Summer at Forsaken Lake Read Online Free PDF Page B

them to follow because it was unfinished; some scenes were edited, but others were not. Some were in order; some appeared not to be. And there were definitely gaps in the story, which consisted for the most part of a series of revenge killings by the Seaweed Strangler, who—not surprisingly—strangled his victims with a length of seaweed. Then, with no warning, the camera tilted down to the sand, where the words
The End?
appeared letter by letter, as if written by an invisible hand.
    As the tail end of the film slipped through the projector and onto the take-up reel, the twins stood up, clapping and cheering.
    “That was so good!” said Hetty. “Let’s watch it again.”
    “Did Daddy really do all that himself?” Hayley asked. “He actually wrote that story?”
    “He did,” said Uncle Nick, rewinding the film. “Of course, there’s the legend.”
    Nicholas’s ears perked up again. “Legend?”
    “Well, maybe ‘legend’ is too strong a word. But there were stories.” He paused, looking at the girls. “You two sure you want to hear this? Wouldn’t want you to have nightmares. Or be afraid to go out on the water tomorrow.”
    Hayley’s eyes were wide with anticipation. “Tell us!” she shouted.
    “No, wait!” said Hetty. “I’m not sure. Maybe I don’t want to know. Remember that time I watched that show about those bugs that crawled into that guy’s brain and started to eat it?”
    “She slept with her head under the covers for a year,” said Nicholas. “But that was a long time ago. You’ve watched all kinds of scary stuff on TV since then and I haven’t heard you complaining.”
    Hetty squeezed her eyes shut, thinking hard. “Okay,” she said, opening them again. “But if I have nightmares, I’m telling Mom it’s your fault.”
    With the film fully rewound, Uncle Nick turned the projector off and sat back on the couch. “The story got started about the time your dad started spending summers here. It was early spring—middle of March, just after the ice broke up—and a couple of fools decided to go for a sailin their brand-new boat. Just couldn’t wait another month or two like normal folk, I suppose. Didn’t know how to sail, but that didn’t seem to bother them. They were up there at the north end of the lake, by Onion Island, and I’m sure everything was fine until the wind kicked up a bit. Now, no one saw it happen, so this is just speculation on my part, but they probably capsized—and since it was an open boat with a heavy keel, it sank like a stone, and the two knuckleheads drowned.”
    “That’s horrible!” Hetty exclaimed.
    “What’s so scary about that?” asked Hayley.
    Uncle Nick held up his index finger. “Wait. I’m not done. You see, they only found one of them. The other never turned up. Same thing with the boat. Not to this day. The stories really got started after our numskull sheriff talked to some reporter from Cleveland. Told him that when they found the one fellow, he was wrapped from head to toe in seaweed.”
    “Cool,” said Hayley.
    “Ewww,” said Hetty. “I hate seaweed.”
    “Before you knew it,” Uncle Nick continued, “people were talking about some mysterious Seaweed Strangler and blaming him for the whole shebang. Which was bad enough, but then old Mrs. Lindeman swore up and down that she was sitting on her porch one night and saw the boat—the one that disappeared—sail right past her house. Said she recognized it from the pictures. When she went down to the shore to get another look, it was gone.Perfectly clear night, she said. And she was just the first. After hers, there were lots more sightings—including one by your aunt Lillie. They all happened just before three o’clock in the morning—2:53, to be exact—or so people said. Problem was, the stories just got crazier and crazier, and whenever anybody sat up late
trying
to see it, they never saw anything.”
    “I guess that explains that painting of Aunt Lillie’s up in my