One wonders how these places get their names. There was nothing especially owlish about its 60 acres of surface or the little islands that poked their domed heads above it. It was a pretty lake, peaceful and pristine. Exactly the kind of place Monty needed for a few days of splendid isolation. Fishing, reading, getting back in touch with his inner man. A few precious days to decompress before the firm reeled him back in and sucked him dry.
There were a couple of reasons Owl Head Lake appealed to him. One was its inaccessibility. Three miles of dirt road to a primitive campground ruled out all but the most determined campers. The second was its unpopularity. The lake had acquired a bad reputation ever since people began disappearing from its shores—a group of teenagers vanished a few years ago, their tents and gear untouched. Before that a family went missing without a trace. And those were just the two that he knew of; he supposed there were more. On both occasions the lake was dragged, divers sent into its murky depths, to no avail. The divers reported the lake was uncommonly deep and cold but harbored nothing out of the ordinary. So the stories grew that the lake was cursed and as the stories multiplied, the locals kept away and its campsites gradually fell into disrepair.
If tall tales and ghost stories kept campers away, that suited Monty just fine. The last thing he wanted was company, some garrulous stranger making chitchat about the weather or some tedious retired couple from Des Moines. No Owl Head Lake was just the tonic he needed. Who knew what happened to those teen-age campers. Kids are famous for making stupid decisions. He could imagine them yelling, “Watch this” just before plunging over a cliff.
As for the lake’s reputation for being haunted or stalked by a serial killer, well he was a city boy and violent death was all around him. He knew the odds of being killed by a stranger were greater than getting struck by lightening. And besides as a lawyer he made his living defending the most depraved sociopaths on the planet. No, he wasn’t afraid of a violent end, he was afraid of some friendly camper destroying his solitude.
His heart sank when he first drove in and saw the bright blue of a tent pitched near his favorite site. He needn’t have worried the neighbors were packing up and leaving. The man came over to Monty his face showing obvious signs of distress.
“I wouldn’t be staying here, fella, if I was you.”
“Oh, why’s that,” an obviously relieved Monty asked.
“There’s something wrong with that lake. Something evil. You hear them stories about people disappearing and all?”
“I heard ‘em,” Monty said. “A lot of old wives tales if you ask me.”
“Maybe, but I aint staying to find out, we all heard weird noises last night and now my dog’s gone missing. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep an eye open for him. If he shows up would you give me a call?”
The old man handed Monty a slip of paper with a phone number on it. Monty promised he’d do that. He watched the man pack his gear calling “Rufus” every few minutes until he finally drove away leaving nothing but blissful silence behind. When the neighbor was gone, Monty tossed the phone number in the fire, mixed himself a cocktail and sat facing the lake.
The sun was low in the sky, the birds were active, ducks, geese and herons making their living from nature’s intricate web. The graceful herons, like statues working the margins while flotillas of ducks and Canada Geese patrolled the deep water like opposing fleets. On the small islands, a glint of white, an owl or bald eagle. Fabulous, this is the stuff his spirit thrived on.
In spite of the scenery, his mind drifted back to his high-pressure job. He had to admit it was a hell of a way to make a living. Sure everyone is entitled to the best defense they can afford blah, blah, but his rich clients knew they could buy their way out of almost anything. Did it make him feel dirty? No, not really. He was a hired gun. Someone had to safeguard the civil rights of wealthy child molesters, drug dealers, thieves and murderers. How should it make him feel? He didn’t make the rules. Still, thank goodness for places like this, islands of peace and quiet to soothe a troubled mind. Nature restored his soul. He raised his glass to the setting sun by way of thanks.
Weren’t there three islands in the middle of the lake? Oh yes. From this angle it looked like two but there were the three little mounds. He knew them well; he called them the 3 knobs. They looked like the tops of three heads, dome shaped and symmetrical. They reminded him of three bathers wearing forested bathing caps. Something spooked the Canada Geese just then. They broke the placid surface of the lake in a spontaneous dash into the air sounding their alarms. He admired the natural world. Now there was a system of justice that made sense. Eat or be eaten, the strongest survive, that was how it should be. There was no plea-bargaining out there, no sir-ee-bob.
When his attention returned to the islands, they were spread out in a line before him. The sun was a golden ball spreading jewels on the rippled surface. The fleeing geese reminded him of the case he just finished litigating. Chichi Maldonado. What a piece of work. If ever anyone deserved to be locked away, it was Chichi. Bargaining down multiple felonies to a few months in a country club prison due to a technicality. That’s why he made the big bucks. He even got a bonus for that bit of work. What a system.
Was he mistaken or was the configuration of the islands slightly different? One of the knobs seemed to have drifted closer. It must be a trick of the light. The sun was almost down. What a scene. A sky striped like cotton candy and grape soda. The reflection on the lake was flawless. What a picture. He pulled out his camera and snapped a few for posterity. The heron called and took wing. Calling it a day he guessed.
The ducks too took wing. Where do ducks sleep he wondered. He loved the sunsets on this lake. He was here six months before. He looked back in the little camera’s memory and pulled up some shots he’d taken in May. Yes, that was another soul satisfying sunset. What was different about that earlier shot? The knobs. In the earlier picture they were somewhere else entirely. That’s strange he thought. It was his last rational thought before the island dragged him kicking and screaming into its toothy maw.
Reminds me of me watching my late grandma take her dentures out. It never occurred to me that I was invading her personal space, something that was almost a SACRED RITUAL. She would become quite ANNOYED !
I didn’t discover that I had actually seen a ghost until I ran into my neighbors the next day.
Our houses were separated by only my driveway which meant we had clear views into each of our presumed private lives. My dining room was front row seating to theirs’s and to the dark mahogany banister that led to their up-stairs bedrooms.
As ghost sightings go there’s really not much to tell. Clearing the table of my evening dinner dish, I looked over to Dave and Gina’s house and saw an old woman dressed in night clothes and a robe walk through the dining room and disappear up the staircase. It was well lit even though they were away for the evening.
Talking to them the next day I inquired as to whose mother was staying with them, recounting that I saw a woman walking in the dining room and noticed she looked like she was ready for bed. There were no mothers or anybody else staying at the house they said. I could see by the back-and-forth glances they knew more than what I was telling them.
It so happens that Dave is a student of this sort of thing and is also convinced that his house is notorious for harboring spirits. It is a creepy old house so I had no reason to not believe him. He was very excited of my sighting. He had me recollect every moment as well as give me the complete history of the old house.
Returning to my place I reflected on what I witnessed. Wow! I just saw a real live ghost. Apparently, they do exist.
I’ve been a grave digger, a crematory operator, a burial vault installer and a tombstone carver for most of my life. One would think I’d know a ghost when I saw one.
I mean, I’ve seen stuff. Most of which could be explained.
One such encounter involved hoisting 1000-pound frozen dead body twelve feet in the air and trolley him twenty feet across our warehouse into a waiting cocreate septic tank. You see, he was too large for a traditional burial vault and not being in a container wasn’t an option.
When he arrived, it was nine degrees. Body fluids coated the snowmobile trailer he was transported on creating a frozen pond. With long crow bars we needed to pry him off the wooden deck so straps could be used to lift this solid mass to his waiting receptacle. My usual strong stomach almost gave way that morning to the smell of the body’s icy liquids but as boss I persevered.
If you give me the choice of seeing a real ghost or prying a real frozen thousand-pound dead guy off a snowmobile trailer, witnessing the unknown versus witnessing the known, I’ll take the unknown hands down.
As unexplained goes, I’m thankful my experience with the afterlife was unexceptional.
In the end, wrap your mind around this: we see dead people. Why and how are they showing up?
Will scientists ever solve this mystery? Could social media get to the bottom of it?
The illustrious singer Peggy Lee asked in a song: “Is That All There Is”
OWL HEAD LAKE By Harris Tobias
harristob@gmail.com
Owl Head Lake
One wonders how these places get their names. There was nothing especially owlish about its 60 acres of surface or the little islands that poked their domed heads above it. It was a pretty lake, peaceful and pristine. Exactly the kind of place Monty needed for a few days of splendid isolation. Fishing, reading, getting back in touch with his inner man. A few precious days to decompress before the firm reeled him back in and sucked him dry.
There were a couple of reasons Owl Head Lake appealed to him. One was its inaccessibility. Three miles of dirt road to a primitive campground ruled out all but the most determined campers. The second was its unpopularity. The lake had acquired a bad reputation ever since people began disappearing from its shores—a group of teenagers vanished a few years ago, their tents and gear untouched. Before that a family went missing without a trace. And those were just the two that he knew of; he supposed there were more. On both occasions the lake was dragged, divers sent into its murky depths, to no avail. The divers reported the lake was uncommonly deep and cold but harbored nothing out of the ordinary. So the stories grew that the lake was cursed and as the stories multiplied, the locals kept away and its campsites gradually fell into disrepair.
If tall tales and ghost stories kept campers away, that suited Monty just fine. The last thing he wanted was company, some garrulous stranger making chitchat about the weather or some tedious retired couple from Des Moines. No Owl Head Lake was just the tonic he needed. Who knew what happened to those teen-age campers. Kids are famous for making stupid decisions. He could imagine them yelling, “Watch this” just before plunging over a cliff.
As for the lake’s reputation for being haunted or stalked by a serial killer, well he was a city boy and violent death was all around him. He knew the odds of being killed by a stranger were greater than getting struck by lightening. And besides as a lawyer he made his living defending the most depraved sociopaths on the planet. No, he wasn’t afraid of a violent end, he was afraid of some friendly camper destroying his solitude.
His heart sank when he first drove in and saw the bright blue of a tent pitched near his favorite site. He needn’t have worried the neighbors were packing up and leaving. The man came over to Monty his face showing obvious signs of distress.
“I wouldn’t be staying here, fella, if I was you.”
“Oh, why’s that,” an obviously relieved Monty asked.
“There’s something wrong with that lake. Something evil. You hear them stories about people disappearing and all?”
“I heard ‘em,” Monty said. “A lot of old wives tales if you ask me.”
“Maybe, but I aint staying to find out, we all heard weird noises last night and now my dog’s gone missing. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep an eye open for him. If he shows up would you give me a call?”
The old man handed Monty a slip of paper with a phone number on it. Monty promised he’d do that. He watched the man pack his gear calling “Rufus” every few minutes until he finally drove away leaving nothing but blissful silence behind. When the neighbor was gone, Monty tossed the phone number in the fire, mixed himself a cocktail and sat facing the lake.
The sun was low in the sky, the birds were active, ducks, geese and herons making their living from nature’s intricate web. The graceful herons, like statues working the margins while flotillas of ducks and Canada Geese patrolled the deep water like opposing fleets. On the small islands, a glint of white, an owl or bald eagle. Fabulous, this is the stuff his spirit thrived on.
In spite of the scenery, his mind drifted back to his high-pressure job. He had to admit it was a hell of a way to make a living. Sure everyone is entitled to the best defense they can afford blah, blah, but his rich clients knew they could buy their way out of almost anything. Did it make him feel dirty? No, not really. He was a hired gun. Someone had to safeguard the civil rights of wealthy child molesters, drug dealers, thieves and murderers. How should it make him feel? He didn’t make the rules. Still, thank goodness for places like this, islands of peace and quiet to soothe a troubled mind. Nature restored his soul. He raised his glass to the setting sun by way of thanks.
Weren’t there three islands in the middle of the lake? Oh yes. From this angle it looked like two but there were the three little mounds. He knew them well; he called them the 3 knobs. They looked like the tops of three heads, dome shaped and symmetrical. They reminded him of three bathers wearing forested bathing caps. Something spooked the Canada Geese just then. They broke the placid surface of the lake in a spontaneous dash into the air sounding their alarms. He admired the natural world. Now there was a system of justice that made sense. Eat or be eaten, the strongest survive, that was how it should be. There was no plea-bargaining out there, no sir-ee-bob.
When his attention returned to the islands, they were spread out in a line before him. The sun was a golden ball spreading jewels on the rippled surface. The fleeing geese reminded him of the case he just finished litigating. Chichi Maldonado. What a piece of work. If ever anyone deserved to be locked away, it was Chichi. Bargaining down multiple felonies to a few months in a country club prison due to a technicality. That’s why he made the big bucks. He even got a bonus for that bit of work. What a system.
Was he mistaken or was the configuration of the islands slightly different? One of the knobs seemed to have drifted closer. It must be a trick of the light. The sun was almost down. What a scene. A sky striped like cotton candy and grape soda. The reflection on the lake was flawless. What a picture. He pulled out his camera and snapped a few for posterity. The heron called and took wing. Calling it a day he guessed.
The ducks too took wing. Where do ducks sleep he wondered. He loved the sunsets on this lake. He was here six months before. He looked back in the little camera’s memory and pulled up some shots he’d taken in May. Yes, that was another soul satisfying sunset. What was different about that earlier shot? The knobs. In the earlier picture they were somewhere else entirely. That’s strange he thought. It was his last rational thought before the island dragged him kicking and screaming into its toothy maw.
Scheduled for April 2nd 👍
Reminds me of me watching my late grandma take her dentures out. It never occurred to me that I was invading her personal space, something that was almost a SACRED RITUAL. She would become quite ANNOYED !
Beware the Toothless Grin 😮 I'll always look twice at the Glass of Water next to my night table 😱 Thank you, and will reStack ASAP 💦😴👻💤
Yikes! No dogs in the alley. Those teeth brought justice! They'll be clicking and haunting the poor boy the rest of his existence. Good story.
THAT could be quite the SURREALIST ( ? ) NIGHTMARE.
Maybe Dali could've put it on canvas. Or Frida Kahlo ?
I didn’t discover that I had actually seen a ghost until I ran into my neighbors the next day.
Our houses were separated by only my driveway which meant we had clear views into each of our presumed private lives. My dining room was front row seating to theirs’s and to the dark mahogany banister that led to their up-stairs bedrooms.
As ghost sightings go there’s really not much to tell. Clearing the table of my evening dinner dish, I looked over to Dave and Gina’s house and saw an old woman dressed in night clothes and a robe walk through the dining room and disappear up the staircase. It was well lit even though they were away for the evening.
Talking to them the next day I inquired as to whose mother was staying with them, recounting that I saw a woman walking in the dining room and noticed she looked like she was ready for bed. There were no mothers or anybody else staying at the house they said. I could see by the back-and-forth glances they knew more than what I was telling them.
It so happens that Dave is a student of this sort of thing and is also convinced that his house is notorious for harboring spirits. It is a creepy old house so I had no reason to not believe him. He was very excited of my sighting. He had me recollect every moment as well as give me the complete history of the old house.
Returning to my place I reflected on what I witnessed. Wow! I just saw a real live ghost. Apparently, they do exist.
I’ve been a grave digger, a crematory operator, a burial vault installer and a tombstone carver for most of my life. One would think I’d know a ghost when I saw one.
I mean, I’ve seen stuff. Most of which could be explained.
One such encounter involved hoisting 1000-pound frozen dead body twelve feet in the air and trolley him twenty feet across our warehouse into a waiting cocreate septic tank. You see, he was too large for a traditional burial vault and not being in a container wasn’t an option.
When he arrived, it was nine degrees. Body fluids coated the snowmobile trailer he was transported on creating a frozen pond. With long crow bars we needed to pry him off the wooden deck so straps could be used to lift this solid mass to his waiting receptacle. My usual strong stomach almost gave way that morning to the smell of the body’s icy liquids but as boss I persevered.
If you give me the choice of seeing a real ghost or prying a real frozen thousand-pound dead guy off a snowmobile trailer, witnessing the unknown versus witnessing the known, I’ll take the unknown hands down.
As unexplained goes, I’m thankful my experience with the afterlife was unexceptional.
In the end, wrap your mind around this: we see dead people. Why and how are they showing up?
Will scientists ever solve this mystery? Could social media get to the bottom of it?
The illustrious singer Peggy Lee asked in a song: “Is That All There Is”
The answer to that lies waiting for all of us…
Scheduled for March 31st 👍