People of the Lake by Nick Scorza

Author:Nick Scorza
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781510745179
Publisher: Sky Pony
Published: 2019-09-11T16:00:00+00:00

1934

. . . It was all a grift. Strictly small time, you understand—you won’t lock me up for something so little, right? Not after you hear what I got to say.

Dennis was the medium, I was the skeptic—Dr. Ephraim Wright of the Reason Institute—I don’t have to tell you there’s no such place. We’d go from town to town, performing “investigations into psychic and paranormal phenomena.” We’d argue and debate, Denny would do his spirit talk act. We had it just right—enough mystery the believers went home happy, and enough science that the doubters did the same. Even when a man’s only got two nickels to his name, he’ll give you one if you show him what he wants to see.

We hear about this town called Redmarch Lake—just rumors, I’d never heard of the place before, and I thought I’d hit everywhere in New York. Denny told me it used to be rich folks would vacation out there, before everything went to hell in twenty-nine, pardon my French. It’s got everything—a haunted lake, a creepy hotel with no mirrors—perfect spot for a show. But as soon as we get there, Denny starts acting all cuckoo-bird, saying this place ain’t right. He won’t even go down by the lake.

I never suspected he actually bought this stuff, but he tells me once when he was just a boy he heard his aunt speaking to him, telling him she felt cold, and when he ran to tell his mother, he found her crying, reading a letter saying his dear Aunt Gladys had died the week before. He told me he hadn’t heard a thing like it since, until now. “The lake,” he says, “they’re lost in the lake. So many people. And that’s not all. There’s things here, things I never felt before.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Ghosts . . . ghosts used to be alive,” he says. “There’s things here with no bodies, only they ain’t never been alive.”

I tell him to pull himself together. We don’t eat if we don’t perform. I put on my Dr. Wright getup and go to drum up some interest in the town square, but nobody will give me the time of day. Unfriendliest town I’ve ever seen. I thought, well, we’re not eating tonight even if Denny gets his head on straight, but when I get back to the hotel, he’s not even there. Someone else was, though, and I swear to you this is true. A tall man with dark blond hair, said his name was Frederick Redmarch—just like the town, I swear to you.

“Your friend had a nervous fit in the lobby,” he says. “Don’t worry yourself, we’ll see he’s well taken care of. I must insist you not perform your little show tonight, though. Our residents don’t go in for that sort of thing. I’ve taken the liberty of buying you a train ticket. Your friend will join you as soon as he’s well.”

I know when I’m being run out of town, even when they use nice words.

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