Unknown Title

“The supernatural isn’t something that’s supposed to happen but it does happen.”
Dr. John Montague



“Men of broader intellect know that there is no sharp distinction betwixt the real and the unreal…”
H.P Lovecraft



“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”
Edgar Allan Poe

















PROLOUNGE






The world has known evil violence; the world even seems to throb on this violence. When have you once seen an accident where blood is spilled and the scene isn’t being overrun with the nervous, the helpful, and more than often the curious? The chaos strikes our interests, it feeds some carnal need deep down within our subconscious and when the chance is aroused we take the view and fill that void for a short while. People even seem to find themselves intentionally looking for violence, the evil, the unknown and ancient lore.
The people that share these interests would have done anything to find out more information about the incident that happened in a small Northern New York town in the middle of the summer of 2005; if the incident ever made it to national syndicated news channels that is. Yet the events were closely guarded by the townspeople for fear of being believed to be mad or attention seekers. If one were to travel through this small town at any giving moment today they would see a small quaint but struggling backwater town and nothing more.
But the people who live here or have known about the horror that befell that summer know that the outer looks of this town is nothing more than camouflaged. The town can keep secrets and can share its secrets, but that’s one secret no one would ever discuss of their own accord. The town was called Waddington New York, a small rural fishing community best known for its wondrous summers, good townspeople, the mass expanse of the St. Lawrence River and the fish. It had nothing much to offer for employment yet the people did alright. There were four colleges in a twenty to thirty mile radius and farm work was always a high demand job.
Small town people living small town lives and they never felt any lacking with the life they found themselves living. I lived in this town my entire life and even after the events that I write of took place I am still living here. This place gets inside you and begins to hold a powerful force of interests over you. Being a man of science but not a member to any particular institute I became almost immediately entranced and enthralled in the horrors that took place. The thirst for knowledge was intense and overbearing in the beginning yet turned to utter and complete horror and despair when the agency of these events made themselves noticed. If I ever finish this dark and twisted account of the abnormal I will seal the pages away in a place of great security and allow time to eradicate the still fresh and healing wounds of the townsfolk; and hope to God that they be found and studied. For I feel that such events aren’t meant to be concealed forever regardless of the mind shattering altercations of life the knowledge may bring.
If not for the simple fact of being run out by the townspeople and for the fear of not being believed I would speak of the horrors now, for the longer it remains hidden the chances of understanding become dimmer. As I have said I was born and raised in this town and the fear of learning something new and altogether unfamiliar is too much to bear; so I remain willfully quiet and play my part of secrecy as the rest of us do. Yet I imagine I’m not the only one who finds themselves unable to achieve a week of uninterrupted sleep when the night plays tricks on our minds and time runs out like a blade.
Before I begin with what I truly want to put down on paper I must first describe some of the history pertaining to the town, and maybe find it easier to work myself into what I truly need to document for not only my own piece of mind, but for the possibility that it may happen again, maybe not here but somewhere else in this vast and ancient asylum of earth. For I know now that the earth holds and keeps dark secrets of a time before time was time. The first permanent settlement in the territory of this part of the town was made by a man named Samuel Allen in March, 1797 but it wasn’t for a year later when land began being purchased and people began to really inhabit the region, and life began to take off. The town was given its name of Hamilton but it wasn’t till the years 1859 and 1860 that it became its own town and broke off from incorporation of another small community. Most lands and a certain island were bought by two men David and Thomas Ogden in the year 1823. A brief history but I think more than enough to suffice for the time being.
The island was called "Isle au rapide plat” and what is now called Ogden Island. The island was once held as a town favorite amongst the young for their favorite place of summer adventures and beloved by the small tourists drawn to this region. Yet now it remains a thing of great foreboding, and kept in the darkest of our minds. No one goes there no more, and a small patrol boat circles the island at night to make sure no adventurous sort drops anchor on its luscious grounds and explore. As for the tourists…well it is generally agreed upon that the tourists can take care of themselves if something should happen. For that’s all part of the camouflage. If the townsfolk were so persistent upon making sure no anchor or foot set on the island then there would apt to be questions as to why. So without any further prolonging I will begin the story, and if it should end up being read by some unknown person, I guess it would be entirely up to them if they end up believing it or not. But remember what I say, it is real and it did happen.




CHAPTER ONE






When the summers come to our part of the world we hold on to the days and make the fullest of them. For we live in a place where the winters are at times to be rough, but stays for long periods of time. So we like summer just fine here; it comes in like a swift surprise more often than not, one day it would be cold and wet, the next high eighties and here to stay. Not only was this time of season the most productive for the townspeople but also brought in a good amount of money from visiting tourists. We were noted for having a small yet successful camp ground, and the annual fishing derby that brought in people in thick and exciting crowds. But I think it was the water that brought the people.
The water was large and vast with all the sailing you could ask for, without being overcrowded by others passing by. The border of Canada was close by and the drinking in the ports over there were some of the best you could ask for. But from Canada or our own ports it was a straight and scenic trip right into the 1000 islands, where tourism there was always larger and had more to offer then we did. The tourist had their own reasons for coming here yearly and the locals had their own reasons to what made this season the best. Yet both groups always agreed on one thing in particular, and that was the glorious camping to be offered on our little island.
The island once held a beautiful and pristine mansion right in the middle of the island, and half the mansion still stood today. People were always drawn to the ancient architecture of the place but what always drew me to the island during most summer days was the air. It seemed as if it was cleaner, more satisfying than anywhere else I’ve been to. Away from the mansion the island was thick and dense with vegetation and the setting sun always displayed a very beautiful work of outline over the mansion and through the openings of the forest. About ten years back the community started small cleared camping lots throughout the island. No charge was ever required and no hassle from security or park rangers. The island became unwittingly divided amongst its fellow visitors. On the eastern end the camps mostly consisted of the family people, while on the western end the young and carefree people held night long parties full of alcohol, drugs, and the act of satisfying their hormones. Yet both sections never interfered or complained over the others. It was like the island held some inner secret of acceptance to the people who visited it.
It is the latter of the people I want to discuss for it was a group of teenagers who noncommittally and unwillingly brought forth the first stage of the incident. It was this group who awoke the thing, yet they cannot be held to blame, even now, for it could have happened to anyone who happened to be in that place that day. I think with careful and endless studying of the events I think that it was meant to awake that summer. Some internal clock or perhaps the forces that willed it knew that the time had come to become once more awoken.
This group of four locals all in the ages of seventeen and eighteen two male and two female set out for the docks of the island around four thirty that afternoon of June twentieth. They had just come back from visiting a friend to buy some pot off of, and supplying their ice chest coolers of Bud Light and a bottle of Southern Comfort they were ready to begin their small private party on the island. As I have said they set out around four thirty and they arrived at the docks no more than five minutes later.
Upon arriving they found to their surprise and more than grateful eyes that their part of the grounds was completely devoid of any other groups and begun at once to slowly get the party beginning. The names of the people in this group were Marcus Forbes and his twin sister Anna, Sally Martin and David Berry and it was David who fell down that long and dark tunnel and into the cave below the mansion. But I rush ahead of my story for I feel I must be as authentic as possible. Over a course of years after the incident happen I was able to have a long and deep conversation one night with Marcus and Sally over drinks at one of our local pubs and I was able to hear a complete account of that night and the events that lead up to David’s fall through the main entrance in the mansion.
They began with the normal functions of partying outside and sleeping under the stars. They set up camp, laid out their blankets and other sleeping articles in the tents and began to make a large and wholesome fire. By five that evening the fire was blazing just fine, although the sun was still out and the need of light was unneeded they had it going all the same. If you live in a wooden area and hold social or family events outside, you know the desire and concept of such fires. David and Marcus were busying themselves with a game of toss football and the ladies were cooking up a package of Glazier hot dogs they brought with them. Around six that evening the black bugs began to swarm them and they hastily decided on a swim in the lake so as to allow time for the flies to depart from their camp. Around eight that evening the party had begun, they were all laughing and talking around the light of the fire and they held not a care in the world at that moment. They felt as if the whole world didn’t continue on without them yet stayed still with them. That they were the masters of their lives and that nothing would change from what they called familiar. Although they spoke these they knew that it wouldn’t always be so. The next school season wasn’t normal high school it was college and college always added change.
But for the moment they wouldn’t allow themselves to think or worry over such things. Summer was here and endless freedom was here with it. No time to worry about college, and life after, they were here in the now. It was about this time in their story that it begun to get weird because at this moment they told me of how they started feeling a sort of vibration or a voice reaching out to them. Giving the events that happened I took the statements with a sense of belief and of doubt. They spoke how that calling out seemed to become louder and more pronounced with each passing moment. What started off small and faint in the back of their minds they were able to dismiss, yet it got louder and louder until almost all other thoughts were swept aside into the dark of their conscious. Marcus told me how it felt as if a tug were pulling on his body and wanting to push him in the direction of the mansion.
Finally not able to resist any longer the group left their camp and set out on one of the wooden paths that lead toward the center of the island. By this time the sun was fully down and the moon hung reign of the earthly sky, shinning down brightly through the thick and mystic looking vegetation of the wooden path. The sounds of the night were coming to full chorus as the group set foot into the cleared meadow of the mansion and its grounds occupancy.
The moon was set right above the mansions rooftops making the meadow light up with a milky and sinister looking light, which caused the trees behind them to look, bent and twisted at odd angles. The mansion bathed in this light and it cast off dark and apprehensible shadows of abnormal angles. They faltered in their steps, the look of the house had set them off guard and a little nervous, they’ve seen this place at night more than they could imagine and it never looked like it did at this moment. Dark, malignant, and full of macabre secrets; but that vibration intensified and pulled them to the mansions front door.
Marcus at this point stopped his tale and reached for his cigarettes in his breast pocket. He lit one and exhaled a thick jet of smoke. His hand had a slight shake to it. By this time the bar was filling up with more of the nightly patrons, and a local band was just about ready to begin the night of some classic rock covers and some good laughter. Sally still not back from the ladies room was absent for the last part of the tale. Perhaps she didn’t want to be around when the last was told, and the restroom was an attempt to escape. I poured two more beers for Marcus and me out of the diminishing pitcher the three of us had been sharing. I took a decent size shallow off of mine while Marcus damned near took his in one gulp. He set the glass down and mashed out his cigarette in the ash tray and began once more on what he remembers from that night.
They opened the door and walked into the front entrance parlor. The place was dark and cumbersome. The floors were beginning to sag and the walls were peeling. An old and once luxurious chandelier was weakly hanging by one cable. The main stairs to the second landing were old and twisted with gaps in some of the steps. They paused here not out of necessity but out of the thunderstruck awe. This was the first time they had ever been in here, and although the place was a decaying bulk they could still see what it used to be. This room would be used for the meeting place of the people who paid visits. Butlers and maids would be assisting anyone with anything they needed. The masters of the house would make their entrance down from the stairwell, not only for the fun of it but to make a grandeur entry. The smells of well cooked meals would linger through the house and the sound of the water would come through the open windows.
The meshing of the past with present was almost complete melancholy. The clean in its prime image mixed with cobwebs and centuries dust and other forms of disuse was unbarring.