Jim Napier is a retired naval officer who plans a fishing trip to Platoon Lake with his grandson Reece, an amateur paranormal investigator. After encountering strange events on the way there, Reece begins to research the area and finds that hundreds...
Jim Napier was a regular at the Platoon Lake. The cool, freshwater never failed to gift him large bass, trout, and catfish every time he would cast his line. Nestled deep within the old Powamac forest in Nova Scotia, it wasn't exactly easy to reach. There was but one dirt road, courtesy of the pre-colonial tribes like the Qimpenaq that lived close to the lake, for people to travel on.
It stretched for miles, providing a view of the expansive beauty of eastern Canada. Much of the area was undisturbed by human activity, so it was not an odd thing to see deer, foxes, and the occasional black bear roaming freely near the caves and tree lines.
Despite Platoon's beauty and bountiful aquatic life, four centuries of people had gone missing over the past hundred years, most notably the entire Qimpenaq tribe. Historians and archaeologists worked tirelessly to ascertain the fate of the Qimpenaq, with their last reported sightings being a group of settlers they were trading with during the winter of 1823.
Their houses were left as they stood, their boats still bobbed up and down on the shores, their pots of stew still boiling over the fire. Footprints were scattered in every direction in the snow, with no discernable direction as to where they went. The traders reported seeing a strange trail, like that of a long snake, leading back to Platoon Lake. There were no police at this time, and the record of this event was recorded by the night watch and other tribes. It was a mystery to some, to others it was due to the evils of the Q'thahkral.
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Ancient cave paintings and oral traditions from other First Nations speak of the Q'thahkral, an ancient, hideous creature from another world. The town elders would speak of the monstrosity with a thousand eyes and many tentacles which they would use to snatch people out of their homes as they slept. Jim always thought the stories of the Q'thahkral were nothing more than urban legends used to scare children. He'd lived in Powamac his whole life without ever encountering a lake monster and had no fear of the forest.
He drove his red truck along the winding path, with the high beams on to avoid any unsuspecting animals who called the forest home. Jim's grandson, Reece, had his head laying against the window after the 2:30 am wake-up call to go fishing.
Jim was a lifetime member of the Fish-N-Sip Club, a local club for both professional fishermen and hobbyists. They would often trade their catches, and those who worked at the markets would even pay for catches to be sold later.
Jim smiled, rocking his head to the classics of Buddy Holly when suddenly the song began to skip. Radio static soon followed. He reached for the radio, turning the knob on and off as if that was a solution to the radio darkness they'd just rode into.
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"Dag nabbit! I love that song!" he shouted, startling Reece from his nap.
"What's wrong?" he asked, yawning and rubbing his eyes.
"Darn radio went out. It normally goes out closer to the lake trail. We still have about an hour or so before we get to the path," he explained.
"Yeah, this is a paranormal hotspot..."
"I've lived here my whole life son, and I've never seen any monsters or bright lights. Those stories are told to bring tourists. Tourists bring money," Jim replied.
Reece reached for his canteen full of coffee on the backseat, figuring he might as well indulge his grandfather since he no longer had the comforts of the radio to keep him company. Jim began talking about the days his father used to bring him to the lake— stories all too familiar to Reece.
After his grandmother Martha passed away, he moved in with his lonely grandfather to ensure he was taking care of himself. They had a good relationship. Reece was the typical twenty-four-year-old man trying to make it as a podcaster in between college courses.
Reece was a self-proclaimed paranormal investigator who would scour the internet for the next big cryptid to make a name for himself. He grew up hearing stories about the Q'thahkral but didn't take interest in researching it. His attentions were on the skies, and he'd built up quite a following after capturing unidentified lights in the skies of Maine. From then on out, he always kept a camera handy just in case space visitors decided to make themselves visible to him again.
"Gran, why don't you believe in the paranormal? Think about it, this world is huge, and we live on one measly globe in a universe full of billions of stars and planets. How can you believe we're the only things out here?"
"We have so much technology these days. If there was something out there, we would've found them by now."
"And we have. Researchers have found mermaids and evidence of Bigfoot. Genetic anomalies have been substantiated as having origins outside of our planet..."
"The government has never released any such information."
"Because they're hiding things! They know what's out there. The government has been keeping the truth concealed long before Roswell. They knew about the things Nazis were conjuring in the 40s and still never stopped it," Reece explained.
Jim didn't have a rebuttal. He tapped his finger on the steering wheel as his mind tried to piece together sentences through his irritation.
"Reece, I understand that as a young man, you have to find things to get into. I think all of this UFO and Loch Ness monster stuff you consume yourself with is unhealthy," he said.
Reece sighed. "Gran, I don't understand how you can believe in Jesus, angels, and miracles but not the strange things that we can see and touch."
"That's different."
"How?"
"You're mixing matters of the spirit with fairy tales. Archaeologists have found the location of Jesus's tomb, ancient caves filled with manuscripts aren't even in the Bible but predate the book itself."
"Gran that's all speculative. They haven't found anything. The powers that be have been scamming people with these fanciful stories about fictional characters that never existed."
"If it wasn't for God and Christ, I wouldn't have made it! When Martha passed away, Jesus was all I had!"
Jim's raised tone simmered down slowly in Reece's mind as he knew he had gone too far. Faith and religion were very important to him and hated to be questioned about it. Reece felt terrible and turned towards the window with a lump of guilt stuck in his throat. It was dark, and he could only see the silhouette of the tree line a few yards from the road.
"I'm sorry Gran. I'm just tired. I didn't mean to offend."
"Bah! It's alright son. I know I'm the only person in the world that likes to wake up before the sun," Jim laughed. "Why don't you take a catnap? We still have almost two hours before we get to the lake."
Reece nodded and leaned the seat back as far as it would go and closed his eyes.
