The Strange and Unusual Case of Lake Barton

2: The Night Machine

Darkness fell, and Reggie and Mr. Mendell waved Iris good-bye from the door of the El-Co. Iris had gathered up her bags, put on her rain jacket, and was about to leave before she turned around. "Don't either of you want to come with me?"

Mr. Mendell and Reggie gave each other a sideways glance. They locked eyes for a moment, as if having a silent conversation. Iris waited.

"You're new here," said Reggie at last. "You can do it."

Iris was confused, to say the least. "Do what?"

But Reggie didn't answer her question. "Go on, go home."

Before Iris could say anything else, Mr. Mendell shut the door. Through the large windows, Iris saw Reggie and Mr. Mendell disappear into the back room. Then the lights were shut off. Iris was left standing alone in the pitch-black night.

Iris took a deep breath in. The pitch blackness was new territory for Iris. It never got that dark in Brooklyn. It never got that quiet, always somebody playing music or chatting on the stoop.

The last few nights, Iris hadn't been able to sleep. How could you sleep in somewhere where the wild was so close? Where there was not the security of having people sitting outside on the sidewalk like guardians, even if they are drunks from the bar next door? How could you sleep when at the same time you could see the stars, hear the crickets at night, smell the sweet smell of oak leaves, how could you sleep at the same time? So close to the lake, you could take a sip from its reflective waters.

An owl hooted, and Iris jumped. She shivered. It was a cold night for early September.

Iris slowly walked to the edge of the hill, and began her descent. This hill was the reason that she and Reggie had not simply been able to run the rest of the way home. It was almost vertical, like a miniature cliff of soil and grass. In a storm, it would have been too dangerous. The hill could give way any moment. But now, it was night, and Iris couldn't see. And the dirt footholds on the hill were still slick with mud. But Iris had to do this. She had to get down the hill, safely home, not a scratch on her. She had to save up for the scratches she would receive once home.

She gripped the side of the hill and slowly side-shuffled down the narrow ridge. The unfamiliar feeling of grass and twigs poked at her legs. Her knees were covered in dirt by the time she was a few feet down.

Something rustled in the darkness. Iris jumped, practically losing her grip. She regained her balance and stared into the darkness. Something was there.

A shape moved swiftly at the top of the hill. Iris caught the figure of a person, tall, with a head, two arms and two legs. It was too dark to see their face. Iris tried her best to duck out of sight.

She saw a spark light up in the night. There was a slight buzzing sound.

"Damn it!" said the person.

Iris tried to move. She found her legs frozen. For some reason, in this place with hills that looked like mountains in the dark and real, live trees every foot, little blades of green growing out of a brown, crumbly ground, the idea of encountering another person at night seemed foreign, terrifying.

"Hmph," said the person. Iris saw them walk over to the silhouette of a fallen tree. The person bent over, clearly looking for something. They were unsuccessful. "Damn. Another trade."

The person moved around in the darkness. They bent over and picked up an armful of something—Iris could not tell what—and began to move around, placing objects from their arm in what seemed like carefully pre-arranged places. They piled little pieces up in the darkness. Iris could see the shadowy shape of what looked like a large electric guitar amplifier.