West Otter Lake

By: Nicholas Hall
(© 2013 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

nhall@tickiestories.us

Chapter 31
 

"From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggety beasts and things that go bump in the night, Good Lord, deliver us."

– (Cornish Prayer)

The little brass bell suspended above the Resort Office door, tinkled brightly, signaling someone seeking answers to questions, reservations, or just conviviality. Scurrying to the office quickly from the Great Room where I was emptying the trash containers, I was greeted by Peter, standing alone with his cane in contact with the floor and facing my direction. I heard two distinct "click," "click's," as I entered and his query, "Conner?"

"Sure is; what's up, Peter?"

"The campers in site 40 spotted another bear prowling around last night and I told them I'd let you know. The batteries are dead in my two-way radio so I walked up."

"Where's the Twins?"

"Cleaning the showers in Shower House 1."

Peter, after only working part-time weekends and Mondays since the season opened the month before, was very adept at navigating his way around the Resort and Campground. If he should ever become confused, which was rarely, usually one of our guest would help him find his way. He could also pick out the voices of Terell and Treyvon, his best buds and working partners, so he'd hit the button on his radio to let them know he needed some help. They'd shout a couple of times, and then keep chattering until he could locate them, following the sounds of their voices.

Bears were a real problem this spring. The harsh, long winter, with the slow snow melt, brought the creatures out of hibernation lean and hungry, with little in the natural world for them to forage on, to break their fast and fill out their frames. Resorts and campgrounds, as well as the cottage or cabin people, and local residents were constantly aggravated by the pestering, stinking critters scavenging garbage cans and dumpsters.

Roy Wagoner, Peter's grandfather and our DNR Conservation Warden, cautioned all of us to keep things cleaned up until the new crop of fawns and other critters became available for the bears. The bears were almost the top of the predator chain and were opportunistic omnivores, relishing animal or vegetable matter for a meal. The DNR already captured several pesky bears in big culvert-shaped live traps, in and around Otter Lake and transported them to more remote areas of the forests. If bears became habitualized or dependent on human garbage for substance, they became dangerous and had to be put down. Although it was necessary, none of us liked it and tried to do all we could to avoid that happening. The bears and other critters were here first and were part of the natural surroundings, contributing to the ambiance of the northern forests.

I exchanged the batteries in Peter's radio for fresh ones and radioed Leandro and Craig to check on Site 40. I was willing to bet someone left an ice chest exposed or failed clean up properly after a meal or fishing. Signs were posted around the Campground warning our guests to keep a tidy campsite, but someone always forgot. Not only did the bears make a mess, but if they made coming into the Campground as part of their foraging rounds, they could become downright dangerous!

Peter tapped his cane, seeking the sound of it hitting the door frame as he turned from me towards the door.

"Peter, before you leave, I'm really, really curious about something. When I entered the office, I heard two very distinct "clicks" and almost felt the sound was directed at me. Was that you?"

"Yeah," he responded somewhat sheepishly.

"What were you doing?"

"Promise you won't laugh, Conner?"

After receiving my solemn promise, Peter told me, before he moved here to live with his grandmother and grandfather, he had a very special and ingenious tutor for several years. This tutor, who Peter failed to name, taught him so much about how a blind person can live in a sighted world. This young tutor viewed a program on public television and later read a great deal concerning a young man, blind at birth, who developed a technique similar to the sonar dolphins and bats use to navigate. Thinking it might help Peter, he spent a great deal of time with him, teaching him the technique and how to recognize the returning sound from objects.

"It really does work, but using it takes a great deal of practice and concentration. If there's a great deal of noise or distractions, I can't pick up the returning echo very well," Peter conceded., "It really takes a lot of patience and fine tuning those senses I have."

Frowning, uncertain I'd heard him correctly, seeking clarification, I asked, "What echo?"

Peter smiled that engaging, trusting smile of his, knowing full well I had a damned good idea what he was talking about.

"Ever heard an echo in a canyon or in a large field house? Well, the return echo from an object when I `click' with my tongue is very much the same only much, much fainter and harder to detect. In its simplest sense, sound is radiant pressure waves moving air ahead of it and when it bounces off of your ear drums, we recognize it as a `sound'. When that same pressure wave encounters an object, it really doesn't stop moving – it reflects, surrounds, moves past, and/or bounces back, much like a rubber ball. Clicking my tongue sends a sound toward where I'm pointing my face. I can tell by the return echo the size of an object and whether it is animal, human in your case, or not – well, not all of the time; mostly just some of the time, but I'm working on it. The fact I was sighted at one time helps my mind develop a picture, so that's to my advantage, I think!"

"Thank you, Peter!" What more could I say? Peter turned, gave me a wave of his hand, hit the door frame with his cane, walked out on the porch, and sauntered down the drive to the cabins and campground.

June started out just as busy as May had been, but the weather was considerably warmer. There were some warm days, but the week before Ollie's birthday (June 16^th), we had a couple of really, really hot days. Any day over eighty degrees Fahrenheit I considered hot; these days it was over ninety degrees! The garbage, subjected to all of that heat, was really smelly; pretty "high" as Cedric put it. Several times, during the early morning hours, just as the sun was coming up, marauding bears tried to pry open the well-secured dumpsters where we deposited trash, garbage, and fish entrails, out by the county road, but were unsuccessful. We were very careful to make certain those dumpsters were latched down tight every time we made a trip out there.

It was traditional and their desire, to celebrate Ollie and Luis' birthdays jointly, although Luis was June 23, a week after Ollie's. The boys decided to celebrate on a Friday night, inviting a few friends over for some swimming and partaking in "West Otter Lake's Down Home Whole Hog Barbeque" or as the locals called it, "Cedric and Mae's Cookout." Cedric constructed a covered, concrete barbeque pit with a rotisserie spit, the summer after he and Mae were married. The whole hog feed they'd had at their wedding was so successful Cedric and Mae thought it would be a fine event to have weekly during the resort and camping season and a money-maker besides. Our cabin and campground guests loved the event and willingly paid to be part of it. We fed them well (it was all you could eat) and entertained them with a combo of musicians consisting of Leandro, Ollie, Craig, and the Twins. Then, just for the heck of it, Mae would step up to the piano and let it rip with some "honky-tonk" bar music. The meal was cooked outside, but we fed them inside in the group meeting room. We could count on one hundred twenty-five to one hundred fifty guests every Friday evening.

It took a lot of work to put the event on each Friday and clean-up took some time, but it was worth it. With the number of bears about this year, we scrubbed everything down very well and stored the left-over bones, fat, and carcass remains in plastic bags in the shop. The garbage man didn't come until Monday around noon, so putting the offal in the shop would keep it secure from bears. Ollie and Luis had about a dozen of their friends over. They played beach volleyball, swam, ate a bunch, and celebrated with cake and ice cream. After wards, they sat around a campfire and just shot the shit! Saturday was turn-around day and most of the boys, along with Ollie and Luis, had jobs, either at other resorts, Christmas tree farms, or some of the small businesses in town, so the party broke up around eleven o'clock.

The next morning, I was up my usual time, around day-break, and was fixing coffee for Leandro and me when I heard a motor vehicle come to a stop in front of the Lodge – then I heard another one join the first. I walked out to the front porch and spotted Roy Wagoner's State pickup parked there and a county deputy sheriff's squad. "Oh, oh," I thought, "this does not bode well." All I could think of was one of the high school boys at the party last night met some tragic end; a car accident, with mangled, torn bodies tossed asunder in the midst of shattered glass and crushed steel.

Roy dismounted from his vehicle and was joined by the deputy sheriff. They walked up to the porch.

"I figured you'd be up this time of day," Roy said in greeting.

"What's up?" My stomach was in my throat and my head spun, not wanting to hear the dreaded news.

Flicking his head toward the Deputy, a young man I was unfamiliar with, although he looked vaguely familiar – one of the local boys grown up, but I couldn't quite place him. He was about six feet two inches tall, well proportioned, broad across the shoulders, slim hips surrounded securely by a shiny black belt holding his holstered automatic pistol, radio, Taser, and mace container along with other essential items necessary for the execution of his profession. His carriage, demeanor exuded authority, but in a fair, almost easy-going manner, yet I think it belied his firmness and strength of resolve, physically and mentally. I concluded he was one cop I wouldn't want to piss off!

"Deputy Jamie Wilcox," he stated, extending his hand toward me.

Accepting the proffered hand, before I could comment or even raise a question, he continued, "Yeah, my grandfather is the high school principal in Otter Lake. He said to tell you `hi' when I saw you!"

Once he said who he was, there was every reason why he looked so familiar; so much like his grandfather in walk, mannerism, and personality.

"So, Deputy Jamie Wilcox, what brings you to West Otter Lake Resort and Campground? I have my doubts if this is a social call."

The words no sooner left my mouth when, emanating from down the lane to the resort, where the lane intersected with the county black top, a din of noise, a cacophony of drums, a bleating of horns; not car horns, but the kind you blow in. There was no familiarity between the horns being sounded and those found in a band or orchestra. These sounded like those big, twisted rams horns or oxen horns the actors blew in one of those religious movies about Moses, announcing his presence or the coming of the flood or some other such nonsense. Loud singing, although muffled by distance and the forest, rose up over the trees and settle on us like a wet damp fog, bringing a chill to my body and a sinking in my heart.

Jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of tintinnabulation, and shaking his head, he muttered disgustedly, "Does that answer your question?"

"Partially, but what's really going on?"

"A group of the `faithful disciples of the living Bible' led by someone named Brother Joshua, claiming they are members of some conservative, evangelical church, the Church of the Righteous Redeemer, in southern Illinois, applied for and was granted a permit to have limited prayer sessions and demonstrations in hopes of `returning to the fold' those who have fallen from God's Graces and are in need of redemption. At least, Conner, that's what the permit says. They chose to do their `prayerful demonstrations' in front of the entrance to the Resort and Campground."

I scratched my head in puzzlement and thought. "When was this permit issued and why wasn't I notified my place of business was going to be targeted?"

"The sheriff granted the permit last night and Roy and weren't notified until this morning."

"How many `faithful disciples of the living Bible' are out there protesting?"

Roy shook his head in disbelief and disgust. "Conner, there's three van loads of them marching up and down the shoulder of the highway, carrying signs, bleating on their horns, banging on their tambourines, and shouting prayers to the Almighty, who evidently, lives over near the Resort since they seem to shouting in this direction. Brother Joshua informed us he is going to keep this up until `until the walls of Jericho come tumbling down' or until the Lord removes this abomination festering behind the façade of a resort. He seems to be fairly educated or well-versed given how scruffy and ill-kept he appears."

Deputy Wilcox reminded the demonstrators they were limited to their noise making for one half-hour three times per day and could not start before six in the morning and had to cease by six in the evening. They could march and pray silently from daybreak until sunset however.

It appeared to me the rules were pretty clear and, if my initial impressions of Jamie Wilcox were correct, would be enforced, without exception. I nodded my understanding and thanked both Roy and him for their concern and helpfulness.

Before climbing back into his state truck, Roy took me aside. "Conner, those people have some pretty hateful and nasty things printed on the signs they're holding. They've clearly targeted you, Craig, Ollie, Treyvon, and Terell for their hate. It smells really, really bad and someone with a powerful dislike for you must be behind this. I think it relates to the attack on Craig a couple of years ago or the attack on you at the Resort. Watch your ass!"

He climbed into his truck, poked his head out the window and said softly, "My grandson works here so I'll be on patrol with Wilcox. If one of those bastards harms a hair on Peter's head, the bears will fatten up a hell of a lot sooner," and drove off down the lane, his red and blue overhead flashers flicking.

It smelled to me like some members of my own family, the Johnsons, just might be behind this and I wouldn't put it past Craig's mother to be the ringleader. I didn't really need the additional hassle today. It is turn around day and we had a full house moving into the cabins and campground and a full house moving out. All of our energy today would be exhausted in just getting cabins and the campground ready before our first arrivals sometime after lunch.

"What in hell is all the racket?' groused Cedric as he and Mae walked briskly up from their cottage. Leandro, Ollie, Luis, Craig, Loren, the Twins, and Peter, securely grasping the Terell's elbow joined me on the porch about the same time. I quickly explained what I knew and instructed all of them to get their radios on, head for the cabins and campground to answer questions our guests might have, reassuring them all was under control. I cautioned everyone to be extra observant and cautious, since I had no idea what might or could happen. As everyone scurried off to get dressed and radios on, I pulled Loren aside and asked him to take the digital camera out to the road and get pictures of every demonstrator, if possible. I wanted to know who these people were and have a record of their faces. I can't very well fight nameless or faceless people!

The Twins, their partner Peter in tow, wasp spray and slingshots tuck in side pants pockets, radios affixed to belts, uniform shirts clean and pressed, headed for the storage shed to unlimber the garden tractor and trailer and head for the campground. Ollie and Luis scampered down the steps behind them, offering to help. Cedric, Leandro, and Craig elected to talk to cabin guests and Mae manned the front desk as a "crisis center." As much as I wanted to wander down the lane and see all the bullshit for myself, discretion would be the better part of valor. If this was aimed at me, my very presence would only serve to inflame an already tense situation. Loren would have to be my eyes and ears!

Our arriving guests were confused and more than slightly irritated by the gathering of protestors at the front entrance. We tried to minimalize their presence and reassured our guests it would have no effect on the operation of the Resort or Campground or our services to them, but they were still apprehensive; some, in fact, were damned well pissed off at the demonstrators! I counseled several of our loyal, returning guests that marching out there and "kicking their asses into next week" would not be the acceptable, although somewhat satisfying, thing to do.

Loren's pictures of the three white passenger vans used to transport the demonstrators revealed they were of Illinois registration. His pictures of the license plates were clear and provided an easy record for future reference. The women in the group outnumbered the men fourteen to eight, but were clearly the most vehement in their righteous attack on our life style. They were dressed in long, ankle length dresses and their heads were adorned with small, bonnet type hats. The men, dressed in light blue shirts and black pants secured with suspenders, were all bearded and their heads covered with flat brimmed felt hats. Brother Joshua was easy to spot! He was the oldest of the group with a greying beard, dressed in a white shirt and black pants, but usually did not stand out front as a leader ordinarily would. He left that up to one of the more portly, unattractive matrons.

The signs they carried were indeed hateful and bigoted in nature. They certainly didn't fit anything that I would consider "Christian" in nature since they in no way proclaimed love for their fellow man. I think "wretched" would be a better word describing the handheld poster boards. Printed on them were slogans degrading, deriding, slamming the "sodomites" dwelling on the grounds of the Resort, proclaiming hell and damnation to all within, and heralding "man shall love woman, not man," and a couple of very racists signs, condemning non-whites as "children of Satan."

By three in the afternoon, the heat was beginning to take its toll on the gathering. Instead of marching along the roadway, they were now settled under the shade of the trees opposite the Resort entrance, occasionally waving a sign as a car drove by or in. They didn't dare cross the road to our side since they'd be trespassing and Roy or Jamie Wilcox would cite them. Jamie sat in his air-conditioned squad on one side of the drive and Roy, equally cool, sat in his DNR truck on the other side. I sent Loren out with a thermos of ice water for each of them.

In the late afternoon, around five thirty, the drumming started again but quickly petered out as the sun began settling, bringing dusk with it. Around seven o'clock, Deputy Wilcox drove up the drive and rolled down his window when I approached.

"I guess the mosquitoes are pretty bad tonight out by the road, especially since there's no breeze. I'll bet they reek of Deet® when they come back in the morning. Roy's going to hang around until later just to make certain." He smiled gave a wave to Mae, standing on the porch, and left.

Sunday morning was a repeat of the day before, horns blared, tambourines rattled and banged, and ragged voices tried to sing "We Will Gather by the River," rather unsuccessfully I might add, at six o'clock. The hullabaloo ceased around six thirty. Frankly, after only the day before and this brief episode, I was damned sick and tired of it, so was the rest of the crew, and our guests, but we just had to ride it out. There's no way I was going to let that creepy, sanctimonious, bunch of hypocrites ruin our dreams of having a loving home and successful business. If the community could accept us and those out front couldn't, then, as Ollie stated, "they could just stuff it up their chocolate whizway."

The day also dawned hot and muggy, a repeat of the past several days, but the weather forecasters predicted a break in the pattern, with cooler temperatures giving us relief toward the middle of the week. Sunday afternoon was typically a slow time for the boat docks and bait sales and the bar was closed. I wandered into the Great Room to peruse any activity which might be occurring on the beach or the dock and my radio crackled. Ollie came on asking Cedric to meet him on the dock. Curious, I remained standing in the window watching as Cedric rambled out on to the dock and stood talking to Ollie. Luis joined them and by the gestures and serious look on Ollie's face, it appeared he had some issues he was discussing with Cedric.

Cedric finally nodded his head, slapped Ollie on the back, and walked back up the dock to the Lodge. When he stepped into the Great Room, I could see a grin spreading on his face. He looked like the cat that swallowed the canary.

"What's up?" I inquired nosily.

Cedric grinned all the more. "I think our detractors will be gone by tomorrow noon, at the latest."

That certainly piqued my interest, but all I could pry from Cedric was, "You really don't want to know any more than that, Conner."

Ollie and Luis volunteered to do night rounds that evening. I was concerned for their welfare, but they reassured me they were now high school graduates (which I knew) and they had their radios with them. Sometimes I tend to forget how much they've grown. Someone once said, the adult child you now know is not the child you once knew. How right that is! I went to bed, uneasy, but comforted by the closeness of Leandro. I played "Taps" on his horn for a couple of minutes until he decided to put the troops asleep up my butt. I dozed off, but just couldn't settle down. I rose carefully, hoping not to awaken Leandro, intending on going down stairs and sit on one of the couches in the Great Room and enjoy the lake and solitude.

I did fall asleep until around three-thirty the next morning. The sound of a bedroom door being carefully, stealthily opening upstairs caught my attention, awakening me. I assumed it was Leandro, finally missing me, and coming down stairs to join me. Instead, Ollie and Luis snaked their way quietly down the stairs, through the office, and out the door to the porch. I rose and followed discreetly behind them, waiting in the office to see what happened next.

The yard lights illuminated the parking area well enough so when someone else joined them, it was easy to identify Cedric. The trio walked over to the shop, stepped inside, and emerged in a few minutes carrying several plastic garbage bags, and walked down the lane toward the county road. It wasn't long before Ollie and Luis came running back, but no Cedric! I ducted behind the counter in the office hoping to escape detection when the boys came in. I overheard Ollie snicker as they walked by heading upstairs, "I'll be Brother Joshua wishes it was a prayer in his heart instead of the shit he'll have in his pants."

There was no way I'd go back to bed now, besides, it was growing lighter in the east; sunrise wasn't that far away. I didn't have long to wait! The lids of the dumpsters began banging and clanging, signaling something (more than likely bears) was raiding the garbage. My first thought was the boys forgot to latch them securely, until I saw Cedric emerge from the woods and slip back into his cottage. The dumpster noise was suddenly accompanied by screams and shouts, not of joy and prayer, but fear! Shouts of "Jesus Christ" and "Holy Shit" were not the prayerful intonations one would expect from such a pious group, but my ears did not mistake me. This went on for perhaps ten minutes until I could hear sirens coming down the county road; one from town and one from the direction of Roy Wagoner's house.

The sirens ceased wailing at the end of the lane leading to the Resort. The hollering and racket stopped about a half hour later. I could hear car doors slam, engines rev up, and tires squealing as the vehicles rocketed away. There was no more horn blowing or drumming, at last!

Jamie Wilcox's squad, followed by Roy Wilcox's DNR pickup, cruised down the lane and stopped in front of the Lodge. I waited until both men got out of their vehicles before I walked out on the porch to greet them.

"You know, Conner," Roy admonished, "you really should impress on the boys how important it is to secure the dumpster lids, especially after the leftovers from the hog barbeque are put in them along with the all of the rotten fish guts. There were four big bears chowing down out there."

"Somehow," Jamie allowed, "the critters got into the backs of vans, evidently looking for more food and tore the hell out the insides. The bears must have rolled in the hog grease because the even the vans smelled like it. At any rate, Brother Joshua declared the Lord's work was done and pulled his crew out of here, canceling the permit. In fact, Conner, the ladies insisted on it, especially when one of the bears took exception at being swatted on the ass by a tambourine and knocked it out of Sister `What's-her-name's hand."

Roy chased the bears back into the wood with bear spray and secured the dumpsters and asked we send a crew down to clean up as soon as possible, but come armed with bear spray just in case.

With that, he tipped his hat and said, "Have a good day, Conner," and left.

I sent Ollie and Luis, along with the Twins and Peter down to clean up. Ollie and Luis never said a word about their nighttime activities and I didn't inquire, but I did notice they'd giggle and wink at each other off and on all day. I hoped that was the last we saw of the demonstrators.

The weather broke, as predicted, on Wednesday and Ollie and Luis decided to take the afternoon and evening off and celebrate their birthdays (as they did each year) by having a steak fry and spend the night on Thomas' Island. The beach was nice, there was a rock fire ring with a metal grate used for cooking and grilling and they enjoyed it. After their disastrous experience with poison ivy, they were more than careful and had no further incidents over the years.

Peter, sound asleep in bed with Terell and Treyvon, started and sat up. He reached over and could feel Terell snugged up to Treyvon so he was relatively certain they hadn't awakened him. He listened closely and heard the door to Ollie's room slowly close. Ollie and Luis were on the island; their room was empty. Footsteps moved cautiously, quietly, carefully toward his and the Twins room. Peter reached over the side of the bed, located his cargo shorts, and pulled the can of wasp spray from a side pocket. He stood, listening intently, heard the bedroom door slowly open, and a stranger's scent wafted to his sensitive nostrils. Peter knew the bedroom was dark so whoever was standing in the doorway was at a disadvantage, whereas he was not; this was his usual world.

The stranger exuded an odor of perspiration, campfire smoke, and uncleanliness. Peter didn't like it; didn't trust it and; feared the person might do him harm. He clicked his tongue once; the movement stopped! Peter clicked again, located the person and before the stranger could move, raised the wasp spray and loosed a stream!

The screaming and loud "thump" of something falling from the balcony awakened me, Leandro, the Twins, Craig, and Loren. I flipped on lights, looked toward Craig's room and saw him and Loren looking toward me. I looked quickly toward the boy's room and saw three naked boys standing in the Twins bedroom door looking toward the balcony railing. Peter stood in the middle, holding a can of wasp spray.

"He went over the balcony and landed below," hollered Terell.

The four of us ran toward the boys, stopped in front of their door and peered over the rail. Lying on the floor below, a crumpled jumble of clothes, was an inert person, neck twisted awkwardly and one leg bent back under the body.

Leandro and I raced down stairs while Craig and Loren stayed to help the boys and bring them down stairs. I flipped on lights and we ran to the body adorning our floor. The Great Room lights were bright enough for Loren, once down stairs with the Craig and the boys, to recognize the body of Brother Joshua. Leandro checked for a pulse and could feel none. I called 911 and requested the sheriff and an ambulance, although I knew we wouldn't need the later.

While waiting for the authorities, I ventured closer to the corpse, wanting a closer look and knelt beside it, peering cautiously, then intently at the man before me. The beard did little to disguise the inert figure lying there, who called himself "Brother Joshua," once I was near enough to inspect him closely and recognized my biological father, Wesley Conner Johnson, Sr.!

To be continued...

Posted: 06/12/2020