Ancient History
Authors: CW Hawes
Ancient History
C W Hawes
Copyright © 2016 CW Hawes. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission of the author. All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover Art by Ben Willoughby
Table of Contents
Ancient History
Night comes on quickly in the pine forests of the north woods. The shadows were lengthening and the time was only late afternoon.
“Don’t you think we’d better pitch the tent?”
“Sure, Garth. That’s a good idea.”
We’d been following the old logging road for miles and we were miles from anything even remotely resembling civilization.
“This looks like a good spot.” Garth pointed to a place a few feet off the dirt road.
“It’ll do.”
The spot was at the base of two pines. The pine boughs began about twenty feet up. Plenty of room for the tent.
We set down our backpacks. Tomorrow we’d reach the abandoned logging camp. The trek in and out was the hardest part. Lugging all the crap we were carrying.
“I’m getting too old for this.”
Garth looked up from the tent he was beginning to assemble. “You’re the one who suggested the trip.”
“I know. I know. Doesn’t negate that I’m getting too old to go traipsing in the woods.”
The backpacking and hiking was my idea. I thought getting away for a few days with my younger brother would be good for us. Give us a chance to repair the past damage we’d done to our relationship. Perhaps even let bygones be bygones and start over. Perhaps.
“Here. Let me help you,” I said and together we set up the little dome tent and the rain fly.
When done with the tent, I collected an armload of dead pine branches and made a fire.
“You sure that’s safe, Ron? The fire index is high.”
“We’re here. We won’t let it get out of hand.”
“That’s just like you. Always thumbing your nose at authority.”
I almost said, “And that’s just like you, never thinking for yourself.” But I didn’t. This was a reconciliation trip. I tossed a twig on the fire instead.
The only silence was that which was between us. The forest was alive with the sounds of birds and bugs. Unfortunately I’m not very good with what critter makes what noise. The one I clearly recognized was the buzz of the mosquitoes.
“We better get out the mosquito repellent before we don’t have a drop of blood left.” I started searching through my pack.
“Here, Ron. Use mine.”
“Thanks.” I applied the spray, handed the bottle back, and then returned to my pack to find a couple MREs. Those I did find. “You want the Sweet and Sour Rice and Chicken or the Pasta with Garden Vegetables in Tomato Sauce?”
“I’ll take the chicken. You don’t eat much meat, do you?”
“No. I’m a vegetarian.”
“Yeah, that’s right. I remember reading on your blog you’d stopped eating meat.”
“You read my blog?” I handed him the MRE.
“I do. Not religiously, but I check it out.” There was a pause and then, “About Amy—”
“Amy’s ancient history, Garth.”
In the dusky light, the dancing flames lit his face and cast shadows at the same time. We looked at each other for an eternity before he said, “Okay, Ron, she’s ancient history.”
The flames crackled, the darkness fell, an owl hooted, and we ate our food in silence. When finished, Garth put the empty packets in the trash bag.
“What’s the logging camp like?” he asked.
“Been a long time since I was there. Probably pretty run down. Even more so than when I was there before. Just a few frame buildings. Nothing fancy. It was a place for the men to eat, sleep, and shower. There was a telephone. Don’t know if it works anymore.”
Coyotes began calling. “That has to be the eeriest sound ever,” I said.
“Yeah, it is pretty spooky.”
“I’m going to hit the hay.”
“Okay, Ron. I’ll put the fire out.”
I hauled my pack into the tent, unrolled my sleeping bag, made sure my 357 magnum was close at hand, and went to sleep. Sometime during the night, rain moved in. The main reason I quit camping was it always seemed to rain and there’s nothing worse than camping in the rain.
In the morning, we ate MREs for breakfast, put on our ponchos and boots, took down our wet tent, and in the drizzle trekked on to the logging camp. The clouds were low and occasionally touched the ground, giving the road and forest a surreal shroud of white. The towering pines did nothing to alleviate the somber mood cast by the dreary day and even heightened it by obscuring much of the dim light that was available.
An hour into our day, Garth and I reached the camp. It was situated a few hundred feet off the road, a rusty gate was across the driveway into the camp. The gate was no longer locked and from the look of the chain and padlock, it hadn’t been for years. The “Keep Out” sign was hanging by a bolt in one corner, the paint nearly all worn off. The exposed metal was covered in rust.
“Who owns this, Ron?”
“Don’t know.”
“Sure it’s okay to be here?”
“Nobody here but us.”
His face told me that wasn’t the answer he wanted. “When was the last time this place had workers in it?”
“Don’t know for sure. I think it was ’54. If some company did logging after that, I don’t know about it. Let’s get out of the rain.” I pushed open the gate, the hinges screamed in protest, and I walked in. The drive was mud and weeds. Even some young saplings. Garth followed me.
I walked to the building that I remembered was the barracks. The door was gone. I stepped inside the doorway, Garth right behind me. Light filtered in through dirty windows. The floor was littered with animal droppings. The building was a simple frame affair. No ceiling. Just the roof overhead and water streaming down from it in a dozen different places.
“Not very inviting, Ron. I’d almost rather pitch the tent outside.”
“Yeah. Let’s check out the dining hall.”
We walked to the next building over. At least the door was closed. I turned the knob and pushed the door open. The light coming through the grimy windows was dim.
“This place looks better,” Garth said. “Still think I’d like to set up the tent.” As if to emphasize his point, a drop of water hit my hand.
“Sounds like a plan.”
We set our backpacks down. I took out a flashlight, turned it on, and played the beam around the large room. Long tables and wooden folding chairs. Row upon row of them.
“When did they log here, Ron?”
“Mostly the Forties, I think. For the war. And, as I said, I think the last logging was done in ’54.”
“Why’d they stop?”
“Ghosts.”
“What did you say?”
“Ghosts. Logging stopped after the war. Sometime around ’48 or ’49. In ’52, two brothers from Waupeton were seen getting into a black ’49 Studebaker Land Cruiser Sedan. Their bodies were found here. Sexually assaulted and murdered. Their killer or killers were never found and when logging resumed in ’53, the owners couldn’t keep workers. The men claimed they saw ghosts. There was even a murder. One of the loggers killed a buddy. They’d had a fight earlier in the day and the next morning one of them was dead. The other one said it was the ghost who did it. Of course no one believed him and he was convicted. That was in ’54 and the logging company threw in the towel soon after.”
“Where were the boys’ bodies found?”
“They weren’t boys. They were in their late teens or early twenties, if I recall.”
“Seems odd they weren’t able to defend themselves.”
“It does, doesn’t it? Their bodies were found in the barracks.”
A look of relief flitted across Garth’s face.
“Come on, Ron, let’s set up the tent.”
We took off our ponchos and pushed a few tables out of the way, then put up the tent. The time was one in the afternoon, but little light filtered its way though the windows. We set up two lanterns to dispel the gloom.
“Ready for lunch?” I asked.
“Sure, Ron, although I’d like to get out of these pants. The poncho didn’t help much to keep my legs below the knees from getting wet.”
“Go ahead and change. I’ll get the Sterno stove going and changing sounds like a good idea.”
I set up the stove on a table and poured dehydrated chili into a pot with water and set the pot on the stove. Garth came out of the tent and I went in and put on a dry pair of cargo pants. When I came out, he was stirring the pot. He’d also put up a line and had his jeans hanging on it. I added my wet cargo pants.
“The line was a good idea, Garth. How’s work?”
“Thanks. Works going well. I’m up for a promotion. Facing some stiff competition, though. If I get it, I’ll have to do some traveling. It’ll be worth it. Much more pay.”
“That’s good. Money’s always good. Hope you get it.”
“Thanks, Ron. How’s your job?”
“It’s a job. Pays the bills.”
“You making money off your blog?”
“A little.”
The chili was heated through. We split the pot and ate in silence. I’d wanted this time together and now that we were here, together, Garth and I, I had nothing to say. It was as if it no longer mattered whether there was anything between us or not. I was beginning to think this was a big mistake. Amy was ancient history. What wasn’t were all the years of neglect we’d poured into our relationship after she’d left me and gone off with Garth. Like this logging camp, neglected and falling to ruin, all that was left between us was the fact we shared the same parents and same last name.
Thunder rumbled and the windows rattled. I looked up at the roof. “Might be getting a little wet in here.”
“Does the water work?”
“It did. But that was a long time ago. Let’s find out.”
We grabbed flashlights and made our way to the kitchen. Just inside the doorway I found a light switch and flipped it. Nothing happened save for the click sound the switch made. We entered, playing our flashlights around.
“The sinks are over there,” I said and pointed. “But with no electricity, there’s probably no water.”
Garth walked over and turned the handle on a faucet. Nothing came out.
“I’ve heard that people have been here fairly recently,” I said, “using this place as a base for hiking in the forest. I wonder where the well is? Someone might have pulled off the well head and used a bucket to get water.”
“I don’t think we want to look for it now.”
I nodded my head in agreement. “We have enough water for today. Maybe tomorrow, if we’re careful.”
We made our way back to the tent. The air suddenly became chill.