u/Infamous-Lake-530

My friend used to cover shifts for the attendant at the local dump. It was a relatively easy day. He went out for eight in the morning, checked loads and maintained trenches. 

Most of the time was spent smoking and drinking coffee in the hut by the gate, which was wallpapered with vintage pornography. Sometimes I'd go out and keep him company.

One Saturday, we had more time to poke around than usual and decided to take a walk around the trenches. We found large sections of an old trench had been dug through. That's the only way I can describe it. Most of the bags were open and something had spread the contents all over.

“I was supposed to bury that one this afternoon. I'm going to get the loader and do it now before it blows all over. Wait here.”

“Take your time,” I answered sarcastically.

Bears loved the place, especially this time of year. I looked at the corner of the trench, expecting to see those familiar five-toed footprints. Instead, I found something that looked goose-like, only double the size. 

I walked half the length of the trench. Off to one side was a pile of stuff that appeared to be the remains of someone's bedroom. There were clothes, an old jewelry box full of loud costume pieces, some family photos, trashy novels, and an old diary. 

Dave waved me over to the loader when he got close. I climbed up and stood on the ladder while he carefully pushed the garbage back down in the middle and then dumped bucket after bucket of sand, earth, and clay on top. The rest of the day was spent treasure hunting and hassling people about where they should unload.

The following Friday, Jeff, the regular dump attendant, failed to come home. Dave didn't get many details, just that his wife had gone out to check on him when he didn't show up for dinner, and he was nowhere to be found. The last log entry in the book was for 2:30 p.m. His truck was still parked by the hut.

Dave was convinced he was still on the property. He wouldn't tell me why. That Saturday was busy and I actually had to help direct traffic. Dave spent most of the day answering questions about Jeff. 

The search dogs kept indicating toward a patch of bush about two hundred meters west of the cleared area of the property. Nobody managed to find anything. 

That afternoon, we were joined by a couple of locals. We stood inside the hut discussing the day's events as helicopters passed overhead. Norm looked out toward the bush.

“Have they checked the river?” 

“No, just the property,” Dave replied. “They're going to walk the riverbank tomorrow morning. So far they haven't found any footprints outside of the clearing.”

“We have to go down there and have a look. James, you stay here and run the loader.”

“Why? It's ten minutes to close,” James asked.

Dave and Norm stared at each other for a moment. 

“A diversion,” I added, “but what for, Dave?”

“I don't know, exactly.”

Norm was acting way more serious than I was comfortable with. 

“Things have been going missing from the yard. We've all noticed it. The trouble is, it's not stuff wild animals ought to be interested in. My kid's tricycle, the watering can.” Norm paused for a moment. “My wife's underwear. Right off the clothesline. Now this.”

“I'll go get the loader running,” James said as he ducked out of the hut and crossed the yard. 

We waited until he got out to the trenches before jumping in Norm's truck. He took the dump road farther west until we came to the bridge and stopped. Dave glanced upstream.

“What do we do if it's actually in the cave, Norm?” 

“Double-aught buckshot.” 

“Cell service down there?” I asked Dave.

“There should be. The cave is about two clicks north, a hundred meters away from where the dogs went nuts.”

“Let's go already.” 

Norm got out of the truck and pulled his Mossberg M1A1 out from under the seat.

“Dave, tell me we're both going home tonight.” 

“There's probably nothing there. Besides, pissed off hicks are always a good time.”

“I get the feeling we should call this in now.”

“Wait. It'll be a good story, trust me. If there was something in the cave they would have found it by now.”

We bailed out of the truck and followed Norm, who was moving north along the riverbed, looking like the Terminator in Carhartt. We had to jog to catch up to him. 

Dave and I split a smoke as we followed.

“Those panties must have been expensive.” Dave wheezed.

“What was that?” Norm yelled.

We kept going along the riverbank until the geography changed. Bedrock pushed up through the earth and boulders began to appear in the river. We stood and looked at the mouth of the cave from about fifty meters back. 

“Let's just watch it for a bit, Norm. I know you're anxious to get your undies back.”

“Watch your mouth, David. I'm giving it five minutes and then whatever pervert is hiding in there's going to get it.”  

We watched, but everything was still except for the sound of the river. Finally, we started moving. Dave and I found ourselves scrambling to keep up again. 

Norm leaned up against the mouth of the cave.

“Alright!” he yelled, “It's over. You got ten seconds to get out here.”

“Shut the fuck up and listen for a bit,” Dave snapped. “Stay here and make sure nothing sneaks up on us.”

Norm nodded, looking deflated. After a few minutes, I shook my phone light on and started into the mouth of the cave. Dave followed and I shone the flashlight ahead of us. We moved forward slowly.

The inside of the cave was like nothing I’d ever seen before. It was almost completely furnished. Not as a home, but as a display. Near the entrance sat outdoor items. Gardening tools, sandbox toys, and some bicycles. Further in, it had been sectioned off, almost like rooms. 

There was a single mattress with old bedding, yellowed pillows, and a broken lamp to our right. On the left was a dining room table with no leaves in it, complete with broken chairs. The walls of the cave were covered in porn.

Dave slowed as we reached the back of the cave. The smell brought tears to my eyes and I coughed, unable to control myself. There was a child's potty on the table, filled with pill bottles. Beside it sat a stack of old radios.

“Steady,” he whispered and nodded to an old recliner. I focused the light on it and saw the top of someone's head. Dave stopped.

“Jeff,” he whispered. Nothing happened. I stepped forward and swept the light along the back of the cave. The set-up resembled a kitchen and a living room, but it was off. There was an old doll in a highchair along with empty jars of baby food. 

It was Jeff alright, or what was left of him. He had clearly bled to death from a large, rough looking wound near his throat. His phone was on his lap, along with his wallet and truck keys. His eyes were wide open and it looked like he'd been positioned to face a picture of someone else's family.

I threw up on the floor of the cave and staggered backwards. It was covered in dried mud. Everywhere my light touched, I saw the same elongated, goose-like tracks I'd found at the dump. Hundreds of them crossed the cave floor in every direction.

“He's gone, Dave. Let's get out of here.”

We moved cautiously out the same way we came in. I climbed to the top of the ridge and called for help. All I told them was we found Jeff and gave them the location. 

We sat on the riverbank and waited. I lit another cigarette.

“I guess you're a town employee now?” 

“Fuck that. I'm good at Home Depot.” 

“It's okay. We're just going to have a little girls’ trip.”

My wife was doing what she does. The woman always could make steak out of a shit sandwich. Jenny wasn't buying it. I went to all her competitions, but this time there was no getting out of work. 

So we sat in the truck, waiting for the bus at seven in the morning on a Friday. I helped load their luggage and kissed them goodbye. The only consolation was having the house to myself all weekend.

At five o'clock, I jumped in the truck and headed directly to the 7-Eleven. My shopping list was short: beer, hot pepperoni, kettle chips, and smokes. I cranked up my Metallica playlist on the way home and flipped off the neighbour as I pulled into the driveway.

“Fucking dinosaur!” he yelled as my boots hit the driveway.

“Beats the shit outta K-Pop.”

“Keep telling yourself that, angry old man. No hookers tonight, I'm keeping an eye on you.”

“You can watch, but we're splitting the bill,” I fired back and went inside.

Once at my desk, I loaded up World of Tanks and joined a platoon. The beer went down way too easy. Before long, my reflexes had begun to betray me and I decided it was unethical to keep playing. 

By then it was dark. The house was beginning to settle and I sat in my chair with the TV on low. It was too quiet. The neighbour's living room light was on. Something made me feel better knowing he was still up.

I ordered a pizza even though it was already ten o'clock. At my age, a good buzz could go sideways quickly and food would help. Smoking downstairs seemed like a good idea too. 

The light over the workbench didn't do much besides illuminate the area underneath it. The rest of the basement was pitch black. The washer and dryer were visible, but the home gym and everything beyond the stairs was dark. There was no light coming in through the windows.

Listening intently, my heart beating in my ears, I stared into the void. It felt infinite and close all at once. 

“Still,” I mumbled to myself, “forty-three years old and you're still afraid of the dark.” 

I finished the cigarette, put it out in the ashtray that normally held screws, and headed upstairs. Halfway up, I started taking them two at a time, swiped the light switch, and then flung the door shut behind me.

“Piss on it,” I said out loud and cracked another beer. The next twenty minutes were spent scrolling Netflix until I finally settled on Scary Movie. If I was going to spend the weekend alone, I might as well do it right.

The pizza guy came to the front door. He looked at me like I was in a museum exhibit before taking his tip.

“Have a good one.”

“Yeah, you too, man,” he said.

After a couple of pieces, I began to feel off and got up for a glass of water. The neighbour's living room light was still on. For a moment, I thought about going over and then decided not to.

Having cigarettes in the house again gave me the courage to go back downstairs. My teeth ground together as I sat down and lit up. 

“Give it up,” I said, staring defiantly into the void. “I'm done with you.”

Once again, the silence overwhelmed me. My tinnitus made a brief appearance and then the coolness of the basement gave me goosebumps. It raised every hair on my arms and the back of my neck.

“What can you do to me anyway? This is my house, I paid the mortgage.”

I leaned back, feeling completely ridiculous. There was no sound.

“Thought so.” 

Then, as if on cue, the light above my bench went out. I sat there for a moment with my eyes closed and decided to finish my cigarette to prove a point. I sparked my lighter, butted it out, and started upstairs in the faint glow of the flame. 

At the top, I turned and whispered, “You're always going to lose. I'm not a kid anymore.”

Hitting play on the remote lifted my spirits. Another couple of beers went down along with a cold piece of pizza. Eventually, the movie ended and left me with the urge to go downstairs again. 

All the lights were pull-cord except for the one over the bench. So I grabbed a fresh bulb from under the sink, found the flashlight and went down. Slowly, with purpose, I walked around and pulled each of the three lights on, then went back to the workbench.

“Pathetic,” I whispered and dragged the chair under the lightbulb. It came back on as soon as it was touched. Calmly, I got off the chair, put it back where it belonged, sat down and lit up. 

The basement was now completely illuminated. Halfway through the cigarette, nausea began to overwhelm me. The ringing in my ears returned and there was a heaviness in my chest that was impossible to ignore.

I stood, turned, and put out my smoke. The light in the far corner went out first, then the rest, in the same order I had pulled them on. There was a pause and then the one over the bench went out too. 

“Lame!” 

My chest hurt, but I chalked it up to the sudden nicotine relapse. Three cigarettes in a couple hours was a bit much for me. 

Flipping the flashlight back on, I staggered up the stairs, struggling to catch my breath. This time, I shut the door for good, went to the washroom and found my old inhaler. It took a few puffs but the tightness eased a bit.

Afterwards, I went to bed with my clothes on and my phone playing YouTube videos. It wasn't a restful sleep. Twice I woke up with my heart racing and had to go get a glass of water. Finally, the sun came up enough to bathe the yard in a pale glow. 

I decided I'd had enough of trying to sleep and went out to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. My phone rang in my hand as I was taking out yesterday's filter. It startled me and the result was wet grounds all over the floor. Mom was calling.

“Hello?” 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I don't remember asking for a wake-up call though. How are you?”

“We're alright… I just wanted to check on you. Why don't you come out here for dinner?”

“Sure, Mom,” I said, fumbling with the lid on the coffee tin. 

“We just worry about you all alone without the girls.” 

I stuffed a new filter into the machine as my cheeks burned. She was always right and it pissed me off.

“Yeah, I'll be there early in the afternoon, Mom.”

“Why don't you bring something out to barbecue?”

Frustrated, I shook the tin with my left hand. A bit of fresh coffee fell into the filter along with three cigarette butts.

I almost threw up on the countertop.

“Are you okay, honey?” Mom asked.

The first one I met didn't really stand out, except for the fact that he was missing a boot and his flannel shirt was torn at the elbow. His face was dirty, and he didn't make eye contact when I asked if he was alright. Instead, he stopped for a moment and asked, “How much farther to the trailhead?”

I told him and moved aside as he continued on his way. A few minutes later, it dawned on me that my truck was the only vehicle in the parking lot. He could have started from the other end, but it seemed unlikely.

The loop was well used and clearly marked. I kept moving, thinking he must have been camping and was putting himself back together after a rough night.

Getting to the top was the priority. The northeastern face of the ridge was mostly a cliff. It dropped close to two hundred meters to the highway below, and more than one person had fallen over the years.

Twenty minutes later, I caught movement in the trees near an outcrop.

“Hello!” I heard a woman's voice carry through the trees.

“Hi, how are you?”

“Have you seen my dog? He was just with me a few seconds ago, and now I can't find him.”

She appeared suddenly from behind the rocks. Her eyes were wide and desperate-looking. She was dressed inappropriately for the weather: running shoes, leggings, a hoodie tied around her waist, and a sports bra.

“Please help me look.”

“Okay, where did you see him last?”

“Over here, come on.”

She beckoned me toward her and then disappeared back behind the rocks. Her curly brown hair was barely held together with a scrunchie that looked ready to fall out.

I jogged around the other side and found nobody there.

“Hello?”

There was no response. I called out twice more and checked the narrow game trail that disappeared into the brush behind the outcrop. There was no sign of her.

Turning back crossed my mind. The problem was that if I left without pictures, I would have to wait until next year for another opportunity. The lookout point was close. Continuing seemed rational at the time.

My approach to the clearing was slow and meticulous. Walking in the middle of the path, away from leaves, rocks, and deadfall, kept my footsteps silent.

Someone was standing at the edge of the cliff. They had an older camera with a large zoom lens, and it looked like they were trying to get a shot.

Etiquette told me to stand back and wait, which I did. This individual's appearance was also off. He was wearing a fedora and a black trench coat. I hadn't seen anyone wearing overshoes in thirty years. My lack of patience finally got the best of me.

“Did you get it?” I called out.

“You bet.”

The figure turned partially and waved me forward. I took a few steps toward him and then stopped.

“How'd you get up here? I didn't see your car.”

“The wife came and took my car after I walked up. She drove right by me on the highway and didn't even wave. Are you coming or what? It's a beautiful, clear day.”

I took another couple of steps forward, and the cliff came into view.

“Right here,” he said, pointing to the ground beside him where the rock jutted out slightly.

“I think I'll just wait until you're done. Take your time while I have some water.”

“Suit yourself, kid.”

The longer I stood there, the stranger the whole situation seemed. The man lowered his camera and just stood there, facing the cliff.

“You know, I think maybe I'll just start back.”

“Seems kinda pointless to come all the way up here and not get some pictures.”

“I'm mainly in it for the exercise.”

I was about to leave when he yelled, "Wait!" 

“What?” I asked.

“You got a telephone?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, when you get home, look in the directory. My name is Bill... number's under William Johnson. Can you call my wife and tell her to get back out here? I'm ready to go.”

“No problem. I'll call as soon as I get there.”

“Thanks. Leave her yours and I'll call you back when I get these developed. I'll send you some copies.”

“Will do.”

I walked the first few steps and then broke out into a full-on sprint. By the time I got back to the truck, I was hyperventilating. I pulled out my phone and tried to open a browser. There was no service.

As soon as I got home, I cracked a beer and sat down at my desk to type deaths in Longview Township near Delta Ridge into Google. There were more results than I anticipated. The first few didn't mean anything to me.

Then a headline from the local paper scrolled up. It was dated October 5, 1974, and read: He Will Be Missed: Beloved Journalist William Johnson Dies in Tragic Fall.

My heart pounded as I clicked my way to the archive section of the paper's website. Again, a search for deaths in Longview Township produced results. The next one stated: Search Still On for Missing Clear Lake Resident. I clicked the link and kept reading.

According to the article, a man had gone missing in early August 2009. They never found him. The search was called off in December. Pictures clearly indicated that this was the first hiker.

Searching woman + dog + Delta Ridge produced only one article from 1998: Tragedy at Delta Ridge as Woman Falls to Her Death. It went on to describe how she was located a few feet from the highway below the cliff. Her dog had been found nearby, alive and well.

Maybe it was the beer, or the adrenaline talking, but I soon found myself looking up Bill's phone number. I had to try it. The phone rang six times before anyone picked up.

“Hello, Mrs. Johnson?” I asked.

“Yes, who is this?”

I gave her my name and told her I'd been looking around up on the ridge. She cut me off.

“It's been fifty years. You people need to let it go.”

“He said he was ready to come home, Mrs. Johnson.”

There was a pause on the phone.

“He can stay there,” she said, and then hung up.

​

In the summer of 1999, I was sixteen years old. My biggest concerns were finding smokes, booze, weed, and dealing with the constant fear that I might die a virgin. I had a very small circle of friends.

Most weekends, my dad left for the lake Friday night after dinner. My mom spent her days off working on her degree by correspondence, breaking only for groceries and church. That left my best friend and me with plenty of freedom to take advantage of everything the little lakeside town had to offer. Most Saturday nights were spent drinking beer, playing guitar, and watching movies in the basement.

One of our favourite things to do was sneak out of the house around midnight to walk the streets and smoke. We normally wound up sitting on a bench near the boat launch or somewhere on the boardwalk.

Earlier that summer, the old two-storey wooden schoolhouse on the outskirts of town had finally been abandoned. It had briefly served as an apartment building before the owners decided it was no longer viable and shut the doors for good. Luckily for David and me, they’d done a poor job securing the doors.

It was a typical Saturday in late July. He and I spent the day at the beach. After a barbecue, our drummer came over for a jam session. We ended the night drinking and playing GoldenEye until my mom went to bed.

Around 11:30, the expedition began. Our gear consisted of a flashlight, a pack of Player's Lights with two joints stuffed inside, and a Bic lighter. The walk was only about four blocks.

The streetlights cast an orange glow over the gravel streets. The only paved road in town was the main street, a secondary highway that split the town in half.

Our pace slowed as we approached the horseshoe-shaped driveway to make sure nobody was there, and all the neighbours had retired from their decks for the night. Everything was quiet. My dad had begun his teaching career there, and my step sister had lived in one of the upstairs apartments. It wasn't completely foreign territory.

David gripped the doorknob with both hands and gave it a hard yank. The door swung open with a creak. We slipped inside and shut the door behind us, cutting off the last of the light from the street. I turned the flashlight on and cast the beam over the wooden staircase leading to the second floor.

“Up top first?” I whispered.

“Yeah, why not? Let's go look at the apartments.”

David started up the stairs, holding the bannister to steady himself as he went. I followed close behind, keeping the beam of the flashlight ahead of us. The apartment to the left of the stairs contained nothing but broken drywall, kitchen appliances, and bags of garbage.

The second apartment was nearly identical, only it offered a decent view of the backyard. The old trees were clearly visible in the moonlight, as well as the small cemetery and forest beyond. You could faintly hear the river in the background about two hundred yards away.

The main-floor apartment was in worse shape. It had clearly been in the process of renovation when the money dried up.

“Ready for the basement?” David asked.

“Yeah, let's do it.”

Back at the landing, I opened the door to the basement. The air was musty and smelled like wet concrete. It was mostly empty. There were a few cardboard boxes, a table saw, some broken shelves, and a relatively new furnace. Weak ribbons of moonlight filtered through four below-grade windows, partially blocked by weeds.

We sat in the middle of the floor, back to back, each of us facing the ends of the building. I shut off the flashlight and David lit a joint. It was passed back and forth in silence.

“You hear anything?” I asked.

“Fuck all, man.”

“Give it a bit.”

“Should we say something?”

“Technically, you are.”

He choked out a cough in response as he pinched the joint and put the roach back in his cigarette pack.

“I need a smoke,” I said, reaching back behind me.

I took one from the pack, put it in my mouth, and lit it. Glancing up, I noticed the smoke hanging in the air around us. I swore I saw the shadow of a person in the corner as my thumb slipped off the lighter.

The flame went out. I grabbed the flashlight and shone it slowly over the wall. There was nothing but evidence of a lazy contractor.

“Turn that off. I'm trying to enjoy myself.”

“Take your lighter.”

Switching off the light, I put it down beside me. David lit up as well. We sat there and listened in the dark. I didn't mention the shadow. After taking a long drag, I leaned forward and pulled my feet into a cross-legged position. As I did, I felt a gentle but obvious breath against my right ear.

“Christ, you're creepy,” I whispered.

“This was your idea, homie.”

“Nothing yet, huh?”

“Nope.”

I leaned forward a little more, put out my smoke on the basement floor, and sat there. It was a while before I noticed that I didn't feel David behind me anymore.

“Dave?” I whispered.

There was a long pause.

“Did you pass out down here, you drunk?”

I reached down for the flashlight but it was gone.

“Dave, seriously, quit fucking around!” I yelled, stumbling as I jumped back to my feet.

I turned in a tight circle, searching for the flashlight with my feet. All I found were two cigarette butts.

“Dave!”

There was no sound other than my own voice echoing off the concrete walls.

“Okay, fine. Enjoy being down here alone. I'm out.”

I walked towards the wall, knowing that when I found it I could follow it to the stairwell and get out. It didn't quite go as planned and I tripped and fell twice. Once over an old Skilsaw some asshole left in the middle of the floor and again on a stack of OSB piled knee-high.

Eventually, I found the stairs and charged up them as fast as I could. I turned my shoulder at the top and hit the door hard. It swung open and revealed the faint outline of the landing and the main entrance. I stopped for a moment, half expecting my friend to be sitting on the stairs, but he wasn't there.

I ran for the front door and kicked it as hard as I could. As it flew open, I broke for the driveway and the dimly lit street.

“Fucker…” I mumbled to myself as I settled into a jog I normally reserved for gym class.

When I made it home, the house was dark and quiet. I gently opened the door and took off my shoes in the entryway. Before going downstairs, I took a peek at the clock on the stove and immediately wished I hadn't. It read 3:15. I crept downstairs, trying to wrap my head around the math.

David was lying on the couch fast asleep. The TV was still on, but the station had signed off and the screen was just static. I stared at him for a minute, then sat in the recliner, forced it back and turned off the TV.

The next morning, we woke to my mom calling us up for breakfast. David carried on as usual. We finished eating and then took our coffees out on the deck and sat down for a cigarette.

“Nice job leaving me there, asshole,” I hissed at him, not wanting to draw my mom's attention.

“What are you talking about?”

“Where's my dad's flashlight?”

“You had it last night. You carried it home with you.”

I gave him a look.

“I got up, heard you pick up the light, then you followed me up the stairs,” he said, almost as if he were trying to convince himself.

“Dave, that wasn't me. I didn't go down to the rec room with you, did I?”

“No. I thought you were just taking a piss or something.”

“I didn't get down there until a quarter after three.”

“Frybag!” He laughed, changing the subject.

After he left, I searched inside and out for the flashlight and never found it.