Witch Island (5 page)

As a boy, he believed the legend of Margaret Rivers as if it was fact. His parents didn’t like talking about it, while others used the island to scare the kids and keep them in line. “The witch will get you if you don’t do your chores,” his friend’s father would warn, pouring it on even more after a few beers.

But as Frank got older, and more people moved into the area—mostly folks from New York City looking for a better life—his fears of the place lessened. The new kids scoffed at the legend.

At the age of sixteen, some of Frank’s friends decided to take a trip to the island, wanting to see the infamous place for themselves. He reiterated the legend, adding some gory details, hoping to change their minds, but it only served to make his friends more eager to visit the island.

“You’re a real country bumpkin, aren’t you?” Mary Williams said, a girl Frank had the hots for.

“Yeah, what are you, scared?” Henry Clinger asked. “There’s no such things as witches, or ghosts, for that matter.”

Wanting to impress the girl, and not wanting to be labeled a scaredy-cat, Frank went along. From the minute he stepped into Henry’s father’s rowboat, his heart felt like it was lodged in his throat. He made sure to row, needing the distraction.

When they arrived at the island, he wasn’t sure he could force himself out of the boat, but his urgent need to pee proved to be the trigger he needed. He had thought he’d gotten over his fear of the island, but it was one thing to be somewhere else and act like the place wasn’t scary—it was a whole other thing to be stepping onto it.

Even though his friends had said they weren’t scared, he saw the looks in their eyes, the hesitancy of their movements as they walked from the boat.

The island was lush with flora, even more so than any other place in the area. Frank liked to hike in the nearby woods, sometimes for hours at a time. He’d seen it all, but nothing like the island’s superiority of vegetation. Trees grew tall, like they did in a forest or along the bottom of a mountain. Thick vines could be seen almost everywhere, wrapping around tree trunks or hanging from limbs like dead snakes’ tails. The group of three traveled inward, walking along a natural path that cut through the woods, only having to push aside the tall grasses growing along it.

After walking for a short while, they made it to a clearing, at what they guessed was the center of the island. The ground was hardened earth, cracked and dried out, appearing almost charred. In the center was a long pole that protruded from the earth.

“Holy shit,” Mary said, pointing at the pole. “That must’ve been where the witch was burned alive.”

“Bullshit,” Henry said. “You actually believe this hillbilly’s story?” He laughed. “And even if a
woman
, not a witch, but a
woman
had been killed here, do you really think the pole she was tied to would still be here?” Henry faced Frank, arms folded over his chest, his left foot tapping the ground. “I think our hick friend here is trying to pull one over on us, Mary.”

Frank felt his innards turn to mush. He wanted to run, but played it cool. “Guys,” he said, speaking calmly, “I’ve never been here. Swear.”

“I think we should leave,” Mary said, taking a few steps back toward the way they had come.

“I know you’re a girl, but come on.” Henry walked up to the pole and laid his finger on it. “You see, there’s nothing—” His words were cut short as his body began to convulse, as if he had been strapped to an electric chair with voltage flowing through him.

Mary screamed.

Frank stared on in amazement, afraid to move.

Finally, Henry fell away and landed on his rump. He shook his head, then stared at his finger.

Frank’s fear faded fast at the realization of what was happening. Henry was trying to scare him.
 

“We’re leaving,” Mary said, hurrying to Henry and helping him to his feet.

“Yeah, screw this place,” Henry said, his voice cracking. The color had drained from his face, leaving him a ghostly pale.

Frank was confused. Henry was either a great actor or truly frightened, the wet spot on the crotch of his jeans indicating the latter.

“Wait,” Frank said, but Henry and Mary ran back to the boat, leaving him alone. He didn’t think they’d leave him on the island, but didn’t want to wait and find out. Ready to join them, he hesitated. He had to know if Henry was full of shit. He knew if he didn’t check out the pole, he’d be unable to sleep for weeks, his mind thinking about the island.

He stepped up to the pole, reached out a shaky arm, then stopped himself. He couldn’t do it. What if something did happen? What if he was killed by the witch’s spirit? His whole body was trembling. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them. “Screw it,” he said and placed his palm on the steel.

He felt nothing out of the ordinary, save the roughness of the corroded pole. Frank shook his head. Henry was an ass. Mary would be all over the kid, scared, asking Henry for days to come, maybe even weeks, how he felt.

Frank headed back up the trail and heard Mary calling his name when he was about halfway back. He ran the rest of the way, and when he arrived at the shore, Henry already had the boat in the water.

“Come clean, Henry,” Frank demanded. “You were faking back there.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t feel right. I feel—”

“Leave him alone,” Mary said. “Let’s go.”

Not wanting to get on Mary’s bad side, Frank climbed aboard and rowed back to land.

Over the next week, Frank tried getting Henry to admit he faked the incident out on the island, but the kid held onto his story. Frank couldn’t shake the kid, and truth be told, from the look in his friend’s eyes, Frank wanted to believe it was true. Then, one day while he was sitting at his desk, he noticed the ring on his finger, the same iron ring his mother had given him after his father passed away. She said it was special, and would protect him from evil, like the evil that resided on Witch Island.

Frank’s insides shriveled at the thought. Maybe the reason he didn’t feel anything when he touched the pole was because he had been wearing the ring. He felt relief and disappointment fall over him at the same time.

He never found the answers he needed, and had to let time do its thing, but it never fully eradicated his fears. Whenever he passed by the lake, saw the island, he wondered if what had happened to Henry had been real.

Three years after the island incident and on the day Henry and his family were moving back to the city, Frank begged his friend to be honest about what happened on the island. Frank swore he wouldn’t tell Mary the truth about Henry’s lie, and even if he did, Henry would be living in another place far away, never to be seen by Mary again.

“Man, how many times do I have to tell you?” Henry said. “I wasn’t lying about what happened. I don’t even like talking about it, and I’ll be glad when I’m out of this Podunk town and far away from that wicked place.”

Frank just stared at his friend, looking for some sign that he was lying.

“Don’t ever go back there,” Henry said, slapping Frank on the shoulder. “That place ain’t right. That’s all I know for sure.”

Frank sighed, feeling defeated.

“You know, for about a month after that day, I had nightmares every night. Woke up sweating and screaming. I kept dreaming about seeing a woman burned alive. It was terrible. She screamed as her flesh bubbled, bled and melted away. I’ll never forget it. I’m telling you, that place messed me up for a bit.”

“You had them for a month, then all of a sudden they stopped?”

“I’m not supposed to tell anyone this, but…”

“C’mon, you’re moving. No one will know.”

“Well, my mom was really upset that I was having these nightmares all the time. She asked if anything happened to me, and at first I said no, but then I told her how we went to the island and I touched that pole.”

“And…?”

“She knew about the island, you know?”

Frank nodded. “In this town, it’s kind of hard not to.”

“Two days after I told her what had happened to me on the island, some old guy came to see me. He gave me a ring to wear. After that, the nightmares stopped. When he came back for it, I didn’t want to give it up, but he said the nightmares wouldn’t return, and he was right.”

Frank’s stomach felt like it dropped into his ass. “What did the ring look like?”

“Old. Gray. Oh, and it had a pitchfork symbol on it. At least I think that’s what it was.”

Frank wished he’d had the ring on, wanting to show it to Henry and see if it was the same kind of ring Henry had been given to wear, but he’d left it home.

“What did the man who gave you the ring look like? Did you know him?”

“Never saw him before. My mom said he was a guy from the neighborhood. A friend of a friend.”

Henry’s mom called from the station wagon, telling him to hurry up or they’d be late.

“I got to go,” Henry said, and held out a hand.

Frank, half in a daze, took it and the two friends shook.

“We’ll keep in touch,” Henry said.

“Yeah…sure,” Frank said, forcing a smile.

Henry turned and took off for the car.

Frank stood on the lawn and watched the vehicle leave, his friend waving from the window. Frank never saw or talked to the kid again.

Cruising in the Tahoe, Frank took his eyes from the island and stared at the ring on his finger. He almost never took it off, the piece of jewelry making him feel safe, giving him comfort, even when he wasn’t near the lake.

A few years back, he gave the ring to Billy, telling him to always wear it when he went to the lake. He felt silly, knowing his son wouldn’t believe in the legend even if his dad did, but he felt better knowing the kid was wearing the thing. If and when he was planning on going fishing or boating, he’d simply ask for it back for the day.

A week after he gave his son the ring, Darrel Higgins, the owner of a pawn shop over in Newburgh, gave Frank a call—the two men having been acquaintances ever since Frank had pulled over some young men for speeding and found a of bunch stolen goods from Darrel’s shop. Darrel told Frank how Billy had tried to hawk an antique ring, and thought he should know about it. Darrel kept the ring, telling Billy that he needed to have it appraised for its proper value. Frank rushed over, took the ring back and never offered it to his son again.

Finally, with the island passing out of his view, Frank was able to relax.

Chapter Five

Shortly after dropping off her grandmother, Gwen pulled into Shay’s driveway. She was excited about tonight, camping out with her best friends, and doing so on Witch Island. She had passed by the island numerous times while boating, but had never wanted to stop and set foot on it. There was no reason. It was just a small piece of land, loaded with trees, surrounded by water. There were hundreds of acres of woods all around, making the island no different than the rest of the county, and Gwen wasn’t a fan of traipsing through the forest, unless it was to get to a keg party.

But having a campout on an island of legend might be fun. They could tell ghost stories, one of which was the legend of the island itself, get close around the fire and roast marshmallows, have a few beers and simply enjoy the time they had with each other before they went their separate ways.

She used to despise the taste of beer, but most of the parties she attended only had beer, and she wanted to get buzzed so she tolerated it, and by the time she attended her fifth kegger, beer tasted pretty good.

A part of her felt sorry for Jim, but she also thought it would be good for him to face his fear of the island. He liked to play it off that it didn’t bother him, but she could see it in his eyes and on his face that it did, especially whenever they went down to the lake.

Gwen pulled the key from the ignition and exited her car, a five-year-old Toyota Camry. The car ran well and was reliable, despite the numerous dings and dents—the blemishes already present when her parents purchased the car for her. She walked up to the large, Victorian home and rang the doorbell.

Shay’s mother and father were away for a few days. Her parents were lawyers for the Brine and Stark Development Corporation, and in the midst of a huge case in North Carolina, which meant little to Shay and her friends. The important factor was that they now had the huge house to themselves. Shay usually threw parties when her parents were away, but tonight was going to be something and someplace different, low-key and just for close friends.

Gwen glanced back at the driveway, her beat-up car looking so out of place next to Shay’s Mercedes and Melinda’s BMW. She couldn’t help but feel a bit of jealousy.

Gwen’s parents had bought her the Camry as a senior-year present. It was the most expensive present they had ever given Gwen, save the carat diamond her dad found in the parking lot of his job. He’d turned it in to the lost and found, but no one claimed it. After two months, management said he could have it.

Bottom line: Gwen’s parents weren’t wealthy. They struggled to pay bills at times, but for the most part, did okay. They worked hard, her father pulling double shifts at times to bring home some extra cash during the holidays. Gwen loved her parents and wouldn’t trade them for all the money in the world, but she still wouldn’t mind owning a fancy car.