Vincent pursed his lips, but didn't pursue the matter further. He returned to the fire pit and stooped. I watched him work his skill over a small pile of twigs, leaves, and two of the smaller rocks as flints.
"We have matches," I reminded him.
He paused and glanced over his shoulder. There was his ever-present smile on his face. I wondered how he could smile so often without a past.
"I know, but I prefer this way," he told me.
I shrugged. "Suit yourself."
He returned to his work. In a short while a bright blaze burned in the bit, and atop the grill were a couple of cans of corn. The light fought against the invading darkness as night overtook day. The waning moon over our heads shone down on the lake and campsite. Its pale rays didn't warm the chill air, nor could it penetrate the thickening fog over the water.
"There!" Quill shouted.
Bram and he stepped back and admired their work. Only they and their mothers could admire such a job. The tent leaned to one side and the poles jutted out at odd angles. The door hung loose from the poles and half the back was collapsed.
"I don't think that's quite how it's supposed to go," Vincent commented.
Bram spun around and glared at him. "Then you do it! I'm not working with this jerk any longer!"
"Suits me. I could use a rest," Quill retorted. They both stalked over to the bench and sat on opposing sides.
Vincent sighed and moved over to the wreck. He wrangled with the long poles and the other half of the rear collapsed. The front quivered and sank backwards into itself. Vincent's shoulders slumped. He knelt down and picked out the poles from the canvas.
I stood and walked over to him. "Need a hand?" I asked him.
He looked up and his face brightened. "Yeah, sure."
I knelt beside him and helped pull the poles from the wreckage. "How do you do it?" I wondered.
He paused and blinked at me. "How do I do what?"
I picked up a pole and stared at it. "How do you keep smiling when you're not even sure who you are?"
Vincent blushed and shrugged. "I guess it's because I'm still happy."
I turned my face to him and raised an eyebrow. "How?"
"Well, I've got friends, and-well, you," he told me.
I pursed my lips. "You mean your 'proxy?'"
He shook his head. "No. It's because I-well, I like you. A lot."
A faint blush came to my cheeks. I looked down at the canvas in front of us. My eyes narrowed and I pressed my lips tighter together. "How can you say such a thing when we barely know each other?"
"Maybe it's love at first sight?" he guessed.
I snorted and pulled at the canvas. "Like that exists." Vincent's face fell and he looked away. I sighed. "Maybe. . .maybe I'm glad I'm here, too."
Vincent turned to me and blinked. "You are?"
"What are you two whispering over there?" Quill spoke up.
I rolled my eyes. "Or maybe I'm not glad." I glanced over my shoulder at the waif who sat at the table. "You'd know what we were talking about if you were over here helping us."
"Manual labor is not for those who wield a mighty pen," he commented. He pulled out his tablet and held it aloft. The screen flickered on and illuminated his face. "Or a mighty tablet." The light faded. Quill whipped his head to the tablet and his eyes widened. He clasped the machine between both hands. A hearty shake didn't stop the light from completely disappearing. "No! No no no! Don't die on me now!"
I smiled and turned to Vincent. "On second thought, I am glad I'm here."
And that's when the fire flickered.
CHAPTER 5
Vincent and I glanced over our shoulders. The burning blaze dwindled and the flames flickered to small nubs of their once-powerful selves.
I looked to Vincent and jerked my head towards the pit. "Did you use wet kindling?"
Vincent stood and shook his head. "No."
He strode over to the fire and knelt just as a chill breeze swept over me. I froze. It was the same sensation as when I stood beside the water.
I whipped my head towards the shoreline. My eyes widened. The fog over the water crept onto shore and up the slope towards us.
Bram jumped up and sniffed the air. A growl reverberated from his throat.
"I don't like this," he commented.
"Don't get your knickers in a bind, Pipsqueak. It's just the fire going out," Quill commented.
Bram glared at him and jerked a finger at the lake. "Not that, you idiot! That!"
Quill followed his finger and frowned. The fog bank crept closer to us. Its depths were so thick you couldn't see the white pebbles beneath its floating body. I glanced at Vincent. He'd abandoned his attempts to liven the fire and stared at the fog. His eyes were narrowed and his lips were pursed together.
He stood and turned towards the thick mist. "Fog shouldn't move like that."
I sidled up to his side. My eyes flickered down to the fire behind him. The flames sank into the embers as those, too, ebbed as though the very air stifled its existence. A chill breeze swept over me and sank into my bones. I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered.
Quill did the same and frowned. "That fog's moving against the wind," he pointed out.
"Reflection Lake has a habit of tricking the senses."
The voice didn't belong to anyone in our group. Vincent stretched out his arm in front of me and pulled me behind him. His body tensed and he growled at a spot to our left.
A dark silhouette materialized from the fog, and a man stepped out. He was about thirty with dark brown hair that was combed back. His height was average and his blue eyes stood out against his pale skin. He wore a brown overcoat that was open at the front and revealed a casual dress suit of black with a white shirt beneath the coat.
He smiled and bowed to us. "I'm sorry if I startled you. I sometimes forget how quiet I walk."
"Who are you?" Vincent questioned him.
The man straightened and raised an eyebrow. "Don't you recognize me, Vincent?"
Vincent shook his head. "I don't know you."
The stranger frowned. "But how could you forget? We spoke at some length the last time you passed through here."
"Do you know why Vincent was traveling through here?" I spoke up.
The man shook his head. "Not entirely, but why would he not know his own design?"
Vincent relaxed and turned his face away from the man. "I. . .I can't remember anything before I reached the city."
The man's face fell. "I see. Then perhaps I should re-introduce myself. I am Michael Umbra. I own a cabin on the far side of the lake. I saw your campfire and thought I might greet you. That's when I recognized Vincent."
Vincent gestured to each of us in turn. "This is Leila, Quill, and Bram."
Umbra smiled and bowed to each of us. "A pleasure to meet you." His eyes flickered over Vincent and he studied him. "I hope you won't think me rude to ask if you intend to keep your promise to me, memory or not."
Vincent returned his gaze to Umbra and furrowed his brow. "Promise?"
Umbra nodded. "Yes. You were only here a short while during your last stay, and promised that you might give me a longer visit when you returned."
"Why did I only stay here a short while?" Vincent asked him.
Umbra shook his head. "You wouldn't divulge much information except to say you were searching for someone. I had the distinct feeling the person you sought was a woman." His eyes fell on me and he smiled. "I see now why you were so eager to find her."
"I didn't know Vincent until he came to the city," I told him.
The man raised an eyebrow. "I see. Then I must be mistaken. As things stand, I would still appreciate your company, and extend the invitation to your friends. My home has enough rooms to accommodate everyone."
"The man at the shop didn't say anything about a cabin, but he did mention a dock," I mused. "Do you know it?"
He smiled. "Yes, but I would hardly call that unfortunate structure a dock. The board
s have been in disrepair for many years, and it's too dangerous to use now."
"Your place doesn't happen to be warm, does it?" Quill spoke up. His arms were wrapped closely around him, and yet he still shivered.
Umbra chuckled. "Quite warm, and I have a supper waiting. That is, if you wish to join me."
"He's got my vote," Quill quipped.
"What kind of food?" Bram questioned him.
"Meat, and some fine wine," Umbra replied.
Bram shrugged. "All right. I'll go."
I glanced at Vincent. He stared hard at the stranger and his lips were pursed together. The food in the tin can was only half cooked.
"What is it?" I whispered.
Vincent shook himself and glanced over his shoulder at the fire. The embers were a dull gray. "I suppose we should go."
"Suppose nothing. I'm freezing my ass off over here," Quill retorted.
"It's the fog off the lake. It holds an unusual chill, particularly during this time of year," Umbra commented.
I leaned back and caught Vincent's gaze. "It's your call."
There was a pause. He sighed and turned to me. "We'll go." He glanced at Umbra. "Please lead the way."
Umbra smiled and bowed his head. "It would be my pleasure. However, I must warn you to remain close to me. One can easily lose their way in the fog."
We packed up our belongings and followed him in the direction he had come and along the divide between sand and needles. The fog grew thicker around us so we could hardly see the ground beneath our feet. Vincent and I walked shoulder to shoulder while Bram and Quill walked ahead of us close to Umbra.
Quill leaned forward and squinted. "I don't see any lights. How far is your place?"
"Not more than half a mile," Umbra replied. "It's a very lonely place, and that's why I regularly invite guests from the campsite."
"Do you know anything about the stories about the fog?" I spoke up.
"Yes," he answered.
"And are they true?" I wondered.
"What fog stories?" Quill interrupted.
"If memory serves, the fog is said to be malevolent," Umbra explained.
Quill snorted. "I can believe fog that kills on roads, but around a lake? Come on. That rumor wouldn't fly even in the tabloids."
Umbra glanced over his shoulder. There wasn't a smile on his lips. "I assure you they are not mere rumors. The fog on the lake is quite dangerous, particularly out on the lake itself."
"Why?" Bram questioned him.
"One can drowned if they lose sight of their boat and become disoriented," Umbra pointed out. "And then there are the ghosts."
"Seriously?" Quill returned.
"I am quite serious," Umbra assured him. He looked ahead again. "If you like, I can tell you the story when we reach my home."
"Ghost stories? Those are for children," Bram scoffed.
Quill ruffled up the boy's hair. "Then their right up your alley, Pipsqueak." Bram swiped at Quill's hands and missed.
I glanced at Vincent. He was strangely quiet. His eyes were settled on our guide.
"So do you remember him?" I whispered.
He shook his head. "No, but I don't like this."
"You think he's a werewolf?" I wondered.
He shook his head. His eyes never left Umbra. "No, but there's something else. Something I can't quite put my finger on."
I pursed my lips. "Perfect. More trouble."
CHAPTER 6
We walked along another fifty yards of needles and sand before lights shone through the gloom. The shore of the lake bent around a corner and a shadow loomed over us. It was the silhouette of a large log home. The structure stood thirty feet from the divide of beach and dirt, and three of its sides sank into the forest. There were two floors, and the length stretched for some hundred feet. A large deck stretched from the front of the house and towards the lake. Two stone chimneys on either side of the house stood as silent sentinels, protectors against the cold that surrounded us.
Umbra paused and turned to us with a smile. He swept a hand towards the home. "Welcome to my abode."
"That's pretty impressive," Quill commented. "What's your business?"
"I'm retired, but my wealth came from logging the area," Umbra explained.
Quill jerked his head towards the trees. "You must have some good connections. Most of this country's in the hands of the government, and they don't usually like logging."
"Being retired I wouldn't know," Umbra replied. He gestured to a set of stairs that ran beside the deck and onto its flat surface. "Now please allow me to show you inside."
We walked up the stairs and onto the deck. A pair of French doors led inside. Bram and Quill followed Umbra inside. I turned and walked to the front of the deck. A railing at waist-height surrounded the deck, and I grasped the top to gaze over the edge. There was a ten-foot drop to the hard-packed ground below. I squinted, but couldn't make out the dock that I was sure lay at the edge of the water.
The fog stretched its white tendrils towards the cabin, but remained at the edge of the beach sand. The wispy breeze blew through the trees and caused them to groan. I shivered. There was something unearthly in the sound that unsettled me.
I heard a pair of light footsteps walk up behind me. The person stopped just at my back. They stood so close their cold breath washed over my neck. I frowned and spun around.
"Vincent, would you-" No one was there. I stood alone on the deck.
My heart quickened. All four of my companions stood just inside the open doors. Vincent turned to me. The smile on his face slipped off. He strode over to me. His heavy feet clacked hard against the wood boards.
"Are you all right?" he asked me.
I wrapped my arms around myself. The chill on my neck was cold proof that I hadn't imagined the whole thing. I turned my face away from him and closed my eyes.
"I-I don't know," I replied.
Vincent grasped my shoulders. He started and his eyes widened. "You're as cold as-" He paused.
"The grave?" I guessed.
"That wasn't quite what I was going to say," he argued.
I lifted my head and met his eyes. "But it was something like that, wasn't it?"
He pursed his lips, but nodded. "Yeah."
I shrugged off his hands and skirted around him towards the doors. "Let's get inside. It's cold out here."
Vincent followed me and we stepped into the cabin. The large wood home was hewn from the trees around the lake and decorated in a simple turn-of-the-nineteenth-century style. Oil lamps hung from the walls and simple rugs were thrown onto the floor. No paintings hung from the walls, but there were a few tasteful animal heads situated over the large stone hearth. A crackling fire in the hearth to our left welcomed us. The stairs to the upper floor lay on our right against the wall that divided the kitchen and dining room from the living room in which we stood.
Quill turned to me. There was a smile on his face. "You missed Umbra telling us the best parts of this place," he commented.
I raised an eyebrow. He jerked his thumb at our host. "He says there's no indoor plumbing, so the bathroom is outside. And there's also no electricity." That explained the oil lamps.
Umbra turned to me with a sheepish smile. "I'm very sorry. It's an old house, and the only indoor water is the pump in the kitchen."
I shrugged. "It's okay. I think we can survive."
Umbra bowed. "I'm glad to hear that. Now would you like to see your rooms?"
I settled myself into one of the leather couches that surrounded the fireplace. "Actually, I'd like to hear about the ghost."
Our host raised an eyebrow and studied me. "You've met one of them, haven't you?"
I frowned. "I don't know-"
"You needn't deny it. It's natural to meet a ghost, especially on this lake," he assured me.
Quill plopped himself into a chair and snorted. "Ghosts aren't natural."
Umbra turned to him and his expression turned serious. "On the contrary, ghosts are very n
atural. They are an extension of ourselves, our very souls, and are released upon death."
"So why don't we see more of them?" Quill countered.
Umbra walked over to the mantel and leaned his arm on the stones. He gazed into the fire, and the glow from the flames reflected off his face. "Those ghosts bound to the earth are an unhappy few. A tragedy, or even a will to survive, keep them here."
"You said Leila met one of the ghosts. How many are here?" Vincent asked him.
He furrowed his brow. "There are several spirits. I have no doubt one of the women has made herself known to you." He turned to me and a soft smile slipped across his lips. "They are both confident women. That is, when they were alive. Their spirits are as bold as their former characters. That's why they are so often seen and felt by those who visit the lake."
"But who are they?" I spoke up.
He straightened and turned to us. "They are a pair of unfortunate souls who drowned in the lake. The tale is very old, and I'm afraid some of the details are not known to me, but I will tell you what I can recall." He grasped the mantel in one hand and sighed. "The incident occurred over a century ago. A wealthy businessman built this cabin as a retreat for his wife and himself. His wife was a woman of fine breeding and tastes." His eyes swept over the room. "There were many joyous parties here. The wealthiest people from the country would come and partake of the joy. Unfortunately, the bliss was ruined by another woman."
"Isn't that the truth," Quill quipped.
A small smile slipped onto Umbra's lips. "Man's weakness is a woman's benefit. He fell in love with a poor woman, the seamstress to his wife. I don't know for how long the wife was aware of the affair. I only know that one night, a foggy night in late autumn, she confronted the husband. She demanded he rid himself of his mistress. He refused." He paused and closed his eyes.
"And?" Quill wondered.
Umbra shook himself and opened his eyes. "I'm sorry. The second half is where the story is very murky. For a reason known only to the two women, they climbed into a boat that was moored to the dock and rowed fifty feet into the lake. The husband heard shouts and screams. He ran to the edge of the dock. The fog cleared enough that he could see the boat capsize. Both women were thrown into the lake. He. . .he tried to save them, but they both drowned. Now they're spirits haunt the lake."
The finish of his story was proceeded by silence. Bram broke the calm with his comment.
"That's really lame."
"You're telling me, Pipsqueak," Quill agreed. "Sounds like the wife tried to kill the mistress and got them both killed."