Welp, here it is, all polished up & hopefully as close to perfect as I can get it, I'll be soon sending this off to a bunch of publishers, so tell me what you think! This is the ghost story, I wrote for the Get-Together :) Thanks for taking the time to read this & Take Care!
LORALEE’S LAKE
In the seventy years since my birth, I’ve faced many trials and tribulations, but never, even in my darkest hour, have I ever contemplated suicide. No, as a young man, I had the unfortunate experience of staring into death’s shadowed face and it isn’t something I’d like to repeat anytime soon. Of course, though, death didn’t claim me that day. Instead, during that moment of truth, as my young spirit was slipping into the maws of the grim reaper, I was miraculously rescued by an unlikely guardian. For me, it was such an enlightening experience that every moment since then has been like a budding rose, filled with so much promise and hope. Fifty-some years have passed since that fateful day, yet I have never shared my story with anyone, not even my darling wife, for fear of people thinking I was off my rocker. Well, I couldn’t really blame them, I would question my own sanity, if not for the others. But I figure that I’m already old enough that people assume I’m a lil’ looney due to the lines that groove my face and the slight stoop to my back. So in my reckoning I figure, what have I got to lose? Ah, forgive me, I’ve gotten off track, haven’t I? I will stop dilly-dallying around and start from the beginning. The year was 1952. The cold war was in full swing and the US was detonating the worlds first hydrogen bomb, Mad Magazine had just made it’s debut, the first polio vaccine was invented, and Elizabeth Taylor was getting hitched for only the second time.
I lived in a small town located in the backwoods of Oregon. The humble community was peaceful and boring. You know, the kind where they tend to roll up the sidewalks at 8pm. It consisted simply of a small diner, grocery store, fire station and of course the rinky-dink school which sadistically crammed kindergarten through12th grade all together in the same building. The memory of that fateful summer has burned quietly within the depths of my mind for all of my adult life. The day I almost met my maker, I’d just turned sixteen and was spending most of the daylight hours at work, picking strawberries. After harvesting my last flat and collecting my meager pay, I’d started my long, three mile walk home. Walking down the middle of the gravel road, , my feet kicked up clouds of choking dust as the sun beat down mercilessly on my skull. Although the heat seemed to permeate my every pore, I thoroughly enjoyed the calm before the storm. I knew that when I arrived home, I was going to be thrust into a thriving, chaotic hurricane of children. When I started up our small wooded drive, I approached my family’s cramped lakeside house apprehensively. Waddles, our pudgy Labrador retriever, came running towards me, his black silken ears flopping every which way. Big brown eyes shining happily, Waddles flopped over and lolled in front of me with his stomach pointed heavenward. Leaning down to pet the dog’s downy underside, I cautiously studied the scrubby pine brush which surrounded me, for a possible ambush set by one of my rambunctious younger brothers. Suddenly, a dull wooden arrow smacked painfully into the side of my head. Without a word, I turned to glare in the direction of the arrow’s origin, and an unassuming bush shook slightly when a giggle erupted from it’s bowels. Cursing beneath my breath, I rubbed my stinging scalp and stomped up the front steps, entering the house. “Ma, I’m home!” I announced as the screen door squealed shut behind me. Wandering toward the kitchen, I found my mother sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of steaming coffee resting in front of her. She looked frazzled. Eight kids can really take the fire out of you. Her earth colored brown eyes looked sunken in her tiredly lined face and her long dark hair, peppered with hard earned grey, wisped wildly around her head. Straddling a chair, I put my chin on my folded arms and grinned at her. “Has it been one of those days, Ma?” I asked, already knowing the answer. Sighing, she rolled her weary, bloodshot blue eyes towards me, “Ah, Theo, that’s a dumb question,” she replied chuckling. “So, how was your day? I was worrying bout you out there in the hot sun. You made sure to drink plenty of water like I taught ya boy?” “Yeah Ma, I drank lotsa water. What, the munchkins been terrorizing you all day? Want me to go throw a few of them off the bridge?” Ma’s mouth gaped open with mock anger, “Theodore James Christianson. What have I told you about that? If you threw one, you’d have to throw them all-you know how they are about everything being fair.” Laughing softly at her remark, I took a quick glance around and asked, “It’s sure quiet. Where are they all hiding out at?” “Well, the boys are out back in the woods playing Cowboy and Indians, Alice and Jeanie are in their room having a tea party, and Heidi’s lying down for her nap. This has been the first quiet moment I’ve had all day. I crawled out of bed this morning and haven’t stopped running since.”Ma sighed wearily. Reaching across the table I patted her hand, “Ah, don’t worry Ma, Heidi will be eighteen in fourteen years. You can relax all you want then.” Snickering, she scoffed, “God, boy, are you trying to make this old woman cry?” Suddenly, the screen door burst open and in came 7-year-old Joshua with alligator tears rolling down his grimy cheeks. Babbling incoherently, he threw himself at Ma, pointing to his scraped bare knee which was oozing scarlet. Cooing softly too him, she gently took him into her arms and soothed him. Eventually, when his sobs had quieted into an occasional hiccup, she looked over to me. “So boy, yer Pa is gonna be home ‘bout 9 o’clock. Would ya like to go out with the boat and try to catch us some trout for supper?” she inquired, a knowing smile upon her lips. My heart leapt in my chest like a live bullfrog, I was delighted by her request. Fishing was my form of escape, the time in which I could be away from my annoying younger siblings and be alone with my tumultuous teenage thoughts. I loved being out on the lake with the fresh wind in my hair and the world reflected upon the water’s calm surface.
My head eagerly bobbed up and down. “Yeah, Ma, that I can do!” “Welp, get on boy, the daylights ‘a-wasting,” Ma said with a grin. Giving her a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, I headed out the door. The heat of the day harshly assaulted my senses as I left the shade of the porch and headed for our weathered storage shed. Entering the dampness of the leaning building, I quickly gathered my fishing gear and dug some worms out of our worm barrel for bait. After filling my canteen using the outside faucet, I trotted down the dusty path which led to the lakeside. During my short hike, I entertained myself by daydreaming about my Pa’s face blossoming with pride when I brought home the evening’s catch. Strong as a pine, with a kind, loving heart, my Pa was my hero. Working as a choker setter for a local logging company, he faced danger with every breath he drew. Yet, each night at dusk, he would pull up the drive in his old Ford, weary but wearing a bright smile that stood out brilliantly against his grubby face. Emerging from the trees, a cool breeze softly caressed my flushed cheeks and I was confronted with the infinite blue of Miller Lake. The sunlight blazed across the lake’s surface, making its depths shimmer like the worlds finest sapphire. Slipping and sliding down the loose embankment to the water’s edge, I made my way over to our 8 ft aluminum boat and loaded my tackle box, pole and bait between the bench seats. Digging my feet into the soft sand, I pushed the boat off from shore and nimbly hopped onto the bow. The craft glided gently out into the water as I made my way back to the motor and began pulling on the rope. The muscles in my arms were burning by the time it finally sputtered to life and belched out a cloud of blue black smoke. Advancing the throttle with a twist of my wrist, the boat jumped eagerly forward and I was on my way.
Time passed quickly. The evening hours slipped away as the sun steadily sank towards the horizon and soon, darkness began to stealthily creep over the land Worried, I knew I needed to be heading back to the house. My search for a good fishing hole had taken me across the main body of water and quite a ways up a channel arm, but I still needed to catch a few more trout to have enough for dinner since the fishing had been slow. The light in the sky had faded to a dim glow when I finally had enough trout on my stringer and started back. Initially, I puttered along, remembering the promise I had made to Ma about never driving the boat faster than 10 mph. Soon though, my anxiety grew with the thickening of the shadows and I advanced the motor’s throttle until it was full on. Cruising along at about 30 mph, the boat’s body skipped lightly across the water’s smooth surface like a polished stone. A drawback to the increased speed was that it caused the air to chaotically whip about me and I had to squint my tearing eyes, in an attempt to block the swirling sand that rode the lashing wind. Suddenly, my heart leapt in my chest when I sighted an enormous floating log directly in my path. With no time to react, whatever control I had over the situation was quickly snatched away and I became merely a bystander to my own fate. I only glimpsed the logs massive shadowed hulk for a moment before the boat slammed into it at full throttle. At first, the craft tried to use the log as a ramp and the front of the boat rose high into the sky. The newly risen moon filled my sights momentarily before the motor caught on the drifting log and jarred the boat to a sudden standstill. But, as the law states, an object in motion, remains in motion, and I was forcefully catapulted from the boat. Fear had seized my thoughts and I couldn’t quite comprehend what was occurring as I soared through the air. The world was a spinning kaleidoscope of shadowed tree-tops, star-speckled sky, and black, murky water. Then, I abruptly found myself floating in a dark place as unconsciousness overwhelmed my senses. Precious moments ticked by before the shock of the cold water jolted me back into reality. Sputtering and coughing, I expelled a rush of water from my lungs and struggled to draw in a breath. After a few agonizing gasps of air, it dawned on me that I was still in the water and someone’s small arm was tightly grasped around my scrawny teenage chest. Moving my arms and legs sent slivers of pain coursing through my limbs, so I merely relaxed, allowing my mysterious savior to tow me to shore. Once I felt myself being drug up onto the sand, I opened my stinging eyes and studied my rescuer. Immediately, I recognized the pale faced girl as Loralee Jenkins. She seemed to glow in the moonlight as she knelt in the water next to me. Smiling sweetly, her innocent blue eyes shimmered like the lake’s depths and her long, wispy blond hair fell gently to her waist. Reaching out a luminous white hand, she softly caressed my cheek with ice-cold fingers. My thoughts were hazy, yet there was something bothering me, something struggling to break through my fog of confusion. Desperately, I tried to speak, to thank her, but only a croaking sound emerged from my throat. Then, with a flutter of my eyelids, she was gone. Alarmed by her sudden disappearance, I struggled to a sitting position and scanned the beach and the water, yet there was no sign of her. Lying back against the sand, I struggled to tame my frenzied thoughts. In a flash of understanding, my blood suddenly ran cold as I remembered what I hadn’t been able to only moments before. Yeah, sure, I knew Loralee Jenkins. I had gone to school with her. Until, a year before, during the previous summer’s heat, Loralee had accidently drowned while swimming with a group of her friends. Loralee was dead. I had been rescued by a ghost. I sat paralyzed on that sandy beach for hours, shuddering from my close encounter with death, before Ma and Pa came looking for me. That night as I laid in bed and listened to my parents’ harmonious snoring through the wall, I decided that I would never tell anyone about my spectral savior. My encounter with Loralee was something I wanted to keep close to my heart and cherish every day. That is until now. I think it’s about time I told Loralee’s story. The world needs to know of her brave spirit and about all the people she’s rescued. Yep, that’s right, I’m not the only one, there have been others. Over the years, old Miller Lake has had some strange happenings. There have been countless reports of people being miraculously rescued by a pale faced girl, who simply disappeared after pulling them to safety. One of the most amazing things of all is that since the summer of 1951, no one else has ever drowned in the lake, Loralee’s death was the last.
In a tribute to her, every year since that fateful day, on the anniversary of her drowning, I’ve traveled to Loralee’s Lake. The lake hasn’t changed much since my youth, it’s beauty and serenity still takes my breath away. During my annual visits, I usually spend the majority of the day fishing and taking in nature. But, when evening approaches and shadow’s begin to devour the light, it is time for paying my respects to dear Loralee. With the sunset blazing across the sky and painting the water with it’s hues, I will begin to throwing the delicate wildflower blossoms which I’ve collected onto the water’s surface one by one. Usually, it’s never long before I begin to detect her innocent laughter on the wind. Calling out to her, with tears in my eyes, my voice echos across the lake. “Thank you Loralee, for every precious moment you have given me with your kindness and valor. Thank you Loralee, for a lifetime of beautiful memories. You have truly become an angel.” With her death, I was given a second chance at life and I have never forgotten that in all these years. Thank you my dear, sweet Loralee, Thank you.
THE END
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