Gray Lake: A Novel of Crime and Supernatural Horror

Gray Lake: Chapter 5

“You really think we should go this way?” Iggy asked from the passenger’s seat. Brian glanced at him. Iggy’s eyes were wide wet, frightened orbs. His thin, hook-nosed face, all angles and bones, framed by his long, frizzy hair, was pale green in the residual glow from Brian’s instrument panel.

Iggy was unconsciously grasping the dashboard over the glove compartment with both hands, as if he were bracing himself for an impending crash. “You really think we should go up Deadman’s Hill? I mean, that’s directly past … past where whatever we saw was.”

“You want to go driving around in the boonies instead? There’s nothing but woods and farmland the other way, between here and Burr Oak. Almost no houses, even. I’m heading back to reality, back into town,” Brian said. “And trust me, I’m flooring it.” Even though they still had a lot of curve to go – the big oak wasn’t even quite in view yet – Brian jammed the Jeep’s pedal to the floor, the muffler becoming almost as loud as the ghost car’s had seemed during its approach.

The Jeep wasn’t much on acceleration, but centrifugal force was already making the boys lean into the curve as the oak became visible in the washed-out headlights. The tableau was the same one they’d seen on a hundred different nights. It wasn’t very clear in the headlights, but the berm near the oak looked gravelly, unscathed by tires.

And then the Jeep was past the oak and climbing the hill.

“Jesus!” Iggy said, and he started laughing.

Brian grinned. “That wasn’t real, was it? I mean, we didn’t really see what we thought we saw back there, right?”

“No, that wasn’t real at all,” Iggy said. “A mass hallucination built for two. Something in that chicken we ate.”

“You hallucinated from the dope you smoked, and I read your mind without knowing it.”

“Really, it was just a UFO.”

“An optical illusion caused by atmospheric conditions.”

“Swamp gas on the wrong side of the lake.”

“And that engine noise was someone mowing their lawn at ten p.m. on a Friday night.”

“Right.”

They were silent for a beat.

“Hey, Brian.”

“What?”

“I was scared shitless, man.”

They both cracked up. But after laughing, Brian said: “Me too.”

“My stomach, man, the nerves are still all jangly. I feel like someone – someone big as Bull maybe – punched me there. I need to eat.”

“Huh? All that chicken and fries not an hour ago – I mean it’s still stinking up the Jeep – and you need to eat?”

“I’m freakin’ starved.”

“Do ghosts always make you hungry?”

“Every single one I’ve ever seen,” Iggy said. “They suck energy from you. They really do.”

“Oh, you’ve seen ghosts before?”

“Sure, haven’t you?”

“No.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“You’re saying you’ve never had a ghostly experience before?”

“No.”

“Dude,” Iggy said. “I’ve seen UFOs – three of them for sure, maybe as many as nine. Haven’t I ever told you about this before? UFOs seem to dig me. And I’ve had two previous encounters with ghosts, and I think I saw Bigfoot in the woods once when I was seven, but he was, like, way off on the horizon and I’d just seen a TV special about him the night before. One of the ghosts was in my attic – I’m being serious about this – just an old woman bending over and peering at something that wasn’t there. I’m thinking like at a trunk that was on the floor once upon a time. She looked back at me, like she was confused that I was there, and then she just faded away. The other time though…”