The Horror of Devil's Root Lake Read online

  ***

  I should have left Malmarbor hours ago. I know that. Still, I decided to stick around for a while, precisely because the place is so kitschy and over-the-top. After everything that happened in Redfield, it actually feels good to be somewhere a little more relaxed. Plus, with the festival week still a way off, the local hotel turns out to have dirt-cheap rooms available, and I figure one night's rest in a proper bed might help my ankle to heal.

  “Are you staying at the hotel?” a little boy asks as I wait for the guy at the desk to finish checking me in.

  “Charlie, don't bug the nice woman,” the guy mutters. “I told you before, guests should be left alone!”

  “Charlie?” I whisper, feeling a flash of shock. “Is that your name?”

  The boy nods. “Yes, Ma'am!”

  He looks nothing like my dead son, of course, and he's a few years too old. Still, I can't help wondering if this is what my Charlie might have looked like, if he'd had the chance to grow up. For a moment, I simply stare at him, before realizing that I might be freaking him out a little.

  “Sorry,” I mutter, turning back to the guy behind the counter, just as he finishes fishing a room key from the box.

  “Are you sure it'll be just the one night?” the guy asks. “We have an offer if you're interested in staying a little longer.”

  “One'll be fine,” I reply, and to be honest I'm even starting to think that it was a mistake to stay at all. I can't help looking over my shoulder as Charlie heads through to one of the back rooms, but I guess it's too late to change my mind now.

  “Room three,” the man continues, setting the key in front of me. “It's our best, you'll have a lovely view of the town from there. But remember, be careful if you're out after midnight.” A broad grin spreads across his face. “They say that's when Chanciechaunie himself comes through town on his way back to his home in the forest. It's not a good idea to get in his way!”

  “I'll try to remember that,” I mutter, taking the key and grabbing my backpack, before heading up the stairs in search of room three.

  “Just a little joke!” the man calls after me. “It's a very safe town, really! You should get out a little and explore!”

  When I reach the room, I find a thick wad of promotional leaflets next to the bed, advertising everything from a Chanciechaunie tour to a Chanciechaunie gift shop, with the latter apparently being tucked away in one of the rooms of this very hotel. The whole thing is very difficult to take seriously, and I can't help but smile as I see that each leaflet has its own variation of a drawing that shows the hunched figure. Glancing out the window, I see that – as promised – I have a view of the entire town square, and sure enough I can see the dark statue over on the far side.

  It's as if these people are trying to create their own cut-rate version of Disneyland, all based on little more than a few scraps of some corny old local legend.

  With nothing better to do, I eventually head down to the restaurant and find that the place is deserted, although I can hear muffled voices arguing in the kitchen. I take a seat and look at the menu, although after ten minutes of being ignored I start to wonder whether I should just head off. After all, the argument in the kitchen is sounding increasingly intense, and I'm on the verge of leaving when suddenly I hear a door swing open. A moment later, a teenaged girl wearing a bright red and green uniform comes hurrying to the counter, although she stops as soon as she spots me.

  “Oh hey,” she stammers, clearly shocked. “I'm sorry, I didn't know we had a customer!”

  She turns and looks back toward the kitchen.

  “Hey Roy!” she screams, at the top of her voice. “We got a customer! A woman!”

  Coming over to the table, she searches through her pockets before finally pulling out a notebook and pen, and she offers a broad, red-lipsticked smile that seems both friendly and fake at the same time.

  “Do you know what you want?” she asks politely. “Sorry, it's just that we don't get a lot of people through here, and I've only had this job for about a month. You're actually my very first customer, so please don't order anything too complicated!”

  I open my mouth to reply.

  “Joking!” she giggles. “You can order anything you want. I mean, I have a pad and a pen so it's not exactly rocket science.”

  “Well,” I say, looking back down at the menu, “how about -”

  “Are you thinking about taking the tour?” she asks suddenly, interrupting me.

  Momentarily lost for words, I finally glance over at the other end of the table and see a laminated A4 print-out advertising a trip into the forest to see something known as the Chanciechaunie house. The whole thing looks like some kind of garish tourist trap, and besides, even if that wasn't enough to put me off, the $22 price tag seems a little steep. Money's tight.

  “I'm just looking for something to eat,” I reply, turning back to her. “I was thinking about having the -”

  “It's a good tour,” she says, interrupting me again. “You get to see the actual house!”

  “And what actual house would that be?” I ask.

  “The house where Chanciechaunie lived,” she continues, reaching over me and grabbing the print-out, before setting it in front of me. I guess maybe she thought I didn't see it properly when it was at the other end of the table. “That's what people say, anyway. According to the legend, when he was first in Malmarbor and he lived in the forest, Chanciechaunie stayed at an old witching cottage that had been abandoned a few years earlier.”

  “Is that so?” I reply, unable to hide a faint smirk. “So now we have witches in the mix too, do we?”

  “No-one lives there these days, of course,” she adds, not batting an eyelid or missing a beat, “but you can take a trip out there with a guide and he'll tell you all about the place. I've never been myself, but I've heard it's totally fascinating! And I'm not just saying that because I get a commission for sending you their way, or 'cause it's my cousin who runs the trip! He's a bit of an idiot, really. He'll drive you out there, but hold on tight, 'cause he doesn't technically have a license anymore. Not after the drinking.”

  “It sounds like fun,” I reply cautiously, “but... I don't think I'll have time. I'm only here for one night. Maybe next time I pass through town.”

  “That sucks,” she mutters, “but yeah, the tour only runs during the day. Nobody'd be dumb enough to go out there at night. I mean, even the day tour is kind of a risk.”

  “Is that right?” I ask with a faint smile. She seems a little old to be buying into this fantasy, but I guess maybe the kids around here have been indoctrinated all their lives. “I'll take that into account.”

  “You don't believe it, do you?”

  “I just -”

  “It's cool, I can tell. I can see it in your eyes. I guess maybe I wouldn't believe it either, not if I hadn't been around Malmarbor all my life. If I'd just hit town, I reckon I'd just think we're all a bunch of idiots.”

  “I never -”

  “If you want proof,” she adds, “it's pretty easy. Just be up around midnight, and wait for him to walk across the town square.”

  I stare at her for a moment, wondering if this is some kind of joke and I need to wait for the punchline.

  “I'm totally serious,” she continues. “Every night, Chanciechaunie walks home through the town, on his way to his little house out in the forest. No-one ever disturbs him or approaches him, 'cause there's, like, stories about what happened to people who did that in the past. We just let him go by, but if you want to see him, and if you keep your distance, there's no harm in that. Usually, anyway. Just remember, they say he doesn't really like people too much.”

  “Just look out the window, huh?”

  “I've never done it myself. Like I said, there's still a bit of a risk, and I don't wanna poke around in stuff I don't understand. My motto is just to leave stuff alone if you don't understand it. Curiosity's overrated. But if you're skeptical, and you wanna get un-skeptical real
fast, that oughta do it.”

  “I'll...”

  Pausing, I realize she means every word.

  “I'll keep an eye out,” I tell her finally, before looking back down at the menu. “And right now, I think I'll take one of your farmhouse burgers.”

  Spotting the menu for children, I can't help thinking about my son.

  Once the waitress has headed back into the kitchen, I'm left alone to look around at all the Chanciechaunie memorabilia on the walls. I guess I can understand why the people of Malmarbor cling to the legend of this creature, and why they're trying to monetize the local legend for all its worth, but I can't shake the feeling that there's something a little sad about the whole situation.

  Taking my phone from my pocket, I switch it on and bring up Luke's number. Even if he's still on the road, still driving little Alice to safety, I figure he'd get a kick out of hearing where I am. When I try to call him, however, I find that his number has been canceled. I guess he really does see me as a bad-luck charm. After dismissing a set of missed calls from Craig and other numbers, I switch the phone back off.

  Looking up, I see a crude Chanciechaunie doll hanging from the ceiling, staring straight down at me. I can't help but smile.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I'm exhausted, and yet despite my reservations I do end up staying awake until midnight. I figure this is probably the only night I'll ever spend in Malmarbor, so I might as well get the full Chanciechaunie experience. I sit around in my room, reading and planning my moves for the next week, and then finally I see that it's quarter to midnight, which means show-time for the great and fearsome Chanciechaunie.

  Grabbing my jacket, I head downstairs and out into the cold night air of the town square.

  ***

  “Beware the wrath of Chanciechaunie,” I whisper as I read the inscription at the base of the statue, “lest he return for your children.”

  I pause for a moment, before stepping back and looking up once again at the blurred face, which the sculptor has rendered by swirling the features until they resemble a small whirlpool. The effect isn't too bad, although it still looks kind of kitschy. Much like the rest of this town.

  “Huh,” I mutter. “I guess it's not wise to get on your bad side.”

  Checking my watch, I see that it's quarter past midnight, and so far there's definitely been no sign of any monster hobbling its way across the town square. I wander past the statue and over toward a bench, and then I take a seat as I look out across the square and watch for any sign of movement in the shadows. I don't really know how long I'm going to spend out here, but I figure I might as well do the job properly. Besides, it's not as if I'd sleep well if I went back to my room anyway, and at least out here I'm getting a dose of fresh air.

  And there's no-one else around.

  It's as if the entire town has already scurried home, wary of being out when the monster comes along. I bet all the doors are locked, too. These people have probably worked themselves up into such a frenzy of fear and paranoia, I doubt they even remember anymore what's real and what's part of the fairy-tale fantasy.

  Reaching into my pocket, I pull out one of the leaflets I found in my room. This particular leaflet has some information on the legend of Chanciechaunie, although I have to tilt it a few times before I can read it in the glow of a nearby streetlamp.

  “The only way to kill Chanciechaunie,” I read out loud, “is to strike him while he's in his home. Yet since Chanciechaunie is half dead and half alive already, and since he always hides himself within the walls of his home, killing him is impossible. Therefore, it is wiser to simply let him be, to leave him so he can go about his business, and to pray that he does not turn his attention upon three. And remember, he does not like people, at least not adults, so if you avoid him, he will most likely avoid you in return.”

  Beneath that warning, there's a Chanciechaunie word-search. I turn to the next page, which turns out to be just more information about a guided tour.

  “I guess I'll all take that into consideration,” I mutter, stuffing the leaflet back into my pocket and then zipping my jacket shut. This is a cold night and I can already see my breath in the air.

  I wait a few more minutes, before checking my watch and seeing that it's half twelve.

  “I think that's enough,” I say with a sigh, getting to my feet. “Sorry, Chanciechaunie, but I guess you're standing me up.”

  I glance around one more time, just to be absolutely certain that there's no sign of some hideous fairy-tale creature lumbering into view, and then I start wandering back toward the hotel. Already, my mind is filled with thoughts of what I'm going to do tomorrow, and how I'm going to throw myself into the task of going through the newspaper archive when I reach Gravington Falls. This night in Malmarbor has been a distraction, and maybe my time in Redfield was a distraction too. I need to get back to more serious work.

  By the time I get back to my room, I'm already feeling exhausted. I go through my usual pre-bed routine, before finding myself back at the bathroom mirror, ready to say the words that I always love and dread in equal measure.

  “Goodnight, Charlie.”

  I wait.

  Silence.

  “Goodnight, Mommy.”

  A faint smile flickers across my lips. One day, I'm going to have to stop saying goodnight to my dead son and imagining his reply, but I'm not ready for that yet.

  After drinking a glass of water, I switch the lights off and make my way over to the bed.

  “Mommy,” Charlie's voice whispers suddenly. “I see the man again.”

  I stop, trying to remind myself that I only imagined the voice. I've never been completely crazy, I've always known that his voice is just part of my frazzled mind, but those six extra words seems to come out of nowhere. Glancing around the room, I see no sign of anyone, but I'm wide awake now and I can't help heading back to the bathroom and peering through, just in case I see...

  See what?

  What exactly am I expecting to find?

  Charlie's dead, and I'm under no illusion that his ghost is following me around. In fact, over the past few years I've very deliberately put all thoughts of ghosts out of my mind. I guess I must just be more exhausted than I'd realized, in which case I need to sleep.

  Still, as I limp back over to the bed, I can't help taking a slight detour past the window and looking out at the empty, moonlit square.

  Except it's not empty.

  I freeze as soon as I see him.

  There's a figure out there, hunched and hobbled, limping slowly through the moonlight as it heads toward the square's far end.

  It's just some local guy, of course. That's what I tell myself as I step closer to the window and watch the figure. At the same time, I can't help noticing that he seems very hunched, with the rounded curve of his back glinting in the moonlight, and I think I can also see the pale dome of a bald head.

  Which means it must be a joke.

  Just some dumb, foolish joke that's probably designed specifically to freak me out. They probably do this for anyone who visits the town.

  “Grab the costume!” someone probably shouted after I checked in earlier. “We've got another idiot to scare!”

  “Not funny,” I whisper, as I feel my heart pounding in my chest. “This is so not...”

  My voice trails off as the figure continues to make its way across the town square. After a moment, however, it stops at the far end, almost as if it has suddenly realized that it's being watched. I squint a little, trying to get a better look, but for the next few seconds the figure doesn't move. It's as still and calm as the statue that stands nearby, almost as if it's waiting for something.

  And then, slowly, its hairless head turns and I see two dark eyes staring at me.

  I let out a faint gasp, stepping back from the window. My first thought is that this is him, that this is definitely the same figure I saw outside Marie's apartment building in Redfield. Before I can even begin to wonder what I should do, howe
ver, my thoughts seem to scatter, as if some external force is making it much harder for me to think at all. Instead, I can only stare at the figure, meeting its gaze as my mind continues to empty. Apart from a vague awareness that I should do something, my mind is completely blank, and then even that awareness fades to nothing.

  All I can do is stare in horror at the creature. At its hideous, ravaged face.

  ***

  Blinking suddenly, I realize that the creature is gone.

  The town square is still dark, still bathed in moonlight, but the creature is nowhere to be seen. Thoughts rush back to me, as if a dam has suddenly burst, and when I check my watch I see that I must have been standing here at the window for around ten minutes. I have a memory of time passing, but there wasn't a single thought in my head, as if something reach into my mind and temporarily wiped away every thought.

  But I saw him.

  Or at least, I saw something. Even if suddenly I realize I can't actually remember his face. I saw it at the time, but now the memory is gone.

  Turning, I grab my clothes from the nearby chair and quickly get dressed again, before slipping into my jacket and hurrying out of the room. My mind is racing now and I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do, but I know I have to go down there and see if there's any sign of that strange figure still down on the town square. By the time I get outside, however, it's clear that the place is once again deserted, even as I wander over to the exact spot where the figure was standing.

  He's gone.

  I look around, hoping for some kind of clue, but there's nothing.

  Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the leaflet and see a photo of what looks like a small cottage in the forest. My hands are trembling as I turn the leaflet over, but sure enough there's a crude map showing how to get from the town all the way out to the cottage, which seems to be about half a mile away. I dismissed the whole thing as some kind of hoax earlier, but now my heart is pounding and I feel that I have to go double-check for myself that there's nobody in the cottage right now. After all, it would be one thing for some dumb local to pull a trick on me, but another entirely for them to extend the joke all the way out into the forest.