December 4th 1984

Nothing of interest had happened in the months leading up to the discovery. Nothing at all. No clues, hints, whispers in the dark that knew what would happen in December ’84. We were at the holiday house when it happened. Just our luck to miss the only interesting thing that had happened in our small, dull town in decades. You always think you're safe. You never understand until it happens to you. You ignore it, ‘it’s their problem’, you say. Well this time it was our problem.

It was the Armstrong’s that told us what happened. We got a call in the middle of the day, just as we were wrapping up in our coats to go for a picnic. It was my wife who answered it; I knew it was Mrs Armstrong straight away, her shrill voice echoed through the room, if it was any higher pitched only dogs would have been able to hear it. Theresa ushered me closer and we both held our ears up to the phone, something I expect the Armstrong’s were doing too, and we listened as they told us that a body had been found. Turns out it was Big Charlie who had passed. We called him that because he was never seen without some kind of food. I was surprised it wasn’t heart disease that killed him. His real name was Charles Howell, I supposed I should start saying that instead of Big Charlie out of respect. Once I thought about it, he was always alone. I don't think he had anyone. I only remember talking to him on one occasion…

I had gone to the butchers one Sunday afternoon to pick up some fresh meat. Theresa was giving me the cold shoulder since I’d forgotten to pick it up the day before.

‘Is this the kind of father you want to be to your kids?’ She’d asked me. She always did have a habit of taking things to the extreme. But, nevertheless, I made the trip to Joe’s to see if there was any lamb left. Once I arrived, Charlie was standing at the counter, a blank look on his face as Joe chatted away about the trip he and his wife had taken the previous weekend. Charlie was not contributing to the conversation although I doubt he would’ve been able to get a word in edgeways, due to the rapid fire pace of Joe’s animated retelling. They turned their heads to me once they realised I was standing there.

‘Ah! Alfred, I was expecting to see you yesterday, where did you get to?’ He inquired.

Joe was a very friendly man and made it his business to know the comings and going of everyone in town, including Charlie, much to the mans chagrin.

‘Sorry Joey.’ I quipped back. He hated it when I called him that. ‘I committed a terrible crime and forgot to pick up the meat for todays roast. I may just be put to death for it by the reaction I got from Theresa.’

Joe shook his head at me.

‘A terrible husband, you are. Am I correct in thinking it’s lamb this week?’

I nodded.

‘Ah I was afraid so,’ Joe hung his head. ‘I do believe we’ve just sold out. I could offer you a nice pork belly or some fatty steaks instead?’

I despaired. My wife was already mad at me for forgetting. If I returned home with the wrong meat I'd never hear the end of it.

It was then that I heard Charlie speak.

‘If I may, sir.’ He spoke, softer than I would’ve imagined him to. ‘I’m the nasty bastard who took the last of the lamb, and I would hate for your wife to disown you over some cuts of meat.’ This made Joe giggle.

‘Please, take it.’ He held out the bag of meat out to me. What a kind gesture.

‘Oh no, sir, I couldn’t possibly. I was too late, it’s my own fault.’

‘No, I insist. Besides, I’m liking the sound of that pork belly.’ He grinned.

I felt guilty, but Charlie gave me a warm smile and handed me the bag.

‘You go and have a nice dinner with your wife and kids. If I was lucky enough to have a family myself, I know I’d do anything to see them smile, so go.’

I smiled back at him, I had never known he was so kind. I suppose it was noble in a way, he didn’t show himself off. Despite this being my only interaction with the man, I felt like he had given me an insight into himself, which made hearing about his death even sadder. He never even got to have a family like he wanted to. And the way he went was just awful.

December 4th, a group of boys were playing on the frozen lake in the middle of the town. It was cold enough that it wasn’t dangerous for them to be running around on it, it was more of a pond than a lake really, but no parents have let their children near it since that day.

A boy, no older than 10 years old, poor thing, bending down to pick up a dropped glove, ended up staring into the still eyes of none other than a floating Charles Howell from the other side of the ice. Police were called immediately and the ice drilled through. The body had to be dragged up with the strength of four men, and was laid out on the lake, which was now much colder than it had been just mere hours before.

The way Darla Armstrong described it, it was as if it were some sort of movie. There was no attempt to hide the excitement in her voice as she described everything in painstaking detail.

What I wanted to know though… the lake had been frozen over since the beginning of winter, so how long had he been there? And why didn’t anyone notice he was gone?

We ended up cutting our holiday short. We intended to stay for the whole week, but in less than a day we realised that we simply couldn’t do it. We felt guilty, us out in a cosy cabin, having fun in the snow while dead Charlies body was being dumped in a morgue to be prodded and poked around. It just didn’t feel right, so we packed up the car and drove home in silence. 
When we got back, the town was buzzing, no one talked of anything else for weeks, but I kept to myself. It felt wrong to talk of the man in such a gossiping manner. I don’t blame them though, it was the most interesting thing to have happened here for decades. The question still remained though, how did he end up lifeless in the water? Did he merely fall off the small wooden pier and float away? Or was something much more sinister at play? Either way, it would take weeks for the police to start doing their jobs. Our little department wasn’t equipped to handle such sases as Charlies, and as such, officers from neighbouring towns, and states even, came in to assist with the enquiries. The post mortem concluded that the cause of death was indeed drowning. Who would’ve guessed, huh? However, the reports also revealed internal bruising, and marks on his torso, legs, and hands; but they were unable to shed any light on whether this occurred before, or after death. For his sake, I hoped after.

The funeral was held a week later. Despite him being the towns quietest, and loneliest resident, he sure had a big turnout. Everyone showed up, in their most formal black clothes, some even brought flowers. Mrs Armstrong was wailing and blowing her nose into a white handkerchief for the entirety of the service, something which amused me as not long before, she had been coming up with theories that he was a drug addict or part of a secret crime ring. Nevertheless, the service was beautiful, and everything was paid for by the townspeople, although I couldn’t help thinking if it was what he would’ve wanted. So many people coming out just for him perhaps would’ve made him uncomfortable. But I like to think he was smiling down at us, appreciative that he got such a warm send off, after such a cold passing.

It was only a few days later that the grave was vandalised. It made me sick to my stomach. There was no doubt it was the group of teenage delinquents that were always causing problems. Thank god they were caught, got off with just a warning though, as usual. I decided to go to his grave the next day and fix it up. It was the right thing to do. I ended up visiting him daily after that. It became a habit.

‘Why must you go to the mans grave so often, darling?’ My wife questioned one day, about two weeks into my visits.

‘You saw what those kids did to it, my love, I can’t let that happen again.’ I didn’t see anything wrong with what I was doing.

‘You barely even knew him!.’ Was her retort. ‘I bet you couldn’t tell me a single thing about him other than his name and the fact that he’s dead!’

I started to get agitated.

‘That’s not the point! It’s too late for me to get to know him now, and I regret not doing it when he was alive. At least this can make me feel like I’m doing something to honour his memory.’

My wife sighed. As stubborn as she was she knew no amount of nagging would make me change my mind. And so off I went, to watch over him again.

Anyone would’ve thought I’d begin to lose interest after a while, start making the visits less frequently before stopping completely and letting the memory of him fade away into history. It was in fact the opposite. Over time I became more and more dedicated, sometimes making two trips a day. My wife would barely even speak to me anymore, but the more I visited, the more determined I became to finding out what happened to him. I was obsessed. I started investigating, talking to the townsfolk, trying to weed out any information about Charles Howell. It was difficult, he really did keep to himself. The most anyone could tell me was that one time they saw him sitting with a box of fish and chips, and while he was looking away, a small dog jumped up and ate some. This did not help my inquiries but it did put a smile on my face, something that had rarely happened since I had become so invested in the case.

I decided to go back to where he was found. It had been months by then but I thought maybe there was something we had missed. Something that could give me a clue as to what happened there on that day. As I stood on the wooden pier I began to think.

‘Am I wasting my time?’ I questioned to myself.

I had barely made time for my family in so long I couldn’t even remember what I last spoke to them about besides the case. Then I remembered what Charles said to me that day.

‘If I was lucky enough to have a family myself, I know I’d do anything to see them smile.’

God he was right, I had been a bad father. I had to get back home.

As I was turning around to head back, out of the corner of my eye I saw something reflective and shiny under the water. I whipped my head back. What was it? Maybe it had something to do with Charlie. Maybe he’d seen it too. I had to find out. I had to go and get it.