Shore lunch is a fish feast prepared over an open fire by the guides. The lunch boxes are their portable pantries.
I check the list on the bulletin board against the contents I’ve placed inside. It’s been a long day, and I can barely keep my eyes open. As for my brain, it’s either already asleep or in a coma. The job takes way longer than it should. When I’m finally sure the boxes are stocked down to the last potato and fork, I let myself out of the lodge and head for bed.
Right away, the fresh air chases away some of my drowsiness. I breathe it in hungrily and gaze up at the night sky. It’s blue-black—dark, but not completely, so I don’t bother switching on my flashlight. Though it’s only about ten thirty, the camp is quiet. There are lights on in a couple of the cabins, including Dennis Savoy’s, but the other guests have gone to bed. Out on the lake, a loon calls and a fish jumps. The gravel crunches under my feet.
I have the camp to myself—the camp and the moon. At one spot, the path opens to a clearing by the lake, and there it is—a huge white orb hung so low in the sky, it seems to sit on the water like an enormous pearl in a sea of diamonds.
As I marvel at the beauty of it, someone emerges from the trees. It’s a girl. Right away, I sense an urgency about her. She moves quickly, but so fluidly that she seems to float. Her long hair and gauzy gown swing and sway with each step. She comes to a stop directly in front of the moon and reaches out to it—a black silhouette against glowing white.
Then, like a frantic hummingbird, she begins darting about the clearing—dropping, clawing the ground, springing up and moving on. Around and around she goes, becoming more and more frenzied with each pass.
It’s the witch of the lake. I’m sure of it. The moon is full, and she’s searching for her necklace.
I gasp and step backward—right into a bush. Leaves rustle and twigs snap. I drop my flashlight. The witch stops her feverish search and cocks her head to listen.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” I barely breathe the words, but I’m sure she’s heard me. I clap a hand over my mouth.
She rises and takes a step toward me. She peers hard into the night.
I stop breathing. Is this really happening?
Silently I pray, Don’t let her see me. I have no idea what would happen if she did, and I don’t want to find out. I’m not one of the woodsmen who killed her mother, and I don’t have her necklace, but maybe the witch doesn’t care about that. I might be in trouble for disturbing her. I have no clue. This is my first encounter with a ghost.
After what feels like forever, the witch turns and lifts her arms to the moon again. Then she disappears into the trees.
That should make me feel better, but it actually makes me more scared. What if she’s doubling back through the forest to sneak up behind me? There’s no way I’m going deeper into the woods. I have to get back to the lodge.
I start to run. The crunch of the gravel beneath my feet is magnified by the quiet of the night, broadcasting my location like a loudspeaker. I might as well be wearing a flashing beacon on my head. If the witch wants me, I’m easy to find. But if I can get out of the woods, I’ll be safe. At least, that’s what I’m hoping. Every couple of seconds I look over my shoulder, expecting to see the witch closing in. Will she be herself or will she be a giant bear or a blistering fire?
I’m so concerned about what might be chasing me that I don’t see what I’m racing toward—until I crash into it.
I’m swallowed by huge, powerful arms. I’m too stunned to scream, but my sense of survival takes over and I start punching and kicking like a crazy person.
My captor howls and lets go. My instincts tell me to run, but the path ahead is blocked by—
“Sloan?” I squeak as recognition sets in and relief washes over me. “Oh, man, am I glad to see you!”
“Oh yeah?” he growls. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.” He winces and rubs his side and then his shin. “Jeez, Bailey, what the heck were you tryin’ to do? Kill me?”
“No. Of course not,” I mumble. “Sorry.” Suddenly, I feel really dumb. I peer over my shoulder again. “I thought you were…” I don’t finish the sentence. If I tell Sloan I saw the witch, not only will he not believe me, but he’ll laugh himself silly.
“You thought I was what?” he prods. “Voldemort? Dracula? Jack the Ripper?”
I shake my head.
“Then who?”
“The witch.” I say it so quietly, it’s a wonder he even hears me.
But he does. “The witch!” He snorts. “Are you kidding me?”
“Shhh,” I hush him. “You’ll wake the camp.” Now my back is up. “Yes, the witch,” I hiss. “I know you don’t believe me, but I know what I saw. It was like Ed said. She was standing in the moonlight at the edge of the lake, looking for her necklace.”
To my surprise, Sloan stops laughing. “Where?” he says.
I point down the path. “The clearing. But she’s gone now. She heard me and slipped into the trees. That’s why I was running. I thought she was coming after me.”
I wait for Sloan to laugh again, but he doesn’t. He’s completely serious when he says, “Show me.”
I can’t say that I’m thrilled about going back to the scene of the crime, but at least I’m not going alone. If the witch wants to kill me, she’s going to have to go through a big muscular guy to do it.
My flashlight is on the path where I dropped it. Sloan picks it up, flicks it on and starts wading through the long grass of the clearing. Against my better judgment, I follow.
At the lakeshore, he waves the beam of light over the sandy earth.
“Whewwwww!” he whistles. “Somebody—or something—was here, all right. Look at this. The ground’s all torn up and there are footprints. A girl’s footprints.”
I shake my head. “Not a girl. The witch.”
“Come on,” Sloan says, leading me back to the trail. “I’ll walk you to your cabin.”
We stop at the door. April has left the outside light on, and moths are fluttering around its hypnotic glow.
“Are you going to tell? You know, about the witch?” I ask. The last thing I need is to be the laughing stock of the camp.
He shrugs. “Not if you don’t want me to. I saw the ground all torn up, but you’re the one who saw the witch. It’s up to you. If you want to tell, I’ll back you up. If you don’t, I won’t say a word.”
“Thanks.” I point to the flashlight. “Take it. You can give it back to me tomorrow.”
I quietly let myself into the cabin and shut off the outside light. I can hear April breathing softly in her sleep across the room. Should I tell her about the witch or shouldn’t I? I have all night to decide.