the man who lived in the lake

john siiro

A young girl disappeared in 1925, then a boy in 1940. These were the first two in a string of recorded disappearances all occurring at the same lake, despite being at different locations. Most disappearances occurred around campsites near the beach. All of them happened in the warmer months of the year, usually in the late spring, sometimes in the late summer or early fall prior to the lake icing up for the winter. Most families waited for years to see if their children would ever come home. All families waited in vain, for none ever returned. Fathers turned to drink and mothers turned to insanity. Siblings grew up in a state of bewilderment wondering where their brother or sister had gone. As the years rolled into decades and the decades into generations, the only constant was the inconsistent disappearances of young children. The local police were left without answers to give to families. There was never a clue left behind. Not a drop of blood, a scrap of clothing, a treasured toy or teddy bear. It was as if the earth had swallowed them whole, or the waters of the lake had dissolved them like sugar in water. It was assumed that the lake had claimed the first few as drownings, but even after extensive dragging of the lake bottom, no human remains were ever discovered. Not so much as a single shoe was ever found in that lake.

The lake was deep and cold, but not so large that it could not be thoroughly searched. As the years went by and technology advanced, divers were sent down to search among the mass tangles of dead trees and weeds that covered the bottom of the lake. All that the divers could report was that the visibility was poor and the lake seemed mysteriously absent of life. Most divers interviewed could not even recall seeing so much as a single fish during their searches. Sonar searches also did not uncover much more than the divers had in the murky sub-surface of the lake.

Older, long-term residents in the area could not remember their fathers or even their grandfathers fishing at the lake, despite it being the closest and largest body of water around. They always seemed to fish in other nearby lakes. Nobody could offer an explanation why, nothing even as simple as: “The fishing is no good.” or “There’s no fish in that lake.” They just didn’t fish that lake.

Boaters felt the same way. Despite the unusual calmness of the waters, even when the weather was foul, boaters rarely got out on the lake. There seemed no reasonable explanation. When the boaters were asked why, they appeared confused and stated, “I’m not sure why we never put the boat out on that lake. We just don’t and it’s always been that way.”

Though very few people ever ventured out onto the lake, many more people did find their way onto its shores for recreation and camping. It was a popular place for families and young people to gather during the summer. The camp- grounds surrounding the lake were renowned for their beauty and the freshwater springs that fed the lake provided excellent drinking water. Cold enough to chill your favorite beverages or keep your food from spoiling. People would swim in the lake for short periods, but the exceedingly cold temperature of the water kept all but the most adventurous out. Small children - who normally revel in splashing in the shallow water of fine sandy beaches - would tip toe into the lake, then race back to their mothers, refusing to look back.

What could anyone say, other than it was a strange body of water? It was not so strange that anyone outright commented on it, even with the increasing number of children disappearing as the years went on. It was almost as if one generation forgot to pass the news on to the next: that kids were disappearing from the shores of that lake.

There was nothing about the lake that exuded outright fear or menace. It was, after all, a rather unremarkable lake, despite its irregularities. When they spoke of it, most people did not refer to the lake by name. It was likely that many people did not even know the name, or even if it had been named in the first place.

Some people knew this lake, though. Some people would always know this lake - what it took from them and what it gave them. It took their children, their future, and their souls. In return, it gave them a lifetime of sorrow, fear, and loss.

Anyone that has lost a child can agree that when that child is gone, so are the parents. Lost forever with their child, wandering aimlessly in their own minds, wondering what happened to their little boy or girl. Often, parents were reduced to a child-like state, unable to function as normal members of society. As children disappeared, more than one parent, and at least one investigating police officer, also disappeared without a trace. It is believed they committed suicide, unable to cope with the loss, the mystery, of the disappearing children.

1950’s that makes this tale interesting.

The young constable, Larry Olsen, worked at a police station just a short drive from the northern shore of the lake. He had gone out one morning to look around the lake for a clue to the disappearance of a four-year-old girl who had been missing for two days. A large search party had failed to turn up any trace of her. Although he was off duty at the time, the young constable, who had children of his own, could not bear the thought of a little girl lost in the woods, scared and alone.

Off he went one cool, clear morning and he was never seen again. That is, until the late spring of 2017, when the young constable was found sitting on the pavement outside the very same police station, wearing the same clothing he had been reported wearing at the time he went missing. The same wool hunting pants, the same green flannel shirt and brown leather hiking boots. The same cap on his head, covering the same haircut he had in 1957.

When the Watch Commander showed up for work that morning and saw a man sitting outside the door, he did not immediately notice anything out of the ordinary. However, on closer examination, he realized the man’s clothing seemed out of place, like something his grandfather might have worn. The young constable was wet through to the bone and he had an odd, distant look in his eyes.

When asked for his name, the young man stated “Larry Olsen.” The Watch Commander thought that name sounded familiar. It took him only a minute to realize that this was the same name that belonged to the constable who had disappeared some 60 years ago. Of course, the Watch Commander could not believe that this was the same person, and he thought the man shivering in front of him was likely suffering from some kind of mental illness and may have wandered away from a home, or a hospital. He could not explain the odd clothing, but he could only handle one mystery at a time.

It is a young police constable who disappeared in the

The wet and disheveled young man was ushered into the police station and offered a cup of hot coffee, which he indicated he would like by quietly nodding his head. He was given some dry clothing to wear and his clothes were hung out to dry in the vehicle bay. When one of the other policemen examined the young man’s clothing closely, it appeared it was older in style with department store logo tags from businesses that no longer existed.

After nearly an hour and four cups of hot black coffee, the dull light seemed to subside from the young man’s stare and he became more animated, asking for food. His voice had as strange pitch to it, a low and guttural sound, almost a gurgle. After he was given a breakfast sandwich from the local coffee shop, he began to speak in a hushed voice, slightly louder than a whisper. When asked how he had arrived there, the young man said he could not remember, all he could recall was his name and that he had been looking for someone at the lake.

The Watch Commander - who was somewhat familiar with the story of the missing constable - asked him if he had found who he had been looking for.

“Oh yes,” the young constable replied, “I found her. I found them all.” With this utterance, all three assembled policemen felt a violent shiver run through their bodies and then a simultaneous feeling of nausea so intense - that one of them hastily left the room while the other two sat down heavily in their chairs.

“I found all of them,” he said, with a sob, “I found every single kid ever lost near that lake.”

“How many could that be?” asked one of the policemen. “There are hundreds of children down there. Hundreds.”

His words struck all of them dumb. No one seemed to think it strange anymore that they were talking to someone who had been missing for 60 years and yet didn’t look as though he’d aged a single day.

“There’s nothing in that lake!” exclaimed one of the policemen. “It has been dragged more times than I can count!”

“What you were fishing for, can’t be caught,” said Larry quietly, and the policeman found himself staring into eyes that felt as if they would burn right through his soul.

Eyes that had seen things that the minds of mortal men could not fathom.

“Will you take us there, Larry?” asked the Watch Commander, “Will you take us to the lake?”

“Yes,” he replied, looking blankly at the floor. “Yes, I will take you all there.”

#

They drove in two trucks down to the western shores of the lake, right up to the beach at the end of the most popular campground. It was early enough that the few campers out during the mid-week were not yet awake. Constable Jim Wilson, the young policeman who earlier had been so confident about the lake being dragged, did not want to approach the water, so he volunteered to stay with the trucks and start writing his notes. He watched as Constable Olsen took his fellow police officers down a narrow trail into the woods towards the beach. He stayed in the truck and dropped his eyes to his notebook, suddenly unsure of what to write.

Jim’s head jerked up suddenly and he felt a sinking feeling as if he had fallen asleep in class. He looked around quickly to see if anyone else was around. He glanced down at his watch and noticed about an hour had passed since his fellow policemen had made their way towards the shores of the lake. The sky had an odd hue to it and he realized that it had not been just an hour since he had last seen his companions. It had been more than 12 hours - and the sun was starting to set.

Frantically, he grabbed his radio and called for his partner and his Watch Commander. The radio was dead. So was the portable on his belt. He tried his phone, but there was no signal. There was no wind in the trees and the loons were not crying as they usually did at this time of the evening. He felt the silence like a resounding pressure inside his ears. It was deafening. A fear unlike anything he had ever experienced crept through him.

Jim got out of the truck and looked towards the campground. There was no movement and it appeared as though the campground was completely vacant. As he turned toward the trail, it took every ounce of strength in him to take his first step toward the shores of the lake.

As he got closer to the water, he started to hear faint sounds, as though his ears had been plugged and were slowly clearing. He could hear the water lapping against the shore and the breeze in the birch trees surrounding the lake. Then the lake appeared before him, as calm as ever, like a pane of glass reflecting against the sky.

He could not see any of his companions, nor could he see the mysterious young constable they had found that morning. Jim turned to walk the trail back to the trucks, and as he did, he suddenly felt distinctly alone and very, very, frightened.

Then, looking back one last time over the lake, he saw a ripple on the surface, like a fish coming up to grab a fly, but this ripple was spreading towards the shore. It was then he realized that the ripple was not caused by a fish. Something was coming up out of the water and towards the shore - towards him.

He desperately wanted to run away, but he was frozen in terror and unable to do so, standing rigid as though in a trance. He watched helplessly as the young constable, Larry Olsen, lost for so many years, walked out of the water, onto the fine sandy white beach, and straight towards him, a dull light emanating from his eyes. Jim’s knees locked up and began to shake as the lost constable, his wet black hair matted against the porcelain pale skin of his forehead, his wet clothes hanging from his gaunt body, reached out for him. He watched himself involuntarily extend his own hand like a small boy to his father at a fairground. He felt the lost constable’s cold, wet hand envelope his own.

He could hear his own voice growing fainter in his ears as he spoke his last words.

“Why? Where are you taking me?”

The pale young constable looked at him and smiled.

“They need us,” he whispered, “The children, you see. They need us to watch over them. They get scared in the dark without their parents.”

As the water rose over his eyes, the last earthly thing he could see were the white birch trees lining the shore, with their bright green leaves swaying in the wind. As his vision dimmed in the murky water, he could hear the waning sound of the breeze whispering through the leaves, and children laughing through his screams.