Spider Lake (20 page)

The couple in boat number two were not equipped to help themselves. The skiff was snagged on top of a submerged tree. Neither of them had the sense to put on their life preservers. The man was standing and holding on to an overhanging branch and was trying to hold the teetering boat steady with his splayed legs. His wife was sitting in her seat, obviously too frightened to move. The wind and the waves were getting larger with each passing minute and had John not arrived to help, they would likely have been swamped and possibly drowned.

John thought about throwing them a line, but when he seen that the boat was snagged, he brought the runabout near to the back of their boat, barely holding his position with the reversed motor. The woman climbed on all fours onto the runabout’s deck after much cajoling from John. She had a lot of difficulty getting over the runabout’s windshield, and John had to let go of the controls to help her over the obstacle. He had to back the boat out of harm’s way to lift her in, leaving the man still in the boat.

Once she was safely aboard, he repositioned the boat fighting the wind and the waves as best he could, but crashed helplessly into the yellow row-boat causing the man to fall over backwards. The storm was coming very quickly, and John could barely control the boat. He yelled at the man in the rowboat: “Grab that life preserver and put it on! When I come back in, jump onto my deck!”

He backed again, causing water again to spill over the transom, flooding the runabout. He knew he could not back the boat much longer without sinking. He yelled at the woman to put on a preserver, and he positioned the boat once more to make another run at the distressed skiff. He knew he would only have one more chance with the amount of water he was taking on, and this time the runabout turned in the waves at the last minute and broad sided the smaller boat. The man in the boat jumped for the side of the powerboat and made it in safely, with only a small injury, catching on a metal cleat and cutting himself.

John quickly pushed the throttle forward to the safest speed he could run in the huge waves. He took one last look for the boys, but the water was too rough and obscured his view. He told his male passenger to pull the plug at the rear of the boat so the forward momentum would let out the excess water. Lightning was beginning to come down all around the water-logged runabout, so he turned back in the direction of the resort and ran as quickly as the elements would allow.

Ben and Matt felt relatively safe from the storm in the shelter of the boat. The funnel’s deep moan could no longer be heard, but the lightning was still coming down everywhere. Ben tested the boat overhead, grabbing the side and tugging it back and forth and it was stuck pretty solidly. He had been worried it would fall on them, but he was sure it was steady.

The flames from the burning mansion were now well above the height of the surrounding trees. The two boys watched helplessly as the building burned in their full view. Lightning was still striking with enough frequency to hold the boys where they were, each time overpowering the golden glow from the giant fire with bursts of white light.

The boys were transfixed with the drama of the burning mansion. With each explosion or lightning strike they would be startled enough to duck. It was a show that they could never have dreamed. Branches were still falling from the sky, some of them on fire, and although the funnel was gone, the wind was still wreaking havoc and fanning the three story building’s flames. They were glued to the scene of the fire when quite unexpectedly out of nowhere, the monkey appeared no further than a few feet in front of them, its chest and neck still stained red with the blood of the frogs.

The two boys were so shocked and surprised at the totally unexpected appearance of the awful creature so close to them that they both screamed. The creature screamed as well at the unexpected sight of the two boys, and then hissed and bared his nasty little teeth. Something else happened. The startled creature dropped a coin just for a moment, and after regaining it’s wits, collected the coin up again. In a moment, the monkey was gone, probably in search of another suitable refuge from the storm.

Only Ben had seen the coin. He thought it looked like gold, but assumed it was just reflecting the hue of the raging fire of the ruined mansion.

en thought he had been awake. The dream was so real to him! He thought he would not risk the déjà vu so he skipped purchasing his coffee in the convenience store, opting instead to get coffee with breakfast somewhere in town. He had plenty of time to come back later for his tent. He would come back for it after it had time to dry. His destination was only twenty minutes away, and he could easily be back well before the checkout time at eleven to get it if he had to. Besides, the campground was not full, and what would they do? Take it down? They would just charge him for another night.

He climbed onto his bike. This time he would take a different route than the one he took in the previous night’s dream. If he rolled up Crystal Lake Road and seen the same things that he did in the dream, he might lose it and crash. No, he would play it safe and go through town via route forty-seven and when he got there, he would find a greasy spoon. The previous night’s beer consumption was more than he was used to, and he thought he might feel better with some solid breakfast. He rolled out of the campground driveway and pointed his motorcycle west towards the main highway. He noticed that the jeep was in the gravel driveway just where it had been the day before.

He rolled up route forty-seven and made a right on Boyce Drive. He drove to the first street which headed into town which was Arbutus Street. He was driving slowly, looking for a restaurant, and continued up Pelham. Then, to his surprise, up ahead on the right was the Silver Dollar Cafe. He immediately felt queasy and had to stop the bike. He pulled into the first available parking space and he turned off the engine. He put the kick stand down and removed his helmet. Then he climbed off the bike and helplessly threw up into the nearest storm drain.

Had he been told about the restaurant in his dream? Or was he told about it the night before? He couldn’t remember. Across the street and down the block he noticed a squad car pulling out of a lot and headed in his direction. Had the policeman seen him losing his cookies? He shakily walked up the sidewalk in the direction of the Silver Dollar, turning his back on the squad car. He was almost at the restaurant door when the squad hit a short burst on its siren.

Ben turned around and looked at the police car. He knew he had been spotted throwing up, and wondered if there was a law against getting sick in public. The officer was already climbing out of the car.

“Can I see your license and registration please?”

Ben was still reeling a bit from the overwhelming feeling that he was standing in front of a restaurant he had learned about in a dream. The police officer walked slowly towards him. He looked suspicious and had one hand on the holster of his gun. Ben was feeling dizzy again. He wanted to sit down. He took a step towards the policeman and lost his footing. He stumbled just for a second and then sunk slowly to a sitting position on the curb. He looked up at the officer, and then he looked at his wallet already in his left hand. When had he taken his wallet out?

“Sir, are you sick? Have you been drinking?”

“No, I haven’t been drinking officer, and yes, I don’t feel well.”

“Do you want me to call an ambulance?”

Ben had to think fast. He needed an explanation and he needed it now. He was regaining his composure. He knew that he had learned about the restaurant from somewhere, and if it was in a dream, so be it. He was up here on this crazy trip all because of a dream so why not? Why shouldn’t he have another crazy dream telling him about free coffee for campers and boarded up buildings from his childhood? He thought fast and as he was handing the policeman his wallet, he told the officer a white lie.

“No sir, I don’t need an ambulance. My license and registration are in my wallet. I am hypoglycemic and my blood sugar is a little low. I just need to get some breakfast in me and I will feel better.”

“Take the license and registration out of your wallet please.”

Ben withdrew his hand and took the needed documents from his wallet. He handed them to the policeman.

“I have my insurance papers also if you need them.”

“Are you sure you don’t need medical help mister— Fisher?”

“Yes, a glass of orange juice is all I need.”

“Wait here, I will be right back.”

The officer walked back to the squad car. Ben knew he was obviously running his license for any outstanding warrants or unpaid traffic tickets. The officer came back to where he was sitting.

“Are you sure you haven’t been drinking Mister Fisher?”

“Would I be drinking at nine-thirty in the morning?”

“Some do Mister Fisher. Lots of folks up here start their morning with a Bloody Mary just down the road at Les’s Lounge. Would you be willing to blow in the tube and take an alcohol test?”

“Sure I would. May I get up?”

The officer eyed Ben very closely as he stood up from the curb. He handed back his license and registration. “I guess the test won’t be necessary Mister Fisher, but you shouldn’t be riding that crotch-rocket if you are having blood sugar problems. I suggest you travel in something more forgiving, like a Hum Vee or a Suburban if you are going to be having dizzy spells.”

“Thank you officer, I will consider your advice. May I go get something to eat now?”

The radio on the man’s shoulder informed him of an accident nearby and he left without as much as a so-long or goodbye. Ben resumed his own business, which included an omelet at The Silver Dollar Cafe on Steven Street in downtown Rhinelander. The food was just as the convenience store clerk said it would be—
 
delicious. He also noticed, after getting back on his motorcycle, that the town did indeed have two McDonalds restaurants three blocks apart.

Ben chose to take the western route out of town and take Bridge Road to Black Lake Road to where it intersects Spider Lake Road at its west end. There would be no more surprises until he was off his bike at his boyhood resort. Somehow he knew it would still be open. Though the dream had caused him a brush with Rhinelander’s finest, he still managed to talk himself into a rational explanation for his knowing about the Silver Dollar Cafe and the two McDonalds restaurants three blocks apart. Perhaps he had seen the two McDonalds on Google Maps and didn’t remember, or had been given the restaurant advice the previous day when he arrived at the campground, and not during the dream.

He rode past the lake where it neared the road on his left, and just a moment later he was at the entrance to the driveway of his boyhood home. He stopped and looked closely at the sign. It looked very much like he remembered it but was he remembering the sign from his childhood? Or was he only recalling his memory of the previous night, when the dream had seemed so real. He could no longer tell. His reality had somehow changed in the last few days. The lines between his conscious and subconscious were blurred.

He took another glance at the wooden sign with the added neon. The feeling of déjà vu was washing over him in a wave. He tried very hard to convince himself that the sign was the same as it was when he was a boy, and that is why it looked so familiar. The dream of the night before was just his mind recalling a childhood memory. When the sign was behind him and no longer in his view, the neon word “no”— began to blink on and off.

He pulled into the clearing. He scanned the resort very quickly as he parked his bike and removed his helmet. It looked very much the same as it did when he was a boy. He wasn’t surprised that the clearing did indeed look smaller than he remembered. All of the buildings were still there, with the exception of the tool shed. There was a newer, although smaller garden shed where the old shed had once been. Looking at the main house, Ben noticed that the large heating-oil tank was no longer there. No surprises so far. He breathed in the sweet smell of cut grass and pine trees. It was a familiar smell to him. How many times had he cut the grass in this clearing?

He was relieved to see that all the driveways attached to each cabin were occupied by late-model vehicles. “Not a single antique car.” Ben whispered to himself. He walked down the long driveway which paralleled the front of the cabins and ran towards the office at the main house. As he was walking, he noticed that the docks had been changed to a removable modular system and the old yellow wooden rowboats had been replaced with shiny new aluminum fishing boats; all of which were equipped with carpeted floors, fish-finders, and electric trolling motors.

The new, improved resort made Ben feel more comfortable. Had it been unchanged, like in his memories or the previous night’s dream, he would have doubted its reality. He climbed up the stairs to the screen-porch door of the main house, where he noticed that the sign had also changed. There were two signs that he remembered from his childhood. The outside one was a router-engraved slice of pine which read “Office” and the one inside the screen porch was another pine slice, only hand painted with the office hours, and prompted the guest to “knock if you need assistance.” The new sign was much smaller and read only “press button for assistance.”