Case #3984

By Lincoln Reed

Devon threw up his hands. “We’re lost.”

The national park was vast, and we had strayed off the path. He turned to me as if looking for answers. “Should’ve brought the personal locator beacon like I told you.”

Laura walked up from behind, patted me on the shoulder, and waved her cell phone. “No reception. Not for miles. If we turn back now, maybe we’ll find the path again.”

“Getting dark.” I tugged my pack tight and glanced at the sky. “No use.”

We made camp near a wide lake surrounded by granite outcroppings, dense forest, and distant peaks. After pitching our tent next to the rocky shore, Laura started a fire and Devon divvied out the last of our beef jerky. While he told a campfire story, I heard something lap the water. A shadowy form zigzagged across the surface. I pointed with my jaw open, but Devon laughed.

“You’re seeing things.” He squinted into the darkness. “Just a fish. Maybe I’ll catch it tomorrow.”

I shook my head. “That wasn’t—”

“Fresh bass, trout, or salmon.” Laura rolled her eyes. “Anything but trail mix!”

The next day, Devon collected a thin branch for a fishing pole, spare twine, and a makeshift hook from one of Laura’s hairpins. He dug for worms and headed to the far end of the lake.

While he fished, Laura and I hunted for berries. We didn’t find much. Not enough for the three of us.

“Have to conserve.” Laura placed a wild raspberry in my palm. “Don’t know how long we’ll be lost.”

I dropped the fruit in a plastic pouch with the others. “Something about this place feels… wrong.”

“After breakfast, we’ll head out.” She offered another berry. “Relax. We’re a little waylaid in paradise. You’ll laugh about this in a week.”

When we returned to camp, Devon wasn’t around. About ten feet from the shore, we discovered his hiking shoes—side by side, laces tucked. I yelled his name until Laura pulled at my shirt and pointed. “There! In the middle of the lake. See it? The stick he used for a pole.”

I squatted on my heels next to Devon’s boots. Why would he take them off? Walking barefoot would be a nightmare. Did he go swimming?

Laura cupped her hands around her mouth. “Devon! If this is a prank, stop it. Not funny, okay?”

Moaning trees and squirrel chatter was all she got in response.

Laura and I spent all day walking the lake’s edge, but we found no trace of Devon.

That night, I pulled my sweatshirt around my shoulders. The temperature was frosty, but my toes were warm within my boots. I shuddered to think of Devon’s frozen feet. “Tomorrow we should split up. Investigate the woods where Devon’s shoes were.”

“Separate? Seriously? You ever seen a horror movie?” Laura’s eyes were cold, and the cadence in her voice had a slight quiver. “Devon’s either dead or eaten. Bears, maybe. Wouldn’t we have heard the screams?”

I couldn’t tell Laura I was scared. I had to be strong for the both of us. For Devon, too. If he was still alive, we were his best chance. We couldn’t lose our cool now.

I huddled next to Laura as the campfire embers burned as blue as the lake. My gaze lingered on the water’s lapping surface, believing that, maybe, if I wished hard enough, Devon would appear.

I blinked twice.

Two luminous orbs rested just above the water, reflecting the fire’s orange glow.

I elbowed Laura. The circles vanished with a plop beneath the surface.

“You’re seeing things again.” Laura reached for a flashlight.

“What if it’s—”

“It’s not.”

“Hey! Help!” The shrill, echoing plea traveled across the water like a siren call.

“It’s Devon.” I straightened. “That’s his voice.”

“Can’t be.” Laura scanned the water with her flashlight. “The lake’s frigid. He’d be dead if he was in there.”

“Help!”

“It’s him.” I stood. “Devon, hold on! We’re coming!”

Laura grabbed me by the coat and yanked me down. Two eyes reflected the flashlight’s ray and then vanished once more below the water. All was shadow beyond the campfire—a sheet of endless darkness.

“Did you see that?” A creeping sensation scuttled across my neck. “That’s no fish.”

“I’ll keep first watch.” Laura turned off the flashlight and tossed more twigs into the fire. “Whatever it is… I bet we’re safest on land.”

Sheriff Ambrose Kuhnert grunted and continued scribbling on his notepad. “Then what happened, Jamie?”

The hiker sat upright in the hospital bed, wearing a gown and connected to a liquid IV. “When I awoke, Laura was…” His voice quaked. “Her boots were at the water’s edge, side by side. Just like Devon’s. So I ran. Didn’t stop until I reached the logging road.”

“When my deputy found you, you were shoeless.” Kuhnert glanced at the man’s bandaged feet. “Long way to hoof it like that. Why’d you take them off?”

Jamie stared blankly ahead. “I-I didn’t. When I woke… they were… next to Laura’s.”

The sheriff pulled out a paper map and spread it flat across the young man’s lap. “Show me again.”

The hiker hesitated, and Kuhnert fought the urge to curse. The minutes and hours following a disappearance were crucial. Still, he waited patiently as the young man’s shaking finger pressed down at a crop of dense forest. “About there, I guess.”

A nurse entered and Kuhnert collected his notes. “You remember anything else, you call me, understood?”

In the hallway, Deputy Trina Martinez extended a travel mug. “Medium roast. No sugar.”

Kuhnert sipped and grimaced. “Get Search and Rescue on the phone.”

“We’ve found abandoned shoes before, but none by water.” Martinez’s eyebrows scrunched. “You actually believe his story?”

“All I know is, that kid is our first living eyewitness.” Kuhnert glanced again at the map. “I feel we’re close. The truth is lurking in that lake.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lincoln Reed is a professor, writer, and freelance editor. He holds an MFA in creative writing from Miami University (OH). More than 30 of his short stories are featured in online publications and print anthologies.

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