Lake Pelko

They say there's a ghost out on Lake Pelko.

You wouldn’t find the lake on a map; but it's just outside of town, where the main road forks. To the left is the highway, the daily commuters driving out to the city every weekday around eight in the morning and coming back the same way around six o'clock every night.

But to the right, the road curves and the pavement turns to gravel a mile down. From there you drive ten or fifteen minutes before you come to the trail head. It’s not a strenuous hike from there to the gold mine; it’s about five miles of gentle climbing. That’s where the high school kids like to go to smoke weed and drink on Friday nights. If you keep walking - and if you know where to go; ‘cause there isn’t any trail from the mine - it’s only another half mile to the lake.

There’s a spirit that comes up to the surface of the water from a body hidden in the caves underneath. That's what they say anyway. No one really knows where it comes from; but those that have seen it say that she glides along the surface like a water bug. She dances over the water and sings in a voice like a siren.

And like the sirens of the sea that call to sailors, beckoning them over the sides of their ships; so this spirit of the lake beckons to those that come to her shore. Tempting them. Enchanting them.

In the wintertime, when the children strap on their skates and grab their sleds and go out into the snow and ice covered world, they instinctively know not to stop at Lake Pelko. She doesn't call to the children - that's a blessing at least. 'Cause the ones she does call are never seen again.

Teenagers are the easiest. Thirteen, fourteen. So many hormones. So much to prove.

They go up there, following their older siblings or in small groups, daring each other - flashlights held tight in their cold hands - to go further. They make ghost noises at each other and imitate their best witch voice - calling each others’ names from behind dark trees before they jump out, waving their flashlights and hoping to see their friends jump.

They say that no matter what time of year it is, the area around the lake is always cold. In the winter there is no blocking out the invasive chill. It seeps into their bones and slows them down. So that by the time anyone gets to the lake from the mine trail, they are already exhausted from forcing their lungs to breathe the frozen air.

She doesn’t have to wait long. They came to see her after all, and she can’t be denied once she has chosen. To most of these young men, her songs fall on their ears like a beautiful melody in a language they don’t know. It echos off the ice and it puts them into a trance; but they can’t make out what she is saying. To her chosen few, her voice is as clear as the ice she stands on. Clear like rays of sun warming their cold skin. She calls out their names and they can’t say no. They can’t ignore it. Their friends watch, awe struck as they walk out on the ice. She reaches out with both arms, and takes their cold hands into hers. They say that’s when she changes. Her skin turns to ice and her pale white complexion starts to turn grey. Even from the shore, they say you can see her hair go thin and her teeth start to rot before her voice turns to rasp and her sweet song turns to nails.

Still, the trance is not broken. She holds them all there. The boys on the shore watch in petrified horror while the ice starts to crack and melt below their friend’s feet. They sit numb to the cold world while the ice gives way and the spirit pulls their friend under the water to her frozen hell. Even when she lets them leave, they walk back as if they’re sleepwalking. They go back to the mine, and passed it. They walk until their shoes and the bottom of their pants are covered in frozen mud. They walk until they are miles away from that lake in whatever direction she sent them in and then they fall asleep. There in the snow.

The last thing that they remember, as they settle down in the snow to sleep, is seeing through their friends eyes. They see the witches face, her thin white hair floating in the cold water, as she pulls their friend deeper and deeper below the surface. They watch her until the darkness overtakes the world and the light from the moon fades to nothingness. If they’re lucky, they make it through the night, waking up the next day to remember the whole thing as a kind of a dream.

At least, that’s what they say.