Beavers Creek

16May2005

BEAVERS CREEK

There are darker tales too, in Beavers Creek, things unknown, hidden things , like rotten black teeth hidden behind the smile of a beautiful woman, waiting to break out into the open, ……………………

prologue: July 1993 - Jim Foley

Jim and Michael Foley discovered, quite suddenly, that it was getting dark and realized that they were going to be in some trouble when they got home.

When they had left home a few hours earlier, dressed in a matching pairs of jeans and a bright red Jurassic Park T shirts, their only intention was to ride their bikes down Beaver Creek Trail to the Dam, probably play around a bit, pretending they was escaping from a pack of raptors and see if they could get a glimpse of the big catfish they all called old yeller in the rock pools further down from the dam.

‘Honey, don’t stay out late’, his Mom had called from the porch, as Jim pedaled out the driveway, two flags fluttering from his handlebars, bell ringing. Michael raced after his older brother, standing on his pedals trying to keep up with him

The summer’s day had been typically hot, a day waiting for a smoky evening barbecue and chilled beer out in the garden. Catherine Foley had been reluctant to let Jim and Michael go out in the heat and had managed to keep them busy by having them help her with preparations for the evening barbecue. Catherine had invited Mrs. Pape and her niece, Marion over. Now she looked with relief as they cycled down the driveway. She would have some time to herself, and the boys would be busy – something she was relieved about, since both Jims best buddies, Hal and Jake were out of town.

‘Sure Mo’om’, Jim had shouted out back over his shoulder mechanically, meaning it.

Furious pedaling had taken him down Beavers Street, down Lakeview drive and down to the creek, past the usual picnic spots. The afternoon sun bathed the picnic spots. Bright Sunlight turned to a cool dark green as Jim rode down Beavers Creek Trail where the light was filtered through dark green leaves.

Jim skid his ATX bike to a halt, followed by Michael a few seconds later, red in the face with exertion. He parked his bike against a tree, locked it, took his backpack stocked with lemonade and Hostess Twinkies and made his way through the tangled undergrowth to the edge of the creek. Michael desperately scrabbled after his older brother.

‘Wait up will ya !’ Michael shouted after Jim, who pretended not to hear him, in the way older brothers do.

‘You’re such a dorkhead’ Michael picked up a pebble and tossed it after his brother while trying to keep up with him. Jim waited up for him and they both scrambled down the gravelly bank to the creek, pushing each other playfully.

At this edge was a rocky and pebbled bank, where Jim took of his shoes, rolled up his jeans and waded out into the shallows. Jim wished his friends Hal and Jake were with him; it would have been so much more fun than having to baby sit his younger brother. Michael was now exacting revenge for being ignored and avoid going into the water at the same time; he picked up small sticks and pebbles and methodically tried to hit Jim on the back of his neck with them.

The flowing water was quiet, dark in the deeper sections, clearer in the shallows, flowing with a sleepy torpor, caused by the dam up stream. Small ripples and splashes punctuated the surface of the river where a fish would come up to grab an unsuspecting fly, or a frog jumped off a rock into the water. Jim hunted around to see if he could see any really big fish, and tossed some pebbles wherever he could see a splash, just for fun. Michael rolled up his jeans and entered the water and clutched on to Jims arm for support.


‘There’s snakes in the water’ he informed Jim

‘Aren’t’

‘Are’

‘Aren’t’

‘Mr. Baker told me so, told me he caught a big ‘un las week near the dam, told me it near bit his head off’ said Michael

‘He told me that it eats small kids’ said Michael, sounding a bit scared.

‘Yeah, well maybe its swimming round near your ankles right now’ said Jim.

This was enough to send Michael running out of the water back on to the bank of the creek.

A long ripple disturbed the

Despite his disbelief, Jim Foley felt cold fingers walking up his spine and shivered and walked out casually behind Michael, despite the urge to run.

‘Fraidy cat’ he called after Michael

‘Am’nt’

‘Are’

‘Am’nt’

Jim decided to leave it at that.


Jim climbed out of the water on to the rock where his sneakers were, put them on his feet and decided to hunt some raptors with Michael, pretending to adjust an imaginary earpiece.

He climbed across the trail, past his bike and made his way up into the pines, where the ground was covered with a carpet of pine needles, with an occasional pine cone lying around. Jim picked up a few cones and stuffed them into his jeans, handy grenades for the raptor hunt. Jim crouched down behind a tree, with Michael behind a similar tree off to his left. Jim signaled with his left hand for Michael to move to the next tree while he covered him with fire from his rail gun.

Jim looked around, fiddled with the dials on his imaginary communication centre. Static came through his earpiece….

‘Captain Foley, Report back to base immediately’ the mechanical voice came through the airwaves. Jim hit the transmit switch and reported back in his best official voice.

‘Captain Foley reporting Sir! We have not seen any sign of the enemy, we are proceeding with utmost caution!’

‘Negative Foley, Negative!. We have three; repeat three possible hostile entities approaching you from the northeast quadrant on the radar. Approximate range 1200 feet. Acknowledge, over’

‘Acknowledge Sir, Arms at ready’, Jim crouched down, scanned the undergrowth for any signs of movement or rustling.

Jim motioned to Michael ‘Soldier, arms at ready!’ he called. ‘Set your rail gun at maximum kill, arm your grenades’

‘Foley! Entities identified as velociraptors, circling round behind you, engage and fire at will’

Jim spun around, crashed through the undergrowth, fleeing the raptors, running up the hill, ducking behind pine trees, Michael closely following him, his rail gun held crooked in one arm, pointing towards the pines. He ran, ducking and weaving, turning back to fire of imaginary bursts from his rail gun, blue spirals that exploded against rocks, trees, and the raptors chasing him. Jim lay down behind a rock outcrop and threw a few grenades, rolled and then got up and started running uphill again. After a breathless chase, and successfully killing the three raptors, Jim trudged back down the hill slope towards the creek and his bike, kicking pine needles as he went. He dusted off pine needles from his clothes and from his hair, and took a long swig of lemonade while munching a twinkie. Michael dragged his feet behind Jim.

Beyond the hills, the sun went down.

In the pines, everything went from a cool green, to a murky darkness, quiet suddenly, without a warning as dusk claimed the last of the evening twilight.

When Jim reached his bike, dusk had been replaced by a darkness that was not yet quite the blackness of night. He fumbled with his lock and found his rear tire was flat and muttered a curse.

Now he faced a long trudge back up to the end of Beavers Creek Trail where he could lock his bike up near the bandstand at the end of Lakeview drive and pick it up later. He muttered a quite ‘Shit!’

Not quite a word he could use at home, but given the isolation of where he was, he said it out loud thrice

‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’

‘Gonna tell mom’

Michael giggled, more to decrease the sense of being alone than out of any feeling of accomplishment. His mom would have blown her top had she been around.
His voice didn’t carry very far, as if the darkness had absorbed his words, chewed them up and swallowed them whole.

Michael bent down to tie his shoelace that had come undone.

He got up.

Jim was gone

‘Jim, Ji-im’ called Michael

The only reply was a quiet chortle, a ripple and a splash from the stream, muted through the undergrowth. The pale light of the rising full and fat moon filtered and sickly caressed the surface of Beavers Creek.

‘Jim ! Quit funning or I’ll tell Mom’ said Michael

‘Jim, come back please’ called Michael, his voice quavering with the onset of tears, ‘Please Jim, I promise I won’t tell Mom, puhleeese’, a sob broke from Micahel

Another splash, another crunching and rustling in the undergrowth. Michael sat down suddenly, the strength gone from his legs. Off the trail, a twig snapped, something slithered; the sound of feet dragging, rustling leaves and slyly parting the undergrowth,

Michael got up and stumbled up the trail. He could see Jim’s bike and Jims back pack, but no Jim.

The moon went behind a cloud……….

Darkness everywhere.

Off the path, something rustled in the undergrowth, and a cold wind caressed the back of his neck. Something crawled up his spine. He felt the hair on the nape of his neck rise.

Suddenly Michael was afraid, and was angry with himself – after all, he was eight years old now, too old to believe in monsters and the boogeyman, and things. To bolster his courage, he started whistling loudly to scare off whatever was rustling around, while unknowingly pushing his bike faster, unwilling to run and show signs of being frightened.

His loud tuneless whistling was abruptly cut off by a low, wet chuckle now behind him, and then in front of him. Something flickered in the darkness, in the corner of his eye, on the edge of the path. Michael felt his skin crawl, his hair stand on end, his fright crawling up his skin, into sheer terror; Michael whimpered looking around, trying to see through the darkness.

Michaels terror turned to panic. Unknowingly, he dropped his bike and started to run. Terror weakened him, his legs felt like rubber, and blood drained from his head and he stumbled,. Jim dragged himself up, whimpering and crying.

Up ahead he could see the last lamppost at the end of Lakeview drive, where the picnic spots and the bandstand were located. Everything was deserted and painted in shades of grey and silver in the moonlight. Michael stumbled, his weak knees refusing to support him. Jim was stumbled up towards the light, towards the clearing, the light would make the shadows and noises go away.

Jim stumbled up towards the end of the Beavers Creek trail up towards Lakeview drive. In the light of the lamp, he could see familiar objects – the picnic benches, the bandstand. The sounds behind him seemed to retreat into the forest trail, like a hand withdrawn hastily from a treat at a dining table. A wave of relief washed over him as he exited the tree covered trail and stepped out towards the lamp.

The lights went out and for a second darkness swallowed everything visible.

The moon floated out from behind a cloud, bathing the clearing in pale silver light.

Michael heard a dry whisper, and again that stifled chuckle that made his skin crawl Michael tripped over something in the dark and fell on his face and rolled over.

In the middle of the path behind him at the entrance to the trail, stood the small figure of a child. The child’s black hair was matted with dirt, leaves and twigs, its black suit tattered and falling to pieces. In the pale light of the moon, its skin appeared blue and sickly.

The child grinned.

Rows of sharp black teeth revealed themselves as blue lips were peeled back. The child giggled and its black tongue spilled out.

‘We speak with the voices of the rotting Dead’ the thing hissed

Something grabbed his ankle and pulled hard and tossed him on his back, dragging him back down the trail. Michael looked back and screamed……………………………………….