Seven Times Seven

Yes, it is nearly 2330 hrs. October 30th, 2021, about forty-nine years ago, I sat in this same place. That night thirteen of us sat by this small lake and placed in the rushing stream. We drank large amounts of whiskey, rum, and associated alcoholic beverages, including some awful-tasting aged beer from India.

In just about thirty minutes, forty-nine years ago, it all began. Seven times Seven, we were all cursed for our deeds that night. No one meant any harm; no one was supposed to get hurt, let alone die! We expected the most was a fistfight, some hurt feelings, a few broken limbs, and bloody noses.

Now only three of us are left to return to this place to face our final judgement. The area has changed, become much more civilized, and the strange old Gypsy and Circus caravans no longer travel this road to the towns and cities. Now rental properties, boat launches, and RV parks are scattered throughout this area. I am sure none of these tourists, boat owners and property owners have any idea of what occurred here almost half a century ago. If they knew, many might not be here today.

Looking up into the sky, the rain clouds had moved beyond the mountains, the pool area was growing much colder, and the moon was visible above the mountain tops. We look at the moon and feel it is staring down upon us, the survivors with judgement and revenge, ready to pounce on us. The highway is silent, not a car on the road, and the nearby RV campground appears still and so very quiet.

Sarah removes a thirty-eight revolver from her purse; she has had a rocky career as a singer and performer. She was the first that night to react when our group and the others collided close to midnight some forty-nine years ago. Roger Jack, the former professional wrestler, now long retired, stands close by me. He tossed three into the water back forty-nine years ago in a vicious fight, and none came out. I stand between the two staring at the water, waiting for the judgement I so richly deserve. Despite living a life working with street teenagers, drug-addicted adults and long-term released inmates, I know there is little hope for redemption. I was the one that struck the one that would curse our group.

The midnight hour is getting closer at hand, and Sarah has dropped her handbag and holds her weapon in her right hand at her side. She did not want to return, but the nightmares drove her back to this place. In the forty-nine years, none of us ever returned to this place. As we stare at the body of water, we start to see the water bubble slightly and feel a freeing breeze move around us, and we hear footsteps in the gravel path behind us.

Roger Jack looks behind and, in a low voice, says, "CRAP! It is the Mountie!"

Sarah and I look back to see a seventy-five-year-old man slowly approaching, and despite the age, the old Mountie Hat on his head reminds us of Constable Stephen Ray. One of three police officers would attend in the middle of the night, arrest no one, and accuse the Romani people of starting the fight that left one of our friends dead and five of their dead.

It appears he, too, was not going to be permitted a peaceful death in his bed. Without a word, he came and stood on the other side of Sarah and glared at the water. From deep inside of his jacket, he produced an old police special. "Damn, if some old Gypsy is going to take me without a fight," he growled out as if he was a cornered old wolf.

As we looked ahead, something stirred in the water and slowly moved forward. The skin was grey and swollen, the hat matted and tangled, but the eyes were white with a slight red flash in them. The three of us knew who this ghostly figure was in a moment. "What the, "said the old police officer.

"That is the old Gypsy," I said without realizing what I was saying.

As she moved forward, several other figures appeared to be stirring behind her. Her left arm slowly raised upward, her mouth opened, and water drooled out of her; several small fish and gravel fell off her arm as a finger pointed toward the three of us.

I stepped forward, reached deep inside of myself, and tried to sound as brave as possible. "We came, now let's finish this!"

As she neared the waters' edge, she stopped her head turned slightly to the left and the right. She then dropped her arm as her body began to rise ever so slowly. In a few moments, her feet were clearly out of the water. The others behind her stepped closer behind her, close enough Roger Jack knew at least one of them. The knifeman he picked off the ground that night and tossed hard into the lake.

Even in her youth, Sarah was not a patient woman, and now, at her age, she had no patients left whatsoever. She stepped forward, raising her weapon, "Listen bitch, I am freezing my ass off. Get to it already!"

The older woman looked toward Sarah, almost surprised, her open mouth opened as far as it could, and a long groan echoed out of her. Her eyes became as red as blood, and he raised both her hands as the moan became a shriek. As the clock struck midnight, the shriek ended, and her mouth closed. She then spoke in an ancient, tormented voice, "Seven times seven, we have made you suffer!"

The others stepped right up behind her and shrieked for a moment as her words still echoed out. The retired police officer raised his weapon slightly. Seven years after that night so long ago, he watched a tractor-trailer's brakes fail and run over Samson Wain, a veteran police officer who was also at the lake that night.

"The time of torment is OVER!" she said in a horrible whine. "Rejoice! The curse has ended."

"WHAT," said a very irritated Sarah. For the last three weeks, ghostly images had haunted all of them. "After you don't let any of us sleep for three weeks," She waved her arms in the air, "Ohhhh, you tell us dripping wet it is over."

Roger Jack's confidence had suddenly returned as he laughed, swore, and waved his arms around, "I wet my bed two nights ago when your headless body floated across my television screen."

The spirits in the water all turned for a moment away from us. It was hard to tell if they were done or just heading back to their watery grave.

I lost control in the moment as the old mouthy teenager side of me appeared for the first time in years, "Tell me grandma is the water cold! I heard you were the original ICE QUEEN!"

All at once, all the figures turned around and, with lightning speed, came within a few meters of us, echoing out moans, groans as icy cold water erupted from their bodies, splashing against the four of us. Several things happened all at once; the old officer and Sarah both fired their weapons as they stood their ground dripping wet. I pulled my arms up as Roger Jack, the six-foot-six former Wrestling Superstar, staggered for a moment before collapsing on the gravel.

The figures all vanished a moment later as a voice echoed out, "we may be back!" A foggy mist came across the water as all grew very quiet, and the three of us left standing stared at one another.