The Fall

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. From the other side of the lake the campers watched as the distant light flickered. The scoutmaster tried to settle the nerves of his young charges. “Now, now,” he said, “settle down, it’s nothing to be alarmed about. It may be that someone has found shelter for the night, or maybe the shack has new owners.”

“No Mr Mullens, I heard that place is haunted, no one ever goes there.” One young scout exclaimed, but in a hushed voice.

“Yeah, I heard there was a murder in there about fifty years ago, at least that’s what my dad told me.” Another added, keeping his voice low also.

“Alright, alright, be calm. We have a long night ahead of us and I don’t want to be dealing with any scared children, all caught up in some fantasy. We are here to learn about the wilderness and how to survive in it, how to appreciate it and how to learn from it. Now our first job is to make camp. John, Bobby, and Pat, you three get the fire set and I will help you start it. The rest of you need to start pitching tents. I’ll be looking for teamwork and leadership.” And with a shout, he finished. “YOU ARE HERE TO EARN BADGES, YEAH!”

As one the troop called “YES, SCOUT MASTER.”

The scout master, retired army sergeant James Mullens, wandered around the campsite, watching his boys as they set to their tasks. It wasn’t their first time camping as a group, they had done it many times before. Living so close to a national park made it easy and as their town was so remote, it was an inexpensive way to keep young boys occupied. A call from the campfire site had him wandering over to check their progress. “That looks good boys. Maybe a bit too much wood to start. Take a few bits off and we can get it going.”

“Yes sir,” Young John answered.

After helping with that, he left them to watch it didn’t get out of hand and went back to the tents. He was proud of his troop, they were regimented in their approach, he had put his time in the army to good use training these young men. While inspecting the tents, he noticed one of his boys standing at the edge of the water. The small lake was mostly surrounded by trees, except for the creek that fed it and the trickling waterfall that kept it at its level. The surface was glass-flat, and black like a sheet of obsidian, it looked like you could walk on it. The young boy, only new to the troop, was staring at the cabin, he seemed mesmerised by the small light dancing in the window.

“What are you doing here boy?” he asked as he approached from behind.

“Ahh,” He squealed and stepped forward, putting a foot in the water which sent a ripple across the surface. He watched the ripple make its way across and looking over at the cabin, he saw the flame disappear.

“I’m sorry son, I didn’t mean to frighten you. What are you looking at?”

“Is it true sir, that there could be ghosts there?” He asked nervously.

“No son, I don’t think there are such things as ghosts. As I said before, it’s probably people like us, needing a place to stay the night. Only, we’re more prepared.” The scout master put his hand on the boy’s shoulder to lead him back to camp. Then he felt a rumble in the ground, and from the densely wooded hill behind camp, he heard crashing. Instinctively he knew what it was, and grabbing the young boy roughly, threw him into the water and screamed, “SWIM!”

Without another thought for the boy, James Mullens raced back to the camp yelling for everyone to run to the water and swim to the other side. All the boys were frozen, looking back toward the noise. It was too late, like an explosion, rocks, boulders and trees engulfed the camp. The troop vanished, like they had never existed. Entombed by the mountain. They never stood a chance.

***

From the cabin they watched through the aging glass of the window. With a quiet puff, the candle was extinguished. Silently they watched. “What did you see, Peter? His companion asked.

“I’m not sure.” He continued watching as flames rose from the across the way. “What? That can’t be!”

Coming to the window, the woman looked out and saw the shadowed shape of a young boy, then it was gone. “What does it mean, Peter?”

“Did you see it?” He asked, looking over her shoulder.

“I saw something. A boy, I think.”

“I didn’t want to believe the stories. You know, ghost stories.” He said, almost under his breath.

Looking up at him she asked. “What ghost stories?”

“Almost thirty years ago, there was a landslide on the other side to us. The rocky stream you see before you, used to be a small lake, and on the other side was a campsite. One night, the side of the mountain collapsed, crashing down, and wiping out the campsite. There was a scout troop using it at the time.”

“Did anyone make it out?” She asked anxiously.

“Yes, only one.” Hesitantly he added, “Me… But I don’t understand, it looked like me standing over there”

“That’s terrible. How did you survive?”

“I was thrown into the water by our scout master and started swimming, the wave caused by the landslide pushed me the rest of the way across. I scrambled up here looking for help, but there was no one here. I’ve always told myself that the ghosts who were here saved me.”

“What happened then?”

They both caught their breath as they heard steps on the front porch. Just then, there was a knock on the door…