Madman Muck

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Jake could just make out the old cabin’s silhouette in the dark, trekking with his eye up the slope a little from the tilted maw of a dilapidated boat house. It was the only feature on the coast of the small, peaked island across the lake from his family's cottage. Jake looked out towards the missing door of that boathouse most nights, while he followed his golden retriever, Buckley, around on the shoreline to ensure he did his nighttime business.

When Jake told his dad about the singular, flickering light in the window, he wanted to see for himself.

“Probably some transient, son. A squatter in need of shelter for the night. We’ll mind our own and I’m sure they’ll be gone by tomorrow,” his dad said, a comforting arm resting on Jake’s shoulder as they stood at the lakeshore. Jake looked down to see the tips of his father's Isotoner slippers, the ones he only wore inside the cottage were covered in mud and grass clippings from the mowing he’d done earlier.

“Dad, your slippers.”

“What?” his father mumbled, before registering the slippers, then “Oh,” followed by a distracted “...shoot...” He looked down, briefly, then out across the lake, before steering them both back towards their cottage.

“Buckley, come!” his dad said to the dog, rather urgently, it seemed to Jake. Then, to Jake directly, “Nothing to worry about, Son.”

As they walked uphill, away from the lake, Jake felt worry creep in, planting itself deeply in his gut.

Jake’s mom and sister arrived home in time for bed. They had stayed in the city so his sister Brie could attend her soccer formal. Jake had been distracted by feelings of hypervigilance and was attempting to read his book on the couch.

“I can’t wait to get out of these tights!” Brie said to Jake, heading to her bedroom.

Jake laid his head back down on the couch and heard his parents speaking in low voices from the kitchen.

“You never heard the stories when you were little, Belinda, you think it’s all a joke.”

“No, Sam. I can see you’re worried, but, what should we do? I mean it was almost 60 years ago your parents bought this place? And it was a good five years before that...the mudslide.”

“It wasn’t the mud slide that killed the people who lived here. The mudslide happened out on the island.”

“I know, babe, you’ve told me. It’s all horrific. That poor man...even if he did what they say he did – and I’m sure its part urban legend – he would have been imprisoned for life, or in an institution receiving care for, what? Sixty-five years? Even if he was a young man during the mudslide, he’d be near or past 80 years old now.”

“You’re right.”

“So you tell me, hon, are we scared of some geriatric madman? Enough to pile the kids in the cars and turn home...keeping in mind your exhausted wife just did that drive...” Jakes Mom said, and he heard the sound of a gentle kiss.

Jake got up and walked the long way around the couch so he could throw a “gross” in the direction of his parents embrace.

He had never heard any stories about a mudslide or a madman! This was need-to-know information.

Brie said ’come in’ when he knocked at her door.

She was already in her moose printed pj bottoms and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Buckley had followed her into her room and was happily receiving scratches at the end of Brie's unmade bed.

“What’s up?” she asked.

Jake took some steps towards her bed and was admitted by giving Buckley some rubs. The dog responded by rolling on his back to expose his belly. Both kids smiled.

“Spoiled dog.”

“Hah. Yeah...Brie...did you ever hear any stories about this place, or the island? About a mudslide?”

“Oh boy, whose been talking? I was a bit older than you when I found out about Madman Muck. It’s a really scary story, Jake. Not the type of thing for you.”

“Everyone knows about it but me!” Jake complained.

“Ask Mom and Dad. They will come down on me if you have nightmares...or the other thing...Remember what happened last Halloween? You got so scared, and I got in trouble.”

“Pleeeease, Brie? I promise I won’t say who told me.” Jake clapped his hands together, begging. “How did you hear the story?”

“Two years ago, at the corn roast. You know Erin? That friend of Tina’s from the green cottage across the road? She lives on the other side of the lake and when she found out I live in this cottage she told me. I hate knowing. That’s why none of my cottage friends will sleep over in the summer – I have to ship in my city friends who don’t know about this story.” Brie looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“Well, two years ago you were only a year older than I am now...and you didn’t grow up with an older sister to tell you scary things your whole life. I’ve got thicker skin than I get credit for. I need to know. What if I have to protect us...from this Madman.” Jake tried to reason.

“Well, first off, it’s just story. I’m sure it didn’t happen like this, exactly. It was so long ago...no body is left to tell it like it was. Gramma and Grampa got this place cheap because no one local wanted it. What happened here was supposed to be that creepy,” Brie said. She eyed Jake up and down, trying to assess if he was able to hear more.

“What happened?” Jake asked trying for casual, with renewed interest in petting his dog.

“There was a mudslide. Out on the island. That old broken-down shack? It used to be a fishing cabin back then. I guess the mudslide happened on the ridge behind the property and...well, the dad was out fishing when it happened. The mud buried the back half of the cabin – where the mom and kids would have been.”

“They were buried alive?”

“Yeah. Once he got back, he tried to dig. Then he went around the lake in his boat calling out for help. A few people came but it was too little, too late. They made him give up after his hands and tools were slick with blood from digging.”

“Gruesome,” Jake said.

“I know, right?”

“But what about this place? What's the big deal if the mudslide happened out on the island?”

“Oh - this is where it gets dark and mysterious. See – the man from the island went crazy. He blamed the people of the lake for not helping him keep digging. The family that lived here at that time mirrored his own – mom, dad and two kids about the same age as his own kids had been. I guess when he wasn’t digging, he would sit over there staring over at the family going about their business, kids yelling and having fun in the water, mom fixing snacks and drinks, and dad just enjoying his life. Nobody knows for sure what happened, but the man was arrested for murdering that family.”

“How?”

“They were drowned.”

“In the lake?”

“No, in the cottage. I guess he brought the mud over in some buckets and...well, he drowned them in buckets of mud,” Brie shrugged. “That’s why they call him Madman Muck. Told you it was scary.”

“It’s not that scary...I mean he was arrested, right?” Jake, in truth, was already rattled from his dad's reaction to someone being in the cabin on the island. Knowing how long ago and how terrible the story was, reassured him his mom had been right. “Plus, Gramma and Grampa lived here all those years with dad, and we’ve been coming here all our lives and I’ve never seen a sign of anyone on the island until tonight,” Jake said.

“Wait...what?”

“I showed dad earlier. There is a candle in the window of that old cabin. He said it was probably some squatter or homeless person just using it for the night.”

“DAAAAAAAD!” Brie yelled.

“Brie! Noooo. He’s gonna be mad.”

“Jake... You don’t understand...Madman Muck said he would come back. And Gramma and Grampa...they didn’t have the right kind of family. Not with just dad, an only child. And all those years we all come up together? Even after Gramma died, Gramps still came with us. Until last year. Now he doesn't want to come because he needs that walker – Jake - this is the first year we’ve been here just us,” her voice was hurried and fearful.

It took Jake a moment to realize what Brie was saying. His heart pounding with renewed fear. “A dad, mom, and two kids,” he said, breathing heavy now.

“Lets say he got out of wherever he’s been all this time. Comes home and immediately gets triggered by our family!?! Where’s dad?”

Just then, Buckley righted himself, issued a bark, jumped off the bed, running into the hall barking some more as if he had heard someone at the side door.

“Jake - get up in the loft. Now,” Brie said, suddenly panicked.

“You too, Brie. Come with me,” Jake pleaded.

“Go, get the ladder down! I’ll get mom and dad.” Brie left the room, before Jake could object.

Jake ran into his sister’s closet and jumped twice before he hooked the string for the ladder to the loft. He pulled it down and scrambled up as quickly as possible. Retracting the ladder, he listened. Everything was quiet except his heart, which thundered in his ears. What is happening? Where were they?

He felt helpless, like a coward for hiding. Everything in him was racing. Jake knew he should sit, get closer to the floor, but he was agitated, fearful. He went to the lone, crescent shaped window to see if he could observe anything outside. Bile rose in his throat as he caught sight of a bucket sitting in the light of the side deck. It was filled with something dark.

As a final round of adrenaline slammed into poor, young Jake, the edges of the world went dark and closed in. He began to seizure.

Below, in the kitchen, his family heard the thump of his body hit the floor of the loft.

***

“Jake, buddy, that’s it. Come on,” he heard his dads voice, drawing him back.

He was still laying on the floor of the loft. His family's worried faces surrounding him, Buckley whining low and steady from the bottom of the ladder.

“Jake, I’m so sorry. They were just outside and didn’t hear me,” Brie said, looking pale.

“Sit for me, ok sweetheart?” Jakes mom said. “I didn’t get a good time on how long that one lasted because we had to get to you first.”

“Being scared triggers your condition, bud. You know not to isolate,” his dad said, softly.

“I thought he got you.” Jake whispered, leaning into his mom.

“Yes, Brie had just enough time to get us inside and fill us in on how your imaginations got the best of you before we heard you fall.” Jakes dad said, gravely.

“I’m so sorry,” Brie said.

“But dad, there's a bucket of mud on the side deck.”

Jake’s dad got up and went to the window. He looked towards the side of the cottage and smiled.

“I was cleaning off my slippers. Remember they were covered in mud?”

***

Once they were all down from the loft, it was decided to make a drive to the nearest hospital. It was only about 30 minutes away, not as far as home, and Jake’s mom said she’d feel better if they got him checked out.

Whether out of guilt, or because she was still too rattled to stay in the cottage, Brie asked if she could go with them. The whole family piled into their minivan.

When Jake’s dad turned the key in the ignition, an unhealthy sound issued from the engine.

“Don’t tell me you’re out of gas,” Jake’s mom said.

“No, look, it’s a full tank! Wait, I didn’t fill up yesterday.” Jake’s dad said, confused. “Let me see what's going on here,” he left his door open as he went to check the gas tank.

When he got back in his face was pale and he sat facing forward, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“Hon? What is it? Is the tank full?” Jake’s mom asked.

“It is full.”

“What's the problem, then?”

“Mud. It’s been filled with mud.”

Just then, muddy handprints about the size of Jake’s own hands began to stamp the window nearest him. Brie screamed as a similar thing happened on her side of the car. As their mother's window shattered with the force of the muddy fists that slammed against the glass, Jake began to feel his symptoms return.

His last conscious thought was that the story had changed over time. It was never the madman they needed to fear, instead, the family he lost to the mud.

*******************************************************************

Thank you for taking the time to read my entry into Vocal Media's Campfire Ghost Story Challenge. I hope you enjoyed the read and if so, please visit my profile for a full catalogue of my short stories.

With gratitude,

C.D. Hoyle