Page 6 of Lake Hollow Curses

Sounds about right. I bite my lip before saying, “I’m not Catholic though. I’m not even sure that I believe in ‘God’.” Which seems stupid to say now that I’ve asked his opinion on ghosts. I must believe in some way. A tendril of fear slips through me over what he differentiates between a spirit at unrest and a demonicpresence. I’ve experienced both sensations in the cabin, and so has Wilder.

Scary or destructive. That second feeling that has caused me to feel like I’m being smothered, felt threatened. Is there more to all the curses talk in Lake Hollow or am I losing my ever-loving mind?

We continue to set the dunk tank up, as Father Chris says, “Doubt is a normal part of human existence and nothing which we need to be afraid of or run away from, rather it is an opportunity to explore what it means. It’s often children who are more open to religion, than adults who are naturally more skeptical of all things.”

Maybe I should continue to grill him over his mention of a demonic spirit, but I’m terrified of what else he’ll say. There were two very distinctly different energies in the cabin. One, I strongly believe could be Katie Gibson, and the other I have no idea. Plus, sometimes I can’t help my mouth, “You do know that saying kids are impressionable sounds like cult programming, right?”

Father Lowe chuckles. “Any belief system can be compared to a cult, I imagine. What I would encourage any young person to do is study. I can recommend great works by some famous skeptics and theologians alike. Ultimately the relationship you choose to have with the Lord is a personal one.”

It’s easy to forget that Father Lowe is a priest. Dressed in a pair of khaki shorts, a polo, and wearing a backwards baseball cap, he looks interchangeable with any of the dads arriving with their kids. He tosses me the tape for our sign. “How do you like Lake Hollow so far? Aside from the spooky cabin?”

“It has its charms.” Like the four men who call this their hometown. “And characters.” Like my new friends with loud personalities. Leaving for art school will be difficult, the decision made spontaneously, now feels short sighted. But I will comeback. My heart will be here in Minnesota and on the road with Romantic Ruin. If our separate lives don’t tear us apart.

Slipping his sneakers and socks off, Father Chris says in a saddened tone, “Yeah… it has its characters. Like Carlotta Marlow. You know her nephew Grady, right?”

“I do. Lala seemed to know everyone here.” The excitement of the kids pulling their parents along and pointing to different booths grabs my attention briefly. The bitterness I used to feel over missing this with my mom has softened and been replaced by wonder. There’s still a possibility I could do this for a child someday and be the grown up I had needed. I think of another question I wanted to ask, “Father Chris, uh… do you, do you know why Carlotta Marlow may have thought that the drownings that happened here weren’t accidental?”

A dark cloud passes over his features, stopping him mid climb into the tank to sit on the bench. “As a matter of fact, this is the second time in the last couple of days I’ve been asked that. I was visited by an investigator yesterday about Lala.” He puts his foot back down, shaking his head. “I told the gentleman that I have an obligation to those I’ve counseled, but I couldn’t identify the specific person regardless.”

Maybe it’s the loud clamor of kids, the bells and whistles, or my growing dread but he’s not making sense to me. He told them something or not? “I don’t follow.”

He leans his side against the tank filled with water. “Carlotta had come to me as a friend not a priest. She shared some information with me. I told her something that I shouldn’t have. Years ago, I’d had a class of twelve-year-olds submit questions about life anonymously to me the year before the suspicious drownings. One of the questions… well, I should’ve stepped in and found out who asked it.” He shakes his head, sighing. “Maybe I could’ve headed off what happened. But I thought at the time it was a bad joke. We’re a community centered aroundthe lake. It was… shocking that someone would ask it. Carlotta didn’t think it was joke.”

Don’t ask him. Just shut up, Remi. “Who was in that class? Can you tell me?” I have the sinking feeling I don’t even need to bother asking. This could be the reason for the suspect list.

A line starts to form for the dunk tank, Father Lowe quickly climbs in while saying grimly, “I told the police, but I’m sorry Remington, I can’t share that with you. Telling Lala was unwise.”

Chapter Four

Cal Truitt

Even when I want to cry I can’t. My brain does a hard reset. There hasn’t been a time in years when I felt this… raw? This exposed. I’ve invested my entire heart in Remington, but she’s separating herself from me.

Hell, I even reached out to Wilder for some answers. I regretted it immediately when he started teasing me. All I want is a chance to find out what I did or didn’t do. I never could’ve prepared myself for feeling this twisted up.

Taking a second walk through the mini putt course before James’ Flicks n’ Fun opens, my eyes catch on a picture flipped upside down and wedged under a windmill obstacle. Once I’ve pulled it out, flipping it over I realize it's one of the drowning photos that was missed in cleanup weeks ago. Absent-mindedly I shove it in my pocket.

I had hoped Remi was working today, but she’s been crossed off the master schedule. Was it because of me? I’m so distractedI don’t hear Skip walk in. “We’re a little shorthanded today, could you run the bumper boats on your own?”

“Where’s Remi?”

More employees continue to file in the door, while Skip looks at a text notification before answering me, “Oh, good. Looks like we’ll have someone coming in to replace her today after all.” Then he’s on his way to his office without answering my question. Typical.

My mind is on Remi and not on what I’m doing. When Kami and her over glossed lips make her way towards me after an hour, I’m ready to leave. “Fuck my life,” I say under my breath. “Here, can you take tickets. Over there.” I point to several feet away from me at the start of the dock. There’s little to no need to interact with me. I was feeling rotten enough without having to listen to her digs today.

“You take tickets. I’ll help people on the boats.” She crosses her arms over her chest.

“Do you know what you’re supposed to do? You’ve never worked over here.” I’m sending every fuck you I can to Skip in my head. He’s not so oblivious he doesn’t get that Kami and I aren’t exactly friends.

“How hard could it be? I’m sure I can figure it out.” Without argument, since she was looking for one, I shrug and move to the ticket taking area of the dock. I ignore her anguish, when she isn’t able to figure out anything. Confronted by the cold hard reality that I’m not coming to her rescue ever again, she finally gets things halfway under control.

Time creeps along as the sun beats down on me, I try to act entertaining to the waiting line of people. But it falls flat. My heart just isn’t in it. My mind keeps circling back over and over to Charlie telling Carter about Remi going to art school. How does he get told that, but she keeps it from me? I want her topursue her dreams, explore anything she desires, but I want to be in her life for it.

“You ask him. Shhh. No ask him.” My attention snags on the women right behind me.

I turn to face them, asking if I can help them with something, my tone flat. Startled they both look at me wide eyed, making me wish I had followed my instinct and left work earlier. My crabbiness is seeping over into everything. Trying to be more inviting, I add, “If you have any questions I can try to answer them.”

Both women appear middle aged, the one that chooses to speak on their behalf reminds me of my mom. “Are you Cal Truitt?” It’s not as if I’m famous like Grady, my family isn’t as well-known as Charlie’s. I also don’t have the infamy of a police investigation like Wilder. Why in the world would she know who I am?

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