The distant drone of a lone motorboat.
In the silent hours after midnight that sound seems as ominous as the pitch darkness.
Then it suddenly stops.
Silence.
Long moments later….a heart-stopping, blood-curdling, terrifying scream.
The scream echoes across the lake. Then fades away.
Silence returns.
In the morning, the Washington Police swarm the shoreline camp where the grisly murder took place. Crime scene photos of a butchered corpse. Blood stains everywhere. Fingerprint dusting. Witness statements, all of them eerily similar.
The sound of a lone motorboat on the lake.
Silence.
A scream.
Death.
The Highland Lake Murderer claims another victim.
The dozen or so Confirmation Class kids from my church drink in the story, mouths open, eyes reflecting sheer terror. Is it one of those run-of-the-mill campfire stories designed to scare campers? Is this just another Camp Singley ghost story?
Or is it true?
Not taking any chances, the kids lock the doors and circle their sleeping backs in one room. Safety in numbers.
“Good nights” are shared and the lights are turned off. It’s incredibly dark at the lake at night.
The ticking of the kitchen clock is at once soothing and spooky. To its rhythm, the kids one-by-one drift off to sleep. The hour hand spins slowly toward midnight and then past it into the wee hours of the next morning.
“What was THAT?” a sleepy-eyed Beth whispers to no one in particular.
“What was WHAT?” Scott asks.
“I heard it too!” says Doug.
Somewhere in the inky blackness of Highland Lake, the sound of a lone motorboat can be heard.
The kids instantly awaken, jumping up and running in a pack to peer through the windows looking out toward the lake. Too dark to see anything.
But not too dark to hear…
…the sound of the boat is getting louder!
Then it stops.
Silence, except for the gentle lapping of waves on the shore.
“Oh my God, it’s HIM!” cries Mandy.
“SHHHH! Be quiet!” urges Michelle. “We can’t let him know we’re here!”
Then Mandy whispers nervously. “I think I hear something under the house!”
Instant silence, except for rapid breathing and nervous laughter.
THUMP! THUMP!
Something – or someone – in the crawlspace below the cabin is hitting the floor right below the room where the kids are. Four or five loud bangs in rapid succession. And then nothing.
“He knows we’re here!” Cindy says.
Just then, the kitchen screen door opens with a spooky squeak…and then slams shut.
“He’s trying to get in!” Beth screams. Mandy runs to the kitchen window. “Someone flip on the outside light!”
Someone does. The floodlight mounted at the eve of the roof switches on, instantly illuminating the side yard.
As Mandy watches, the screen door opens and then slams shut again.
“OH MY GOD!” she gasps. “The door is opening and closing…BUT NO ONE’S THERE!!”
The whole group screams.
Time for me to step in.
“All right, you guys!” I say in a serious voice. “Enough noise. It’s time for lights out and mouths shut!”
“But Marty…the H-h-highland Lake M-m-m-murderer is here!” Kim stammers.
“You guys don’t really believe that story, do you? I made it up!”
“But I saw the door open and close all by itself!” Mandy complains.
“It was just the wind,” I say. Opening the kitchen door, I pull the screen door tight and hook the lock. “There, it was just unlocked, and there IS a pretty good breeze out there tonight.”
“Now get into those sleeping bags and get to sleep.”
Reluctantly, the kids retreat to the other room. Muted whispers continue for a long while but finally the kids all drift off to sleep.
Out on the lake, our friend Bud rows the motorboat back to his house on the other side of the cove, taking care to not make a sound. Underneath our cabin, Glen crawls out into the open, chuckling to himself as he walks back to his place down the road.
And in our bedroom, I cut the monofilament fishing line I had strung all the way around the house, from our bedroom window to the handle of the kitchen screen door.
I smile to myself.
They actually believed the story!
I drift off to sleep.
And out on the pitch darkness of Highland Lake the motor of a lone motorboat coughs into life…
Oh, my gosh! I am so scared!
I remember that story! 🙂 I also remember my confirmation class flipping over the raft…
Marty, You should be ashamed of yourself. You had me believing the story too.
You are a very good writer and story teller.
Thelma, I don’t recall saying anything about this story not being true…:)