.  Can we go now?”

He smiled back at me but shook his head, explaining that he had another appointment to keep in about thirty minutes.  He offered to go with me the next morning, an offer I eagerly accepted.  I had thanked him and was almost out the door when I turned back.

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Sure.  What is it?”

“That old woman told me that no one ever moves here.  That she was the last one.  Is that true?”

He paused before answering, looking past me to the trees that framed the property.  Then he replied.

“This is a bit of a static community.  Not much change, not many new faces.  They seem to like it that way.”

“And children?”  I explained to him about the pictures Eyebrows had let me look at and also that I so far had not seen any children in the area during my explorations.  He was turning away from me, walking back toward his office, as he replied.

“Yes, there certainly aren’t many children.”

That was obviously going to be the end of our conversation for the day, so I called out another thank you in his direction and returned to my truck.  It was later now, too late to do much of anything else, so I parked my truck in a pull-off near Cemetery Road and sat in the bed, eating granola bars and just absorbing the evening.

double crested cormorant

double crested cormorant

It was calm and cool, the sky kind of a dusty blue with a few clouds hanging near the western horizon.  Bird sounds were everywhere and I could pick out the calls of loons, cuckoos and woodpeckers.  A flock of cormorants flew by overhead looking in flight like a formation of futuristic aircraft.  The air was clean and fragrant, full of all kinds of outdoor scents; pine, rosemary, grass, and that musky smell that water gives off when it is jammed up with old wood and debris.  It was peaceful and relaxing to me even as my mind was racing through all of the new information I had collected during the day. It was right then that I heard it, the most unexpected sound.  I heard the shout of a young child.

I stood up in the bed of my truck upon hearing it, turning slightly to face the direction I thought it had come from.  I waited for several long moments and then I heard it again.  This time it was more than a shout, it was a series of sounds, just like you might imagine a child making as it played outside.  The sounds seemed happy, the usual youthful excitement of being outdoors and feeling free.  It stopped and I waited again, two minutes, then five but it seemed to be gone.  I did know though that it had come from somewhere down Cemetery Road and I jumped out of my truck to head in that direction.

I walked rapidly but stopped at every piece of property I passed; waiting for about a minute, listening, trying to peek around buildings, and watching for movement.  At the home of Mr. Shotgun I made sure that I was standing near a tree, just in case I needed it for cover, but even there I managed to get a fairly good inspection done.  At Brown Suit’s house I walked stealthily over to the rabbit enclosure, figuring that might be something a child would be excited about.  Ultimately I found nothing at all, no trace of a child and no more youthful sounds.  I did not even see a toy, a swing set or any other item that would indicate a child was in the area.  I was still very sure of what I had heard though, and I stood at the end of the road, right in front of Brown Suit’s driveway, wondering just what this new piece of strange information meant.

The sun was in my eyes, dropping quickly toward the horizon to set, so I turned and started pacing back and forth, waiting, hoping that I would hear the child again.  Eventually I knelt down at the south edge of the road, back to the sun, looking toward the trees that surrounded Brown Suit’s property.  I was preoccupied but my mind registered something out of place.  It was a flash of color, a faded red, something on the side of a very old building that was buried behind scrub trees and scrawny bushes.  It was difficult to make out any details, but it looked like a sign maybe, or a picture that had been painted on the building.  I was contemplating whether I should walk over to investigate when I heard a vehicle on the road.  Turning around, I saw the Colony Park Wagon coming toward me.

…to be continued

A Faraway Song (Part 9)

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The animal was a fairly large one, at least from my experience with rabbits.  It was light brown in color and of the kind I would call floppy-eared, although I am certain they actually have a much more official, scientific name.  He was holding it by the neck and its elongated hind legs were kicking feebly against the air.  Brown Suit crouched down with it, stroking its head and muttering something which I could not make out.  Finally he placed the rabbit onto the ground and let go of the neck.  I thought it would bolt away, happy to be free, but instead it just hopped two times and then looked back at the old man.  They stared at each other, the rabbit with its nose-twitching, Brown Suit shooing it away, until finally the animal turned and disappeared into the brush and leaves.  I waited, tucked under the branches and shadows of that white pine, until he had walked past me toward his car.  I then went over and examined the spot where he had released the rabbit.

I do not know what I had expected to find there, or really why I walked over there, except for my own increasing curiosity over everything having to do with this strange place.  I of course did not find anything and had started walking back toward my truck when a sudden rustle in the bushes caught my attention.  I looked over toward a small group of saplings and caught a glimpse of a light brown, floppy-eared rabbit peeking out at me.  Shaking my head, and trying to convince myself that it was a different rabbit then the one released by the old man, I started walking again.  It was about four minutes later, just as I was breaking out of the last part of the forest, that a thought occurred to me.  Could the old abandoned mine be around here?  I was not completely certain of where I was but did know I had come a fair distance from Brown Suit’s house.  He had told me I was off by thirty miles, although no direction was ever mentioned.  I decided to pull the atlas out from behind the seat of my truck and see if I could get a better idea of my location.

Knowing I had passed through Mississippi Mills a short time before we stopped gave me a fairly good idea of where I was, and it did in fact turn out to be a little over thirty miles from Clyde Forks.  Considering myself a super-sleuth for having connected this information together I set off back into the woods to explore for the mine.  Four hours later, and after having stumbled several times into the backyards of a neighboring group of houses on a cul-de-sac, I sat down exhausted on the tailgate of my truck.  At this point, having come completely unprepared for such a prolonged adventure, I was extremely hungry and thirsty.  Two hours later, and after a very good meal at a place called Kettle’s Cafe, I was back in Clyde Forks and searching for a local church.

I found it, tucked rather surprisingly behind a thick row of trees directly across the road from Eyebrows’ bungalow.  Somehow I had driven right past it twice, although it was rather hard to see from the road which gave my detective ego some small relief.  The church was simple and small, sided in white wood and with a roof in need of repair.  I walked in through an unlocked back door and was met promptly by a man of medium height and build, soft-spoken but with an earnest face.  He asked if he could help me.

“Hello Father.”

“Reverend, I’m Reverend Currie” he interrupted me but then waved me to continue.

“Sorry, Reverend, I am trying to find out some information about this place and was hoping someone here could help me.”

He smiled a little at my question but did not explain why, responding instead with, “Of course, what did you want to know?”

That seemed like the perfect opening, especially considering how full of questions my head was, so I unloaded my story on him.  He listened to the whole thing very patiently, his eyes twinkling a little in amusement as I described my interactions with the locals.  When I was done, having ended with the rabbit looking at me from the bushes, he reached over and gently grabbed my shoulder.

“You do indeed seem to have picked up quite a few observations about Clyde Forks.  It’s an interesting place as you already figured out.  I might be able to give you a few answers but think I may not be exactly the person you were looking for.”

I gave him a questioning look and he continued.

“Something tells me that you went looking for a church because you were hoping to find an old priest who had been around for decades and could tell you his own history of this area.”

“Yes, I guess I was but I knew when you met me at that door, well you weren’t exactly going to be that guy.  You’re way too young.”

“Yes, that too, but more importantly I’ve only been here for a few months.”

I did not respond immediately as something was struggling to make itself known from my subconscious.  It finally came through.

“So you just moved here a few months ago?  That’s weird because that old lady I spoke to this morning said that no one had moved here in forty years or so.  She said her and her husband were the last ones.”

“Ah yes, well I think she was basically telling you the truth.  The people around here do not exactly count the church ministers as among their population.”

“Really?  Is this not a very religious place?”

“It’s not that.  It’s just that they have been rotating ministers in and out of this place for almost sixty years, not one of them spending much more than a year here.  I guess the locals think of us like some kind of interchangeable knick-knack.  It makes it a challenge to minister to them but I guess the church brought that struggle on itself.  I just keep smiling and trying to do my best.”

“So, I guess you don’t know much then, huh?”

He paused before answering, considering me I guess, or whether he wanted to share things with me.  Then he spoke.

“Well, maybe not everything you want to know, but I do know a few things.”

“Like?”

“Well, for one thing, that mine is not thirty miles from here.  It’s just a couple of miles west.”

…to be continued

A Faraway Song (Part 6)

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I puzzled for awhile as I sat there on the side of the road, catching my breath and running through the events that had just occurred.  I found it hard to believe that this day had included me being shot at and also trapped, or at least thinking I was trapped, in a strange man’s house.  That was a far cry from poking around the Canadian wilderness for an abandoned mine.  Thirty miles was what Brown Suit had said when telling me how far off I was, and that seemed like a very long way away.  I hung there on the side of the road, long past when I had recovered my breath, wondering about this strange place.  It was more than the three weird inhabitants I had encountered so far.  There seemed to be a murky sense of secrecy about the place and a stillness that almost felt out of time.  I was repelled and intrigued all at the same time.  Finally, with evening setting in, I walked back to my truck and laid down to sleep once again in the back.

Morning, cool and bright, brought me the clarity I had been unable to find the night before.  I really wanted to try to figure this place out, to determine just what all the strangeness was about.  I decided to first investigate whether this small enclave made up the entirety of Clyde Forks, or if there were other pieces of it scattered around the densely wooded areas along the road.  I had come in from the east, passing over a river that I believe fed into a lake that was simply named after a man named Joe.  There had been very little in the way of structures back that way so I drove west on the road.  I soon realized that there was in fact another small group of houses and out-buildings just around the corner from Cemetery Road.  These stretched out about one-fifth of a mile.  After that there was again nothing, so I decided to call that the extent of the town.  I started at the green house which was furthest away down Clyde Forks Road, getting out of my truck and knocking on the battered wooden door.

 

the yellow bungalow

the yellow bungalow

There was no response there, even after several attempts at knocking and one at walking around the side.  The backyard was inaccessible due to a rusty chain-link fence.  Three more houses yielded the same result, and then I came to a two-story bungalow with faded yellow paint and brown shutters.  My knock there was responded to by a cheerful voice from around the south side of the house, and was followed soon after by the appearance of a woman who seemed to be about seventy years old.  She was tall, maybe six feet or a little more, although she leaned forward as she walked as though her back was hurting.  Her face was round and pale, with bright blue eyes and bushy, rather distracting, white eyebrows.  Another odd character but at least this one seemed friendly.

“Hi ma’am, how are you?  Sorry for coming on your property unannounced like this.”

“It’s alright sonny boy. I don’t get many visitors so this is a welcome change in the daily routine.  You must come from very far away, don’t ya?”

“Well, yes, but how, oh wait I get it.  My accent?”

She laughed at that and squinted at me.  “Well, that would’a done it I suppose but I was talking about those clothes.  Nobody around here dresses like that, do they?”

I looked down at myself.  Blue jeans, hiking boots, a black tank top. I had traded yesterday’s t-shirt for something lighter as it seemed like the weather was trending towards warmer.   I did not see the relevance of the woman’s comment, which was apparently obvious from the look I gave her back.

“We’re more decent around here then to be walking around with our shoulders exposed, aren’t we?”

“Well, I guess, I don’t know.  I guess so, huh?”  I could tell I was blushing as I answered although I hardly understood why.  Tank tops did not seem so risqué to me.

She laughed again.  “But it’s okay for sure, after all you aren’t from around here obviously.  Come along into the house.  Coffee for ya?”

“Yes, that would be fine.”  I rubbed my shoulders as I entered, unable to get the image out of my mind of how this woman viewed me, as some kind of partially-clothed weirdo.  We sat down at her table, surrounded by doilies and lace curtains, and I told her how I happened to have come up to the area.  I also related my experiences the day before down on Cemetery Road.  Eyebrows sat silent the whole time, stirring her coffee with a spoon when she was not drinking it.  When I stopped talking she sighed.

“So, you want to know where that mine is then?”

“I thought so, or I guess maybe I still do.  But the real reason I started back at poking around here today is that I just want to know what this place it all about.  It seems strange, or weird, or spooky.  I don’t really know how to explain it and I suppose you don’t feel it because you live here, but it’s an odd place.”

She cocked her head at me, her face serious but her blue eyes twinkling as she spoke.

“I feel it plenty sonny.  I have felt it every minute of every day since I moved here with my husband forty years ago.  I’m not from around her either, ya know?”  She giggled a little at that and then continued.  “Or maybe I am, now I am I suppose, but I wasn’t back then.  We moved up here after the wedding, he was from Flower Station, born and raised as they say. “

She stopped talking and ran her hand back and forth along the lace tablecloth, continuing to do so long enough that the silence became awkward.  I looked around and could tell that no man lived here anymore, the rooms I could see filled completely with items a woman would favor.  She seemed to realize what I was thinking.

“He’s dead of course, almost twelve years now, went peaceful as can be in his sleep one November night.  And I stayed right here in our home, secure enough from our savings to pass my remaining years away in the garden.  But to get back to your point sonny boy, I can still feel the strangeness after all of these years.  If you aren’t from here it is as obvious as pants on cats, isn’t it?”

I had to laugh at her reference before answering.  “Yes.  Why did you stay then?  Why not just take that money you had saved up and move somewhere you felt more comfortable, maybe back where you came from?”

“That is a good question but you wouldn’t ask it if you knew more about this place.  There are things, well let’s just call them unwritten rules, about living in Clyde Forks.  It kind of makes you stick around once you move here.”

“You mean you’re not allowed to move?”

She squinted at me again but her eyes were sad this time.  Her voice was soft but clear when she spoke.

“It’s something like that I suppose, but it’s not like anyone here is physically stopping me from leaving.  It is just this place.  You don’t leave and for the most part no one ever moves here.”

“I could see that.  It’s a small place, far away and all that.  Probably not many people are looking to live this far from civilization.”

“You don’t realize, do you?”

I answered her with a look of confusion so she continued.

“Me and my husband were the last people to ever move here.”

 

…to be continued