Montauk Point

Last month, on one of our field trip days, when G3 and I set school aside and went out to have fun instead, we took a trip to Montauk. While there, we took a short hike through Montauk Point State Park. As we were walking, we came to one spot where there was a pool of stagnate water surrounded by several trees. There was almost something haunting about the area. Calling G3 over, I pointed to it and said, “That would make a fantastic setting for a scene in a story.” He shrugged his shoulders and continued walking, seemingly unimpressed. However, by the time we finished our hike, we agreed on a challenge — completely for fun. Who could write the better story? The rules were simple. We each had to write a short story in which we incorporated that exact setting. It didn’t have to be the primary setting, but it did have to factor into the plot. 

Immediately, my son’s brain started spinning and it didn’t take him long to work out a story. He had the entire tale mapped out in his head before I even had a vague idea of what I was going to write. For two weeks, we began each day of school with a half hour of free writing. The both of us would sit at our computers and write. We would also take turns reading our drafts to each other and commenting on them.

Now the question is, which story is better — The African Black Nut or The Oujia Board? If you are up for the task, I ask you to please be a judge and offer your opinion. Personally, I think G3’s story is better than mine. So you don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings. When the student outshines the teacher, it’s ultimately a victory for the teacher.

The African Black Nut

I believe that this antic happened after my expedition to Africa. While there, I came in contact with many tribes and although their traditions are bizarre, they were quite fun to learn about. I found it interesting how children half my size hunted lions. Even though I am a rich man, I like to put that aside to go on escapades. Before I left Africa, an old man held out his hand and in it was a tiny black oval, an African Black Nut, I thought. In broken English he said, “P’lant w-w-here it w’ll b-e ho’unor’d.”

When I got home to Montauk Manor, my butler, Andrew greeted me wearing a black and white suit, hand behind his back, and a low bow. I went straight to the phone to call my companions. They decided to stay home when I went out of the country to Africa. As I waited for my friends, I thought about what my life would have been like if I had married Annabelle, the love of my life. Instead, she married Lucas Gray. And after this heartbreak, I barely made it through my studies in business. If I had married her, I may not be living in a manor, but I would have a nice family. 

After about a half hour, each of my friends pulled up in their red, blue, or black sports car, but I was bewildered when a purple car pulled up. I had taken a short shower, but I wasn’t able to do my regular routine. You are kind of held back with only shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and half an hour. When the purple car door opened, my hair must have gone gray for a minute because there was Lucas Gray. He was in a red polo shirt, hair gelled back, and his regular dumb smirk. One friend came up to me and said “We saw him on they way here and Tony insisted he join us. Of course it was Tony, he was always sucking up to Gray, that damned fool. Then Gray opened his mouth to speak and a plan started formulating that would clear him from my life for good. My friends and I went up to the billiard room for a game of pool. All around it was Manhattans, but once again Gray was being a snob by not drinking any alcohol. My companions and I like to play in silence, but he went on and on about his work as a geologist. I always wondered to myself, what type of person finds rocks fun. Gray also bragged about how good he was at poker, so we set the set the billiard sticks aside and played cards. He kept losing his money. This made me giddy.

As all of my companions were leaving through the arch in my door, I noticed Lucas was a tad melancholy. I did not bother asking him what was wrong, but I did invite him for a hike tomorrow in Montauk Point State Park. He replied that would be nice. I knew it would be advantageous if I got an idea of my soundings, so when everyone was out of sight I hopped in my own car and drove to the state park. I remembered coming here many times as a child. I loved to climb trees and see the seals. There was always one seal on the beach. It was as if he never migrated. I called him flop because he would flop down and sunbath for hours. I always thought the park could do away with the stagnate water though. Due to the smell. Pulling into the parking lot, I saw a crow’s nest that was on a swing. What a queer place for a nest I thought to myself. My car keys dangled in the ignition as I turned off the car. The car door floated upward on it hinges, and I got out. I pressed the button to open the trunk and picked up a large shovel. 

Half way in on a tiny peninsula, surrounded by stagnate water, I began to dig. Though it was gross, I powered through — through a rat skeleton and mirky smells. It would be a hard, long job, but it was a week day so I doubted anyone would come into the park. When I reached six feet, I hid all the dirt in the bushes and covered the hole with twigs and leaves. The shovel went in with the dirt. On the way back, I felt queasy with what I would do tomorrow, but I knew it must be done. 

“An 1838 Chardonnay,” I told Andrew. The cook laid a lamb stew bowl in front of me. I was looking forward to the stew, but the thoughts in my mind just kept lingering, making it difficult to enjoy my food. I had never done something like this, and I never wanted to, but I had to do it. I forced myself to pick up the spoon on the right side of my bowl. Andrew set down my Chardonnay next to the bowl. It was full-bodied and had a hint of pineapple. As I wiped the last drops of moisture from my mouth, Andrew took my bowl and the cook laid down a chocolate lava cake in front of me. How I always wanted to sit with Annabelle at a diner table with our children and see her smile. This thought made me realize I had to go through with the deed, and when the deed was done, maybe I could ask her to marry me. Hopefully, she would say yes. The flavor of the cake exploded in my mouth, although it did not raise my spirits. 

I went to get changed for bed and was very exited to feel the mattress beneath me and not an uncomfortable cot that I slept in for months. Nightmares have always had a terrible effect on me, but that night I felt myself shifting in my white t-shirt and comforter more than usual. All of those horror books I read as a kid came sprinting back to me. 

When I felt a hand on my shoulder, I almost punched Andrew. I almost forgot he gets me up at 7:00 am sharp. He gave me a glass of water and I took a sip. The cold water almost alleviated the lingering effects of the nightmares. When my push-ups and sit-ups were done, I put on the cargo pants I decided to wear yesterday and I went out the door. I ran down the stairs, sat down, and looked out the window at the ocean. If only I was enough of a coward to run away from what I was to do that day. Maple syrup waffles and orange juice was my favorite meal ever since in could talk. Enjoying my last meal with a clean soul, I drench my waffles in maple syrup and chugged my drink. On the way out, I reach in my pocket to make sure it was in there. I took an empty water bottle and headed out.

I turned the key in the ignition and I looked in the rear view mirror where I saw Annabel’s eyes. The yellow eyes, which I fell for. I couldn’t decided wether she was smiling or frowning. I looked forward to when the deed was done and I could watch her dance. The purple car was in the parking lot and I knew I had to find a way to get rid of it so it looked like Lucas just disappeared. I see you have rented the park for the day he tells me. That was kind of you. Approaching the the peninsula, I distracted him by saying. “Wouldn’t this be a good place for a murder?” He looked at the scenery as I grabbed the empty water bottle and dipped it in the stagnate water. “You know, I think it would,” he agreed. Seeing the water bottle, he asked for a sip. I gave it to him, but not before dropping some crushed up valium in the water bottle. Taking a sip, he gagged. He walked in circles back and forth and then he collapsed. I took off the sticks and leaves from the top of the crater-like feature and dragged the unconscious body to the hole. I stood him vertical in the hole. Now it was only a matter of time before he woke, so I grabbed the shovel and threw the dirt at his feet as if planting a tree. When the dirt reached his waist, he twitched. Worried he might wake, I went faster. I put dirt in his mouth to make him go swifter. The level of the dirt reached his breast when I realize what I was doing, but I keep piling the dirt. His face was almost covered when I started to feel sorry that he had to go this way, but he ruined my life, so he must pay. I took the little seed out of my pocket. It was an African black nut seed. I placed it in his mouth, drizzled it with some water, and pile the rest of the dirt on him. I stomped around to make it look like nothing had ever been dug up. I tossed the rest of the dirt into the stagnate pond. Before I left, I poured some more water on the the area where the seed was and then I left and got a drink. 

After about a month, the cops and detectives left  the case unable to find Lucas. I dated Annabelle, we got married, and had children. I visit the tree every day. When it was big enough, I wrote “Lucas” on it almost as if it were a head stone. People take selfies with it because most of them have never seen that type of tree. 

I confess my sins on this piece of paper so I can try to live with less guilt. It doesn’t work. 

The Ouija Board

I was home, writing a paper about Robert Frost for English class when my mother, frantic, burst into the bedroom. “Please tell me your sister didn’t leave.”

Looking up from the computer, seeing the look of terror on my mother’s face, I couldn’t speak. Instead, I followed her out of my room, down the stairs, and into the living room where she cranked up the volume on the television. The words, “Breaking News” on the bottom of the screen boldly called my attention, and I watched, as if in a trance, as the reality of the situation reluctantly became clear. It was a scene that had become all too familiar — people crying, bodies trembling, cops swarming, and journalists trying to get a clear indication of exactly what had happened. What they knew: seven dead and one critically injured at the local grocery store. What they didn’t know: Was the gunman still alive? What had been his motive? 

Fear, mixed with guilt, threatened to suffocate me. Unable to step away, I reached into my pocket for my phone. She’ll pick up.She has to. She promised to be quick so that she could help me with my homework. But her phone kept ringing until it went to voicemail. I tried again. 

On my third attempt, my mother put her hand on my arm. “I already tried. She isn’t picking up. It’s not like her.”

No, it wasn’t. Ren, my sister, had many faults, but avoiding phone calls was not one of them. Except when she was in class, she always picked up — usually immediately. “We should go,” I shoved the phone back in my pocket as I crossed the room to the front door. Mom’s keys were on a hook, I grabbed them and tore open the door. But my mother hadn’t moved. She stood like a stone pillar, less than a foot from the television. Tears smeared the make-up on her face as she listened intently, hoping to hear something that might alleviate the heavy dread threatening to swallow her.

“Are you coming?” I asked. She answered with a nearly imperceptible shake of her head, her body so rigid I feared she might crack. For a moment, I contemplated staying, but I couldn’t just stand there and do nothing. I had to move. I didn’t ask to borrow Mom’s car — I’m not even supposed to drive without her since I only have a permit, but what were my options — instead I announced that I was taking it, giving her a chance to say “no.” When she didn’t, I stomped out the door, hoping that when I came back I wouldn’t be alone.

My hands were shaking so much I struggled to get the key into the ignition. I finally did it, but I couldn’t bring myself to turn it. Part of me just wanted to sit there — forever. If only time would stop. If only I could rewind the day an hour — just one hour.

***

The summer I was thirteen, my sister’s best friend got a ouija board. It was a big a deal, especially for my sister since our parents frowned on them — something about the devil and him trying to corrupt young people. I thought their objection was ridiculous. It’s not like we’re religious. I may have stepped foot in church maybe a dozen times in my life and on each occasion we were on vacation. One summer alone, I tapped out my interest in churches during a two week excursion through Spain. Don’t get me wrong, some of those cathedrals were gorgeous, but I am definitely more about appreciating the beauty than getting down on my knees to speak to invisible spirits that may or may not exist. 

I’m convinced my parents’ aversion to the game made it that much more alluring to my sister. Whatever the reason, Ren got the harebrained idea that she and her friends should sneak out at night. Under the light of the full moon, they would consult the board, asking it their most pressing questions. Her friends eagerly agreed and the date of the illicit excursion was set. Only rain would deter them. 

As it turned out, the night they chose was warm and clear. Stars glinted in the sky as my sister crept through the house making sure my parents were asleep. But when she got to the front door, she found me standing guard, arms crossed at my chest, feet planted wide in what I hoped was a formidable stance. It wasn’t.

“What are you doing?” My sister asked in flurry of exasperation.

“You’re not supposed to leave the house.”

“Well, I don’t remember needing your permission for anything.”

“It’s not my permission. Mom and Dad—”

“I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you come with me?”

“Really!” She never took me out with her friends — ever. She always told me I was too young, that I’d get in the way. And I was so ecstatic to finally be invited that I didn’t realize her invitation was selfishly motivated. She didn’t want my company. She wanted me not to rat her out. But it wasn’t until I was sitting in her shinny red Acura ILX — a gift from my parents for her seventeenth birthday — my heart galloping out of fear of getting caught, that I belatedly understood her motivation. If I had figured it out sooner, I never would have gotten into the car. 

I thought they were just going to sit in someone’s backyard, or perhaps head down to the beach. If I knew their destination, I never would have gone. No sane person hikes into a forest in the middle of the night. My sister, the first of her friends to get her license, picked up Taylor and Brittany and then headed to Montauk Point State Park. By the time we arrived, I was practically convulsing from fear, but I knew better than to complain. Ren’s friends would have cut me to shreds.

***

Ren’s semester up at UMASS had ended and she was home for the summer, back home on Long Island where she intended to lifeguard at the ocean. She had worked there the last two years. The pay was great, and for someone as social as my sister, it was a great place to meet people. But she didn’t need to start until the end of June — her first day would be the day after her birthday, the day my mother had promised to take her out for her first legal drink. To keep herself busy until then, she enrolled in a pottery class at the local community college — not for credit, but for fun. Because she always enjoyed doing things with her hands — creating. She had promised to make a mug for my tea.

My tea! If only I hadn’t made a fuss about her having finished my raspberry tea while I was at school. Every afternoon, I’d come home from lacrosse practice, make myself a cup of tea and start my homework. It’s like my brain couldn’t work without it. But Ren, not realizing that I had taken to drinking it daily, had finished the last bag that morning. When she saw how upset I was, she quickly snatched her keys off the table and rushed out the door. I didn’t even try to stop her. I figured she’d be gone maybe twenty minutes and then she could help me with my Calculus work. And I really needed help if I was going to pass my test next Monday.

***

They parked on the road, and we crossed Route 27 to enter the park. Taylor had the ouija board tucked under her arm and Brittany and Ren each carried two citronella candles. Mosquitos at night out on the East End were always plentiful and bloodthirsty in the summer. Spraying ourselves with bug spray would have given us away to our parents. The candles would leave a much less potent scent on our bodies.

All three of them had a flashlight. I was the only one without one and so I had to follow closely. Still, none of them were terribly helpful and I tripped over several roots and rocks as I struggled to make my way in the moonlight. We didn’t hike far, just to the first clearing, an eerie spot  — the type of place spirits linger and evil swirls — even during the day. Off to the side of the clearing was a foul smelling stagnate pond. It might have been my imagination, but I could have sworn there were vapors rising from its surface in a misty cloud. Hugging the pond were the queerest trees I’d ever seen — thick trucks with branches sprouting and twisting at  odd angles, as if a community of supernatural beings attempted to weave them together but had given up.

One tree bent over like an old person no longer able to walk upright. The thick table-like trunk lay horizontally across the stagnate pond. It was here that Taylor set up the Ouija board. Brittany and Ren set the candles up near the board — two on each side. Ren pulled a lighter out of her pocket, but I didn’t dare ask where she had gotten it or why she had it. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know about other illicit activities she may have been dabbling with. It was bad enough that she had snuck out and that we were here. 

A bird screeched and I jumped, nearly toppling the board. “Watch it,” Taylor scolded.

I’d never seen a ouija board before and I was startled by it’s simplicity. I’m not exactly sure what I expected, but what I looked at seemed too bland to do any damage. I couldn’t quite understand why my parents were upset about it. The board was light brown, edged with black trim. In the upper left hand corner was the word “Yes”; in the opposite corner was the word “No”. The alphabet, written in big block capital letters, was in the center of the board beneath which were the numbers 0 through 9. At the very bottom, the word “Goodbye” glared up at me, making me aware of how desperately I wanted to leave. 

Taylor placed a triangular pointer in the center of the board, and when I asked what it was, she informed me that it was called a planchette, as if I should have known that, as if it were as common an object as a fork or even a pencil. A clear plastic eye sat at the top of the pointer slightly magnifying whichever letter it hovered over. 

“So what do we do?” I asked, staring at it and wondering if ghosts or spirits or the devil himself was going to rise up out of the board. 

“Really, you couldn’t find a way to leave her home,” Brittany hissed at my sister, as if my presence were more of a nuisance than all the bugs swarming around us.

“Sorry,” Ren snapped, shooting me a look that warned me not to say another word.

“So who goes first?” Brittany asked and I knew that the answer wasn’t me. Which was fine. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to participate. Being there and watching was eerie enough.

“Me, of course,” Taylor stretched out her fingers and wiggled them as if about to play the piano. Gently, she rested them on the planchette. Brittany and Ren did the same, pausing for moment before Ren asked, “Aren’t you playing?” The look in her narrowed steaming eyes told me I didn’t have a choice, so I placed my fingers next to hers. 

***

Taking a deep breath and whispering a prayer to a God I didn’t even believe in, I slowly backed out of the driveway. The supermarket was exactly 8.7 miles away. I had to cross one town line to get there, but before I turned down the final street, cop cars blocked my way. They were directing drivers to turn around. I rolled down my window to enquire what they knew, but before I could get a word out the cop gruffly cut me off, demanding I stop blocking traffic. My sister might be dead, and the cop refused to even let me speak. Figures.

Realizing that I couldn’t get any closer with my car, I followed orders, but instead of going home, I parked at the adjacent strip mall. Now what? Turning off the engine and killing the A/C I immediately began to sweat. The early evening sun was still strong enough to bake the car, but melting in my seat was preferable to…to what? I mean what were the odds that my sister was hit. According to the news they had evacuated the store. Which meant she was probably home. I had probably passed her on my way here. 

I reached for my phone and tried Ren’s number again. Nothing. I called my mother.

“Ren! Is that you?” She picked up immediately and practically shouted into the receiver. I almost hung up. I was not the daughter from whom she wanted to hear, but hanging up would have been unintentionally cruel. 

“No, Mom. It’s me. I…I guess she’s still not home.”

She started to talk but I couldn’t understand a word she said, she was crying too hard.

“Mom, slow down. I can’t—”

“…dead…”

The world faded in then out and my stomach dropped like it always did on a roller coster. Only, I wasn’t moving, “Are you sure?” 

“Eleven dead. Eleven.” Which mean either someone else had been found, or the injured victim had died, but before I could ask, my mother released one last wail and then hung up. Why? What had she seen? Or heard.

I pushed open the door desperately needing air. Her car, I thought. If she was still inside, her car would still be in the parking lot, and she always parked in the same spot. Not wanting to scratch or dent her car she always parked as far from the store as possible so that no other cars would be tempted to get too close. As social as my sister was, that’s how antisocial she kept her car. And since it would mostly be alone on the outskirts of the lot, it should be easy enough to see even if I couldn’t get close. But, my steps faltered. If I did see it. If it was there, it would mean…it would mean she wasn’t coming home. Ever.

***

Another screech and the planchette skidded halfway across the board, the plastic eye landing on the “y” in goodbye.

Brittany jerked back, removing her fingers. “Well, that was fun. Maybe we should call it a night. The spirits have spoken.”

“They have not. It was that dolt of a sister of hers,” Taylor exclaimed, jutting her chin out at Ren. 

“Whatever!” Brittany rolled her eyes, though I could see she was no longer excited about being there.

“Are we ready?” Taylor asked the group, and when we all nodded, she closed her eyes and asked, “Will I get into Boston University?”

For a long moment, we all stared at our hands — nothing. Absolutely nothing. I stared and stared and stifled a yawn, and then slowly, oh so slowly, the planchette started to move. First, it drifted toward the “Yes.” Then it stalled to halt before continuing on to the “No” where it came to a very definitive stop. 

Taylor sucked in her breath and a sob escaped her throat. 

“It’s not the end of the world,” Ren consoled her. “I think I’m leaning toward UMASS anyway. Boston’s too big. I think I’d prefer Amherst.”

“Like you’d have a problem getting in anywhere you wanted.” The bitterness in Taylor’s voice was impossible to miss. She might not openly admit it, but she resented my sister’s 4.0, along with the fact that she was captain of the swim team. My sister could practically go anywhere she wanted. Whereas, from little bits of conversation I’d overheard through the years, I gathered Taylor was lucky if she got mostly “B”s.

“Guys,” Brittany broke in to defuse the argument before it escalated. “It’s only a game. Nothing serious. Look, I’ll go next. Will I get abducted by aliens?” She addressed her question to our fingers.

This time the planchette moved more quickly, as if it couldn’t get to “Yes” quickly enough. “See,” she smirked. Then, turning her face up toward the sky, she shouted into the night, “Come and get me you alien creeps.”

“Fine,” Taylor grumbled. “Mock me if you must. But don’t come crying to me when they break into your house and whisk you out the window. I can’t imagine those spaceships will be comfortable. Ren, your turn.”

My sister took several seconds to compose a question and when she had, she contorted her face into a concentrated grimace that made her look constipated. She asked, “How old will I be when I die?”

“There are a thousands questions you could ask, and you choose that one,” Taylor was irritated, as if my sister were wasting her time, but my sister refused to ask anything else.

“Yeah, I need to know how much time I have?” 

“For what?” I asked

“To become famous.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said as if my sister being famous was the craziest thing I’d ever hear.

The planchette waited for us to stop talking before it started to move and it didn’t travel in a straight line. Instead, at an agonizingly slow pace it zigzagged, first down the board, then across on the diagonal before it came to rest on the the “2.” But it rested only briefly before heading directly to the “0.”

“Twenty,” she gasped. “That doesn’t give me much time.”

Another bird shrieked in answer and as the shriek faded I thought I heard a whispered response echoing through the leaves, “No, it’s not. Not at all.”

***

I reached the far end of the strip mall and scampered up on the hood of the closest car, not caring if anyone saw me. Not caring if I dented or damaged the car. I had to see. I had to know. And there, all alone, surrounded by a cluster of cops, was a red Acura with the license plate “R3N SW1M.”