Mystery Lake

  [57] Miranda Race

  I took down so many notes before I realized that a lot of the stuff, like what Jake presented, could be smartly copied rather than furiously taken down like a frenzied lecture. Call it a force of habit that keeps me working harder rather than smarter. Also, the act of taking notes is somewhat therapeutic. And we all sure needed therapy. Funny how I got away with never having any up to this point. Duncan certainly needed all of it, but I dunked my troubles away.

  Everyone contributed a lot of ideas and concepts to my notes, and I rattled off my biggest fears. Darkness was coming, and the woods were the darkest place of all. We didn't need more terrors. We needed somewhere warm and friendly, even if it was a crack house motel.

  But no matter how far we traveled, the distance between felt stretched out like taffy being pulled for every moment of apparent progress we made. Even finding signs didn't quite dispel traces of danger. I tried to make light of it, but I'm not the kind of person who comes naturally to good humor, and Roxy still felt broken in that respect. Ross and Roxy were both broken in similar and dissimilar ways.

  Mercifully, we were released from this long trek to a rest stop with refills and the promise of release. On the way, however, we lost Roxy. Jake wasn't going to have that. He would tear down heaven and earth for her. Roxy fought her way out of wherever she was trapped and beat that trucker jerk.

  But she felt different. Yes, she had been changed by events and everything that followed. But this was a different kind of different, oddly enough. Possession. I noticed it, and so did everyone else. We just couldn't speak it. At the same time, I had this weird inkling that nothing had really changed. Roxy was still Joel; there was just more to Joel beneath the surface than I had imagined. Same as it was for me. Well, not exactly the same. And we weren't the only ones.

  The way that Ross sometimes blanked, went into a trance, or had so much on their mind made me want to hug them so much and tell them that they didn't have to keep it all that locked up inside. So many of us had secrets. Maybe Chiara didn't have a whole lot since she kept so much close to the surface. Cute little secrets.

  And other secrets. Yes. Something dark. Something terrible. But just an inkling—just a feeling like a claw in the dark, scratching at the most sensitive parts that I couldn't keep track of. One of us had more inside than we could ever know or ever tell. And it scared me to death.

  I went through the motions to spite my fear. Smiled to fight the fearsome darkness. And keep showing strength. We gassed up at a place that earned all of my now-routine suspicions. If it wasn't real, though, they did a darn good job with the unfair prices at the pump. Looking around the station, I thought about getting some snacks for the others. This place had a wide variety of offerings, some even canned. I eyed the kippered herring. It was one of those things that older relatives swore by, and I considered trying on crackers more than once. Something sweet would have been better, though. Maybe warm coffee with a touch of sugar to keep us all alert.

  None of the others were in the mood for a snack, despite the mental distance between our makeshift lunch and now. I had roughly the same thought. Doing something, eating something, and indulging in a change of travel routine felt palpably better than sitting around and sailing through uncertainty. We all looked and felt broken together in a pot of fear. But there were minor miracles, with Ross kindling the strange camaraderie of splashing that asshole into an offering of a warm blanket for his adversary.

  Were either of them the same person who slipped into this car mere hours before? Well, were any of us? Yes, something strange and disturbing was happening beyond the watery shift. But how much could I trust my own thoughts and feelings? How much of me was really guiding me now? The fact that these questions emerged, and I didn't fight them should have been answer enough. But I didn't explore Roxy's weirdness or anyone else's worries. What was I supposed to do if I concluded that strange entities, unknown spirits, or something else entirely were responsible for the people in my midst? Can't call Ghostbusters. Can't cast a dispel spell. Can't do anything about it.

  These weird things in my friends didn't seem to be hurting them, but who could tell? As I always did, I accepted the guilt fully and totally. I was the one who thought up this trip and led them into danger, where possession by unknown spirits followed. So many dangers I never imagined would follow. What is my penalty? What can I possibly do and say to make all this okay? Likely nothing.

  I could only hope that the possibility of knowledge and people ahead of us at our destination would tell us truths we never imagined and uncover secrets that I couldn't speak.

  I wanted to blame supernatural forces for all the frustrations and glitches I experienced with my phone as I tried to be the best navigator I could be, but simple, fallible human technology was the clearest to blame. This little, contained cozy place had so many comforts that I looked forward to indulging in.

  Everyone had their little spots that drew their eye and summoned a little sound of delight. I hadn't seen a proper video store in years, and I practically squeaked. Although I noticed that Roxy didn't seem happy about our preview of Main Street. I didn't know if I should read too much into that or if it was just a jumble of too many thoughts.

  It was a monumental relief to see that the place in my notes and on my phone actually existed in physical reality. I wanted to leap at it; I wanted to embrace all of its supernatural solution possibilities. Surely someone behind those doors would know what we were talking about and provide contexts for all the oddities. Surely! Don't call me Shirley.

  The relief was fleeting, however, as matching my expectations to reality was an awkward disconnect. It looked old. It looked insubstantial. I was wary of the signs and advertisements that spoke of a dozen routine clichés from the world of unexplained phenomena. I was putting too much on the shoulders of an idea. But we needed help and hope.

  I pushed forward the hardest, and I scrutinized with the deepest furrows of my brow. This was on me if it didn't come to anything. A wild goose chase with only a child's sketch of a goose instead of actual sightings. Doubt slipped into the hollow places of my soul too readily, but I was used to the darkest shades of disappointment. I had to think differently now because my life had changed. But just having a different brain, just having an entire onslaught of new hormones, having a different body, just having a different mind—just having all that did not mean that everything would be different. It's so hard to escape yourself.

  We found a guy who appeared strikingly young and yet remarkably older than I expected. Not to hold that against him on first impression. He could be sprier than Gandalf. A powerful angel wizard in an unassuming skin. He was a heavy sleeper.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Drugs? Not a good idea to assume anything bad before we've even properly met. A magical spell? Considering everything else that had happened lately, it felt like a better theory than anything routinely explainable. Getting through to their number was a relief, though I never expected someone to emerge through a secret door upstairs. What a strange building and peculiar set of people!

  The wizen guy woke up with a start, as if jostled from a trance. They sometimes do hypnosis things for entertainment at the college. It's often more like getting a bunch of people drunk and suggesting that they do silly things. Why not pretend it's super cold and huddle together? Why not pretend you're a kid dancing at some event? They tend to select for the suggestible and the willing for these kinds of things. Actually seeing physically focused results in someone from something like this fascinated me. It is strange to be skeptical against the backdrop of so many other oddities and possibilities, but there are levels of things that make sense.

  I laid out our situation and tried to make it as coherent as possible. Be analytical. Our helpful host seemed to take the same approach. They were cagey but also noticeably optimistic. Neither a Scully nor a Mulder. More the former, but not to an overwhelming degree. He knew a lot of stuff and obviously had a lot of references to help us. But showing him what we could do seemed to be more evidence than he had yet acquired, which concerned me. Which of us was more in over our heads? Granted, connecting the right people with the right information could do more than knowing everything on our own. Not exactly our wizard, but perhaps we could solve this situation together. At least that was a hopeful notion I wanted to nurture.

  He had to do some research, and we followed his mother upstairs for a pleasant-sounding meal. The area up there seemed more like an impromptu bed and breakfast than a shop or even an apartment. I tried not to bring up a deflecting, automatic shield of skepticism when she proposed intuiting things about us. Or even minimizing it as some silly parlor trick. Cold reading should have been something anyone interested in the supernatural knew about. But the supernatural was all around us. Just because some things could probably be true does not mean that all things deserve that distinction.

  And she read me quite observantly. Reserved, observant, and skeptical. I wore a lot of things on my face that people could tell at a glance. I gave her an encouraging smile, but I still thought about all the alternative possibilities.

  Eugene at least brought us answers, even if they weren't the answers I was hoping for. Lake Chelabrin, a place of fairy death and sexual havoc. Now, that might have been a better warning to give in class. Not that it was really Miss Clifton's fault. It was more my fault. As always and ever.

  Roxy tried to be encouraging. We're in this together. Was that really true? I came alone for my own motives, even with others. Joel and Jess were more like parental observers than intended participants. Joel as the cool, rough, and tumble parental figure. Jess as the measured and thoughtful mom. Although their roles reversed and altered, I still felt like they were the most mature of us all. I tried to be mature, to show a better, stronger face. But is that really possible when you feel like you just cauterized the gaping wound of your life?

  Layla had moments of thoughtful reflection and introspection, but her youthful heart was not meant to be a salve for all of us. And Ross had to be so pointlessly contrarian. The sunny splendor of emerging from the water had lost some of its luster in looking over him. Frantic, irrational idealization bleeds off and becomes a look at reality. True of one another when you see real faces and not masks, and true of this situation. Fairies seemed more like monsters or animals with human voices. But then, can humans claim to be much different than cultured animals themselves? Bunch of fuckers, as Joel might say. The older lady put it far more eloquently.

  Roxy met Ross's animosity amicably. But she looked so worn out. I felt really tired myself, even with all the energized excitement in my life. My entire body and biology had drastically changed. Not small potatoes. It wasn't long before she found a place to lie down. I withheld many of my most pointed questions because I wanted the entire group to be able to absorb the most critical knowledge. Eugene seemed to withhold certain revelations from his texts, not out of malice or deception, but out of doubt. He vacillated on one find that raised my eyebrows.

  The company. An actual company? Such a marginalized and minimal reference that I could understand why he wanted to gloss over it. Big notes about companies by name, reputation, or euphemism liked to play up that designation. This is such a small thing. Small words, small intended meaning. So clearly, it meant something big. Thinking back to what I had seen under the water, the words wavered in my brain, as if I couldn't be one hundred percent confident that I'd actually seen what I had seen. Some sort of memetic lock? No, that's just a scramble of words that internet horror tales use to make things sound scary. That didn't actually exist. Although I shouldn't dismiss any possibility if it had even a microscopic chance of being possible.

  [On the ScribbleHub version of this postscript, I usually have a question at the end of the chapter to help with suggestions for where this story should go but these are flashback chapters. Feel free to leave questions about the flashback focus character and what you might like to know more about them. Back to the main narrative soon. There will only be one major and one minor flashback section for the rest of the story with the remaining characters who haven't had long segments of exploration. I'm just a week ahead in my writing and I am wide open for possibilities. I especially encourage readers to suggest any character traits, tropes, and other wish list items that they might like to see for a spooky scene. I also have some fun, musical, and awesome ideas for where this should go. A lot of the ending is figured out but need to get there. This is not as complicated at Yuri Worlds but it's still decently long. The tone this time is comedic but creepy, emotional but sweet. As always, vast details, especially types of characters, character names, and more are wide open beyond the central group. Feel free to add any idea which doesn't show up in the options. Also, if you see any random typos or uncapitalized starts of sentences, please pass them along. I am currently using Quillbot to assist with speedy editing, but it’s not 100%. These early chapters are shorter but they'll get longer soon. This is a more relaxing romp after the tense stuff. Thank you for reading!]