The Beautiful Thing That Awaits Us All - By Laird Barron Page 0,25

a log.

“That’s precisely what I thought.”

“Silly woman. Hiking is f-u-u-n!”

“Look at this damned thing on my foot and say that again.”

Lourdes and Karla skipped pebbles across the water and laughed. LiHua came over and stared at Bernice’s blister. “Maybe we should pop it? Let me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know, to drain the pus.”

“For the love of—that’s not what you do with a blister,” Bernice said. She quickly stuck her shoe on before Li-Hua got any more ideas.

“Yeah, that’s crazy talk. You just want to try one of your ancient herbal remedies and see if it works, or if her foot swells like a melon.”

Li-Hua shrugged and grinned. She didn’t think much of Western medicine, this prejudice exacerbated by complications stemming from her hysterectomy conducted at Saint Peter’s Hospital. Her own grandmother had been an apothecary and lived in perfect health to one hundred and three. “My husband knew an old fisherman who lived here.” Li-Hua’s husband Hung worked for the state as a cultural researcher. He’d assisted on a demographical study of the region and spent several weeks among the Klallam, and Norwegian and Dutch immigrants who’d lived nearby for decades. “Job Nilsson had a ramshackle cabin over one of these ridges. After Hung interviewed him, we brought him cases of canned goods and other supplies every winter until he passed away. It was sad.”

“Yeesh,” Dixie said. She’d gone to El Salvador and Nicaragua on many humanitarian missions. “I never knew, Li-Hua. You guys are wonderful.” She sprang from her perch and hugged Li-Hua.

“Job wouldn’t talk about the lake much. He stopped fishing here in 1973 and went to the river instead. He believed what the Klallam said—that demons were in here, swimming around, watching for intruders. He said most white people believed it was mainly ghosts of those who drowned haunted this place, but he thought that was wrong. Only a few corrupted souls linger here on Earth. Or a few who get lost and forget who they are. The rest go to their reward, or punishment.”

“Uh-huh,” Bernice said. This conversation brought back the creepy feelings. She was frightened and that kindled the helpless anger, again. “The spirits are great deceivers. They delight in causing pain and fear. Of course, the spirits are angry about the houses, the motor boats, the trash, and seek to lure anyone they can and drown them.”

Bernice shook her head. “Last night you groused at us for telling tales. Now look at you go….”

“The cat is out of the bag.”

“Huh. Maybe you should put it back in the bag.”

“That it? The codger was superstitious?” Dixie lighted a cigarette and Bernice’s mouth watered.

“His brother Caleb drowned in the Devil’s Punch Bowl. Four people saw him fall into the water and disappear. The body was lost, but Job claimed to meet something pretending to be his brother a year later. He was walking along the beach and saw him lying under a pile of driftwood. Job ran toward his brother’s corpse, but when he reached it, Caleb sprang from the weeds and slithered into the water, laughing. Job was terrified when he realized the figure didn’t really resemble his brother at all. And that’s why he stopped fishing here.”

“I hope he gave up on moonshine too,” Bernice said.

Lourdes was the one who spotted the rowboat. It lay grounded on the beach, partially obscured by a tangle of driftwood just below their cabin. The women gathered around and peeked inside. Nothing seemed amiss— the oars were stowed and only a pail or two of rainwater slopped beneath the floorboards.

“It’s a rental,” Dixie said. “The lodges around here rent skiffs and canoes. Somebody forgot to tie it to the dock.”

“I don’t think so,” Bernice said. The boat was weathered, its boards slightly warped, tinged green and gray. “This thing looks old.” Actually, ancient might’ve been more accurate. It smelled of algae and wood rot.

“Yeah. Older than Andy Griffith,” Karla said.

“Maybe it belongs to one of the locals.”

“Anything’s possible. We’ll tell the lodge. Let them sort it out.” Dixie tied the mooring rope to a half-buried stump and off they went.

5.

They stopped at the Bigfish to report the abandoned boat and use the showers, then drove into Port Angeles for dinner at the Red Devil. When they returned a few hours later, the moon was rising. Bernice and Karla lugged in wood for the fire. Li-Hua fixed hot chocolate and they drank it on the porch.

“The boat’s still here,” Lourdes said, indicating its dark bulk against