The Thing At Black Hole Lake Read online

  “That will be ten dollars,” said Ms Corbin sweetly.

  He handed her a ten-dollar bill and quickly gathered his things and headed for the door. “That was…” He tripped on the gnome statue again. “Thanks.”

  “It was nice to meet you, Milo Fisher,” she called after him.

  “Yeah, you too,” he replied, even though it hadn’t been.

  He opened the front door and ran smack into a not-so-little old lady.

  “The Other Mrs Stricks,” he gasped.

  The older woman towered over him, her wild grey hair sticking out from under her beret. She and her wife (the school English teacher) had been among those who had disappeared during that unfortunate Nucralose-related business.

  “Watch your way, boy.” The Other Mrs Stricks straightened her pink woolly shawl. “You never know what’s round the bend, do you?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Milo. “I mean, no, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.” He stepped aside and let her enter the store, the door closing behind her with a jingle.

  Milo looked down at his hand and realised he was still holding that awful pyramid card. Well, I’m definitely not going back in there. Pocketing the item, he raced to his bike, jiggled the lock open, then hopped on and headed home. It wasn’t until he was halfway down Main Street that he realised something that made him stop pedalling: he’d never introduced himself to Marietta Corbin.

  So how did she know my name?

  Ghosts in the Machines

  “What do you know about Alastair Chelon?” asked Lucy. She sat cross-legged on the wool rug in the wood-panelled living room of the Sladan household.

  Miranda had driven Willow into town to buy a new pair of hiking boots, as her current hand-me-downs were falling apart.

  “You mean the guy from the factory?” asked Lucy’s father, tuning his banjo in the rocking chair. The only time he was able to play music these days was on the weekends. On Saturday mornings you couldn’t prise an instrument out of his hands.

  Lucy nodded.

  “He’s a quiet guy, keeps to himself,” said Silas.

  “How old is he?”

  Silas noticed that Lucy had an open notebook on the coffee table before her, pen poised. His black moustache twitched. “Why are you asking questions about Al, squiddo?”

  “I’m doing an article. For the school newspaper.” Lucy said it just as she had rehearsed.

  “You joined the SPEAMS Sentinel?” Silas rocked forward in his chair. “That’s great! Your mom’s been trying to get you to join for years. Did you tell her?”

  “Not yet.” Lucy forced a smile. This was a more enthusiastic reaction than she’d anticipated. Great. I may actually have to join the paper. At least that’d be one less lie to keep track of.

  Silas plucked the first few notes of “Enter Sandman”. “What are you writing about?”

  “Nu Co.,” said Lucy.

  Silas stopped playing. “It better not be about what happened at the factory last month,” he snapped. “Nu Co. is going through enough trouble without dredging up that disaster.”

  “It’s not about that,” Lucy fibbed. “Why are you yelling?”

  “I’m not yelling.” Silas closed his eyes and rubbed his brow with a knuckle. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m tired, that’s all. What’s your article about?”

  Lucy chewed the end of her pen, going over the story she’d concocted in her head one last time. “Well, see,” she said, “the Sentinel is doing a special on the history of the Big Crater Valley. I’m supposed to interview someone who works for the oldest business in Sticky Pines.”

  “Why don’t you interview me?” asked Silas.

  Good question… “It can’t be someone I know,” said Lucy, “because of ‘Journalistic Integrity’.” She dipped her head solemnly.

  “Okay then,” said Silas. “I’ll give Al a call.”

  He continued tuning the strings on his banjo: BING, BING, BING.

  Lucy sat quietly, staring at him.

  “You want me to do it right now?” Silas grumbled.

  “This is a REALLY important assignment.”

  “Oh for cryin’ in the thunder flippin’ rain.” Silas set the instrument on the floor and stomped over to the landline in the kitchen.

  Yeesh. So grumpy. Lucy stuffed her knees into her sweatshirt as she waited for her father to return. After what seemed like an hour but was probably ten minutes, he got off the phone and re-entered the living room.

  “We’ll meet Al at Buck’s Burger Barn tomorrow afternoon,” Silas announced.

  Lucy jumped up in jubilance. This is it! Alastair Chelon was going to answer all her questions and she’d solve the mysteries of the Pretenders once and for all: who they were, what they wanted, where they came from, how they could change shape… Wait.

  “Did you say ‘we’?”

  “I’m going with you. Obviously.” Silas laughed at the indignant expression on Lucy’s face. “What, did you think I was going to let you meet a grown man you barely know all by yourself?” He chortled heartily. “Kids,” he said to himself, “how do they ever make it to adulthood?”

  Lucy fumed while her dad rocked out on his banjo as loudly as he could.

  DINGA-BING! DINGA-RINGA-RINGA! The pinball machine by the haystack clanged as Lucy and her father entered the barnyard-themed restaurant. The town’s only burger joint was packed with the Sunday crowd of hungry Sticky Pineseans dressed in their finest flannel. Lucy hurried past a smudged glass case showcasing a fake cast of a Sasquatch foot. Alastair Chelon sat at a table by the front window, which was already decorated for Christmas, eating a slice of cherry pie.

  “Thanks so much for meeting us, Al.” Silas pulled out a chair.

  Alastair stood to greet them, wiping his hands on his corduroy trousers. He was a slight man with a sparse ginger moustache and shaggy strawberry-blond hair. His faded flannel shirt had a mustard stain on the sleeve. “No problem,” he said. “I was on the school paper myself, when I was a kid.”

  “What year was that?” asked Lucy, sitting across from him. She dumped the contents of her backpack on the table, including several pens in varying colours, her mom’s old tape recorder and a pocket-sized notebook she’d “borrowed” from Willow since her other one was full. It had a unicorn on the cover. That couldn’t be helped.

  Silas sat wearily. “Lucita, maybe we should order first.”

  “Sure.” Lucy adjusted her glasses and switched on the tape recorder. “I’ll take a hot dog. With fries. I’ll mix the ketchup and mayonnaise myself.”

  “This kid’s a crack-up,” laughed Chelon.

  “Would you like some more coffee, Al?” asked Silas.

  “Ooh, yes please,” said Chelon.

  Silas waved at a waitress in braided pigtails and a blue gingham apron.

  “Howdy,” said the young woman. “My name’s Michelle. Today’s special is the Bigfootlong with sauerkraut and spuds. What can I rustle you up?”

  She must be new. The servers rarely gave the whole spiel as the special never changed.

  While Silas ordered, Lucy perused her notes. Since her father was there, she couldn’t just dive straight into direct questions about Chelon’s (totally supernatural) origins. She’d have to get creative.

  “Let’s start with what Sentinel readers really wanna know,” Lucy began the interview. “What’s your favourite animal?”

  “Ooh, that’s a toughie,” said Chelon.

  The waitress poured some steaming coffee into his mug.

  “I like owls myself,” said Lucy. She leaned in knowingly.

  “I thought you liked the duck-billed platypus,” Silas interjected. “Because everybody thought it was a hoax. Right?”

  Lucy’s nostrils flared. “Owls are my favourite North American animal, Dad.”

  Chelon sipped his coffee. “My favourite’s probably the turtle,” he said. “Because wherever he goes, he’s home.”

  Lucy took down copious notes.

  “I like coyotes,” Silas offere
d.

  “That’s great, Dad.” Lucy focused on Mr Chelon. “How long have you worked at the factory?’

  “On and off since I was fifteen,” he said. “This pie –” he picked off a piece of golden crust, which looked crisp and crumbly and perfect – “is just the best on the planet, isn’t it?”

  How many planets have you visited?

  “They let you work when you were underage?” Silas chimed in. “I had to wait till I was eighteen.”

  “I may have lied about my age.” Chelon chuckled.

  Silas and Alastair had lived and worked in the same small town for countless years, Lucy realised, and yet her father didn’t know much about him at all. Why isn’t Dad more curious about the people who live here? It’s amazing how much information adults miss…

  “So, you have a habit of lying about your age?” she asked.

  “Luce,” Silas warned.

  “How old are you?” she asked.

  “You don’t have to answer that, Al.” Silas laughed, nervously.

  Chelon smirked, a twinkle in his eye. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  Try me, Shifty.

  The waitress slid Lucy’s hot dog and Silas’s melty cheeseburger on the table, then poured more coffee for the adults. Chelon added three packets of sugar to his cup.

  That’s a lot of sugar for a grown-up, isn’t it? “Where are you from?” she asked.

  “Right here in Sticky Pines,” Chelon smiled. “I’ve lived here since before I could crawl.”

  “And before that?”

  “My people hail from all over the place.” Chelon took another bite of pie. “Mmm-mmmm.”

  Lucy swirled some ketchup and mayonnaise together with a fry. “What’s it like to work for the oldest business in the Big Crater Valley?”

  “Now, Al –” Silas held up a hand – “feel free to forget that I’m technically your boss now.”

  Chelon chuckled. “To tell you the truth, working at the sweetener factory was always a lot of fun.”

  “Was?” said Lucy.

  “I still love the factory, it’s just…” Chelon stared wistfully into his coffee. “I used to run the bottling machine, you see. I loved the splurty sound it made when you squeezed the syrup into the bottles. So satisfying.”

  Silas laughed. “Yeah, that was a fun job.”

  “What happened?” asked Lucy.

  “Well, we’re not bottling sweetener any more,” said Chelon. “Not since the incident…” He cleared his throat. “Now we’re just processing sap and putting it in barrels.”

  “And, boy howdy, is there more sap than ever,” said Silas, wiping cheese sauce from his chin.

  They were getting off-topic but Lucy’s interest was piqued. “If you’re not making Nucralose, why are you processing so much sap?”

  “That’s a good question. Do you know?” Chelon asked Silas.

  “No idea,” said Silas. “All I know is that they’re expanding the orchard, and my orders are to make sure we increase sap production threefold.” His face darkened. “When the equipment is working, that is.”

  “Ah yes.” Chelon raised an eyebrow. “The ghosts in the machines.”

  Lucy’s ears perked up. “Ghosts?”

  “Not real ghosts,” Silas cut in quickly, before Lucy got the wrong idea. “Just … technical difficulties. The tree harvester keeps breaking down. The sap boiler won’t boil, that kinda thing. You don’t want to hear about it, Luce, believe me.” He took a big bite of his burger.

  Lucy recalled Gertie Lee saying something about people “fighting back” against Nu Co. Could someone be sabotaging the machines on purpose?

  Lucy ate a couple of fries, then, as nonchalantly as she could, retrieved a piece of paper from her backpack. Time to get down to serious beeswax. Taking a deep breath, she unfolded it, revealing the page she had torn from the old yearbook at the library.

  Chelon looked surprised, startled even. Lucy’s heart did a somersault.

  She pointed to the name next to the picture. “Do you recognise this boy?”

  “I, uh,” Chelon stammered. “Sure. That’s my great-grandfather.”

  Sure it is, Alastair Chel-liar.

  “Really?” Silas leaned in to look. “Cool!”

  Lucy indicated the painting of the turtle. “Have you ever seen these symbols before?”

  “Uh, maybe?” Chelon awkwardly sipped his coffee, spilling some on his shirt. “I remember seeing something like that in the tunnel under the factory. You know, where you found us that day.”

  Silas choked on his food. “Lucy,” he coughed, “I told you not to bring that up.”

  Lucy pressed on. “What do they mean? Where do they come from?”

  “I really couldn’t say.” Chelon’s complexion paled.

  “Okay, Lucita,” said Silas. “You’re done.” He closed his daughter’s notebook and shoved it in her backpack. “I’m so sorry about this, Al.”

  “Wait,” Lucy begged. “I just wanna ask one last question.” Then something passed by the window that caught her eye. “What is Fish doing with a big red kayak?”

  “Is that some sort of riddle?” asked Chelon.

  “Not fish,” said Lucy, “Fish. As in Milo Fisher.” She pointed.

  Milo was walking past the burger joint, struggling to carry a shiny plastic boat more than twice his size. He was dressed in an assortment of kayaking gear, labels still attached, including water-resistant leggings, a nylon orange jacket and a front-facing backpack. Lucy figured he’d just bought everything at the sporting goods shop next door.

  “Is he planning to take that thing to the lake on foot?” asked Silas.

  “How odd,” said Chelon.

  “Yeah,” said Lucy. “It is.” She shot up, then wound through the tables and ran out the front door, knocking over a life-sized cardboard cutout of a Bigfoot dressed in overalls and carrying a pitchfork.

  As soon as he saw her, Milo dropped the heavy kayak on his water shoe-clad foot. “Ow!” he cried, hopping up and down in pain.

  “Sorry,” said Lucy. “What in the Crayola crayons are you doing?”

  “I’m optimising my stock portfolio,” he said. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  Grunting, he lifted the boat to his shoulder and lumbered towards the bike rack, one end of the kayak dragging noisily on the concrete.

  Lucy saw that he had tied a skateboard to the back of his mountain bike with a length of climbing rope. “Please tell me you’re not gonna pull that boat down the road on that tiny thing.”

  Milo flushed. Clearly, that was precisely what he was planning to do. “Why do you care?”

  Silas exited the restaurant carrying their uneaten food in a paper bag. “Hey, Milo. Good to see you.” He handed Lucy her backpack.

  “Hello, Mr Sladan.” Milo tried to balance the boat on the skateboard, but it immediately fell off.

  “Is your dad picking you up?” asked Silas.

  “Nope,” said Milo. “He said he’d take me to the lake yesterday, but he had to work. He’s at Nu Co. again today, so I decided to show some initiative and go it alone.” He sounded upset.

  If Fish didn’t hate me, I’d give him a hug. Or a handshake. Something.

  “We’d be happy to give you a ride,” Silas offered.

  Lucy chewed her thumbnail. There’s no way Fish’ll get in a car if I’m in it.

  Milo looked at his kayak, then over at his bike, then back at his kayak. He looked at his bike one more time. “Okay,” he said to Lucy’s surprise. “Thank you, Mr Sladan.”

  Silas grabbed one end of the boat and helped Milo hoist it off the ground. Lucy raced over to take the bike.

  If Milo was willing to take a ride from Lucy and her father, he must be desperate. What’s so important over at Black Hole Lake? She added this question to the list in her head of things she was determined to find out. A list that was growing longer by the day.

  Bait

  They drove down the winding road in silenc
e. Milo’s kayak was tied to the roof of Silas’s van, his bike and skateboard in the back. Lucy sat in the front seat, bouncing her knees. Milo could almost feel how badly she wanted to ask what he was up to.

  Well, I’m certainly not going to tell her. He crossed his arms. If you had any idea, Lucy Sladan, your brain would explode into confetti. A sly smile crept on to his lips. You’re not the only one brave enough to investigate the paranormal.

  “So,” said Silas, eyeing Milo’s waterproof outfit in the rear-view mirror. “This your first time going out on Black Hole Lake?”

  “No, sir,” Milo replied. “I went for a very pleasant boat ride on Halloween evening, actually.”

  Lucy turned to face him, her lips pressed together tightly.

  Is she holding her breath to keep from saying something?

  “Why have you suddenly decided to take up solo kayaking in November?” she asked, the words spilling out of her.

  “Why do you want to know?” said Milo.

  Lucy scowled. “Because it’s WEIRD.”

  “You should talk,” Milo retorted. “You’re the queen of weird.”

  “Is that meant to be an insult?”

  “It’s meant to be a fact.”

  “Why don’t we listen to some music?” said Silas, louder than necessary. He switched on the car radio and turned the volume up high. The song “Don’t Fear The Reaper” blasted ominously for the rest of the short drive.

  When they reached Black Hole Lake, Silas left Lucy in the car and helped Milo unload his gear. Together, they slid the kayak into the lake.

  “Do you know how to handle this thing?” Silas asked as he handed Milo the double-sided paddle.

  “Yes, sir,” he said. “I’ve been on pretty much every kind of boat there is.” He slapped the kayak. “I’ve even got a life jacket.” He retrieved it from the boat and slipped it on. “Don’t worry, Mr Sladan.” His extremely straight teeth glinted in the hazy afternoon sun. “I know what I’m doing.”

  Silas surveyed the calm water. “Your father knows you’re here, then?”

  “Of course.” This was not true. In fact, Milo had wiped his phone and left his regular shoes in the dressing room at the sporting goods store to make sure he wasn’t being tracked.