The Black Lake: Tales of Melancholic Horror (3 page)

The message read:
The perfect crime, the perfect plot.

“What's going on here?” Arthur whispered with a furrowed brow.

He planted the second message atop the first, then skimmed through the remaining papers. Most of the crisp sheets were soaked in blood. The thought of the blood suddenly sent chills down his spine –
is this really my blood?

The third message read:
They'll never know.

Arthur's breathing intensified as he began to piece together the terrifying puzzle. He tossed the paper aside, then frantically searched for the next message. He whisked pages beneath others as he hunted the missing pieces.

As the possibility lingered in his mind, tugging at his conscience, Arthur murmured, “No, no... I couldn't have done that. I would... I would
never
do something like that. I can't hurt...”

Arthur stopped as he stumbled upon the fourth message. The sopping paper read:
You killed...

The final word written in bloody ink was smudged. The note was obscured. Arthur's hands trembled as a tear trickled from his eye. The saline tear dripped onto the paper, streaming across the forbidding message.

In a dubious tone, Arthur whispered, “Did I... Did I kill her?”

Suddenly, in a raspy tone, a woman shouted, “Why?!”

***

Arthur quickly turned towards the adjacent window. He stared out the misty glass barrier with protuberant eyes – his bloodshot eyes practically bulged from his skull. The wind howled as it pummeled the remote cabin with each powerful gust. The snow relentlessly poured onto the home and the neighboring woodland.

Without a single blink, Arthur slowly stood from his seat and gazed out the window. He said, “She's alive. She's still alive.” He glanced at the stack of malicious messages on the desk and whispered, “I didn't killer her... I didn't touch her. No, I couldn't have.”

Arthur tightly clenched the stack of notes, then bolted towards the front door. He recklessly stumbled outside, slipping and sliding on the rickety front porch. With narrowed eyes, he glanced around the snowy woodland. He lifted his index finger and pointed around the forest, swaying his hand as he hopelessly tried to pinpoint the origin of the hoarse shout and bloodcurdling shriek.

“Where are you? Huh? Where did you go? What happened?” Arthur murmured as he searched from the porch.

He swiped at the mucus dribbling from his rosy, pudgy nose, then dragged his feet off the porch. His boots sank into the piling snow as he trekked forward into the surrounding forest. The dense snow reached up to his shins. He stopped five meters away from the cabin, then furrowed his brow.

A woman's plaintive cries echoed through the woodland. The sorrowful sobbing coursed between the cluttered trees and sashayed towards Arthur. The doleful weeping was funereal, like if someone had recently departed.

Arthur whispered, “You're still alive.”

Arthur tramped through the snow, slowly following the woman's wailing. The wind shoved his slender body with each flurry of snow. The snow majestically danced through the air, clinging onto anything and everything. The towering trees surrounded him from every corner, ghoulishly groaning with the storm. The gloomy ambiance smothered him, slowing his arduous journey more than the frosty environment.

Suddenly, Arthur stopped. He peered through the shimmering snow and gazed towards a secluded tree; a peculiar tree strangely separated from the bestrewn forest. From afar, Arthur could see a woman kneeling down in front of the tree. The petite woman donned a black loft jacket with a polyester hem and tight blue jeans. Her feet were buried in the snow. He could see her silky brunette hair. Arthur nervously smiled and nodded, then trudged towards the lonesome woman.

He shouted, “Dorothy?! Dorothy, is that you? I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear! I didn't mean any of it! It was... It was an accident!” The woman did not respond. Arthur scrunched his face and continued his trek and apology, “I swear, sweetie, I'm going to change. I was stupid for far too long. I'll never act like that again, I promise. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

The woman wept as she slowly shook her head and indistinctly muttered. Arthur bit his bottom lip as the persistent pain struck the back of his dome. He inhaled deeply from his nose and gritted his teeth to bury the insufferable pain. The papers in his left hand rippled and crunched as he clenched his fist. He helplessly tried to endure the agony.

The finish line was in his field of view, a headache could not stop him. Arthur weaved and bobbed his head as he turned the corner of a tree for a better view of the mysterious woman. Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks.

Arthur whispered, “Who the hell is that?”

From his vantage point, Arthur could the woman was kneeling in front of a body. He could see legs veiled by dark blue jeans and a torso covered by a heavy coat. The person's limp arms dangled at his side as his torso leaned on the tree. The person's face was shielded by the sobbing woman's body.

The woman cried, “Why'd you do this? Why would you do this to me? You're leaving me all alone, don't you know that? You–you're taking my life away... You... You're taking everything I lived for. I loved you. I wanted to take care of you. Why didn't you let me take care of you? Why wasn't I good enough?
Why?
”

Arthur hobbled forward, persevering through the pain as he limped towards the mysterious couple in the woods. As he approached, the falling snow was miraculously whisked away. Arthur had a clear view of the woman –
Dorothy.

“You're okay...” Arthur whispered with tears swelling in his eyes.

He loudly swallowed the anxiety clogged in his throat, then walked forward. He gaped as he finally recognized the person leaning on the tree. Arthur's own body rested on the trunk, veiled in an identical outfit. Blood oozed from his nose, dripping like an open faucet. Arthur's teeth chattered and his body trembled as he gazed at himself, like if he were staring at a grim reflection of death.

Arthur stuttered, “A–A... A premonition? Right? It's–It's a... It's some sort of dream or something, isn't it? It's a vision, right? I'm not... No! No! I can't be dead! This isn't possible!” He shambled towards Dorothy and asked, “What kind of prank is this? Huh? Is this your way of teaching me a lesson? Is that it? You're teaching me a lesson?”

Dorothy did not respond. She tightly clenched the deceased Arthur's right arm with both of her hands. Tears streamed down her crimson cheeks. The rivers of sadness caromed off her jaw and trickled onto the snow. Arthur shook his head as he watched the poignant portrait as it was painted before his very eyes.

In utter disbelief, Arthur whispered, “Please, tell me this is a joke...”

He grimaced from the emotional pain as he noticed the grisly gunshot wound at the back of his deceased body's dome. He glanced down at Dorothy and shook his head. The wrists on his deceased body were brutally slit, sawed down to the bone. Suicide was clearly the goal – suicide was inevitable.

Dorothy whimpered as she said, “I'm sorry about everything, Arthur. This is my fault. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have come here. This wouldn't have happened if it weren't for me.” She woefully sniveled, then said, “I can't live without you. I
won't
live without you. I'll join you. I'll do better next time, I promise. I love you.”

Dorothy stood, then marched past Arthur without a single glance. She strode towards the log cabin in the woods, staggering as she traversed the snowy terrain. Arthur shook his head as he struggled to speak. He could only croak and moan as he watched Dorothy sauntering towards her melancholic fate.

Arthur murmured, “Don't... Don't do it. Don't kill yourself, Dorothy. Please, don't do it.” He glanced back at his deceased body and said, “This can't be real...”

Suddenly, his eyes widened. Arthur noticed the sheets of paper he tightly clenched in his hand had vanished into thin air. The ominous messages were abruptly erased, swept into nothingness. Baffled by the revelation, Arthur reached towards the back of his head. He grimaced as he felt the bloody crater on his dome.

Arthur's bottom lip trembled uncontrollably as he whispered, “I didn't kill Dorothy, I killed myself... I really did it... I really did it.”

Troy Walker sat on the flimsy mattress in his puny 6' by 9' cell with a ceiling ten feet high. He absently gazed at the murky brick wall directly across his bed, his feet firmly planted on the mucky concrete flooring. His eyes glided across the modest chamber as his mind wandered through a misty field of uncertainty.

To his left, there was a sturdy door with an impenetrable window. To his right, there was a filthy toilet anchored to the wall. The wall parallel to the shaky bed was vacant. Only a small tube television was hooked up at the top-left corner of the barrier – its working condition was doubtful. Luminous moonlight seeped through the tiny rectangular window on the wall to his right. The lucent stars and radiant moon washed the dreary cell with a pearly glow.

Troy sighed, then whispered, “Let's hurry up and get this over with...”

Shattering his hazy contemplation, loud thudding reverberated through the room. Stony-faced, Troy slowly turned towards the only blockade keeping him imprisoned – the door. His perpetual deadpan expression remained as he spotted the correctional officer at his chamber's entrance.

Correctional Officer Howard Cain asked, “You've got not visitors today?” Troy sat in silence. Cain sniffled, then continued, “Don't you want a... a priest or something? Visitations are welcome today, Troy. You still have some time before the... before the
event.
Would you like me to call someone for you?”

Troy did not respond. The hushed cell was drenched with an unwavering silence. Cain bit his bottom lip as he examined Troy from head-to-toe. He couldn't pierce into his enigmatic demeanor, but he could inspect his appearance – it was something from nothing.

Troy stood five-eleven with a slim physique – prison dieting had blatantly taken a toll. His dome was completely shaved, not a single hair protruded from his head. His brown eyes were dull and hollow, like a dead man's eyes. A thick scar contrasted on his left cheek from his lip to his earlobe – a savage battle scar from a prison shank. Troy donned an orange jumpsuit with the sleeves rolled up to his rugged elbows.

Cain sighed, then asked, “Troy, you ever think about that night? You ever regret what you did?” Troy did not respond. Cain leaned on the door and said, “I just don't understand it. You've never been any trouble for us. I know some inmates treated you like trash cause of what you did, but you never tried to fight back. You just... you just kept to yourself, I suppose. It just doesn't seem right to me. I may be out of line, but I need to know: why'd you do it?”

“No,” Troy responded in a hoarse tone.

Cain cocked his head back like a walking pigeon, surprised by Troy's response. He asked, “
No?
What do you mean 'no'?”

“I don't regret it.”

Cain nodded like a bobblehead toy and said, “Okay, okay. So, why'd you do it? What happened that night?” As he caught a glimpse of the sudden hesitation in Troy's lusterless eyes, Cain asked, “Don't you want to... to
confess?
Don't you want to tell-all before all is told?”

Troy sighed, then gazed at Officer Cain – he knew him all too well. Cain stood five-ten with a burly physique. His perpetually dour facial expression contradicted his benign blue eyes. The sides of his ovoid dome were shaved, only short brown hair protruded from the top. He wore a standard police uniform – a navy button-up shirt, navy trousers, black insulated boots, and a utility belt. The engraved nameplate on his chest simply read:
Cain
.

As expected, Cain had not changed. From his clothing to his personality, the correctional officer remained the same. Chiming-in like a psychologist but keeping a short distance like a reluctant stepparent. Cain was curious, but he knew to bite his tongue when the time arrived – he was respectfully inquisitive.

Troy sighed in vexation, then said, “I don't want to say anything at all. What happened that night is between
me
and
them.
I won't apologize for my actions, I will not repent. Sometimes, it's what we have to do. That's all you need to know.”

Cain rubbed his clean-shaved jaw and sucked his lips as he contemplated and accepted Troy's lucid message –
it happened and there's nothing we can do about it.
Yet, the unfortunate disappointment lingered at the back of his mind.

Cain said, “Okay, that's fine. I understand you very clearly, Troy. Try to get some sleep. We'll come wake you up in the morning for your breakfast, then we'll... we'll get on with the show, I suppose. I'll see you in a few hours, buddy.”

Cain's boots thudded on the pristine tile flooring as he slowly drifted away from the prison chamber. He moseyed down the hall, dragging his feet as the dispiriting experience made him sulky. Troy turned back towards the empty brick wall. Sleep was not on his monotonous agenda.

Troy whispered, “I know it's coming.”

Suddenly, jovial humming echoed into his cell from the neighboring hall. The soothing, ebullient sound was accompanied by prancing footsteps, like a young child gamboling in the hallway. The sound was eerily out of place, colliding with the grim ambiance to create a symphony of melancholy.

Abruptly, a young girl's head protruded from the bottom of the scraped window on the door. The four-foot tall girl clearly stood on her tiptoes as she peered into the forbidding cell. Her brown hair was tied in pigtails. Her fuzzy pink pajamas veiled her tiny body. Her brown eyes appeared weary. Her eyelids were leaden with sleep.

The young girl asked, “Do you miss me, daddy?”

Troy's breathing intensified as he glared at his daughter. He tightly clenched his fists as the exasperation boiled within; his untrimmed fingernails pierced into his moist palms. He struggled to conjure the words to respond.

Troy slowly shook his head and said, “Go... go home, Cathy. Go back to sleep.”

Cathy tilted her head like a curious pup as she gazed into her father's bloodshot eyes. Troy gritted his teeth as he slowly turned back towards the brick wall, hopelessly trying to whisk the visiting apparition away. To his utter dismay, he felt his bed sink and he could hear husky breathing inside his cell.

From over Troy's right shoulder, a female whispered, “You did this to us...”

Troy sniffled as he slowly turned towards the chilling voice. He scowled as his wife sat beside him on the flimsy mattress. Her large white t-shirt was drenched in blood. Her brown hair was tied in a tousled bun. Her brown eyes were hollow, her spirit was weary.

“Gl–Gloria, I... I...” Troy stuttered as he struggled to respond.

Abruptly, the other side of the bed sank. Troy turned and found his daughter sitting beside him – the door was still sealed. Cathy's chest was spattered with dried blood. Her pajamas were stained with death.

Cathy asked, “Why did you do this to me, daddy? What did I do wrong?”

Troy inhaled deeply as he attempted to recompose himself. As Cathy and Gloria gripped his forearms, Troy's eyes rolled to the back of his head and his eyelids flickered erratically. He fell back and the back of his dome collided with the sturdy wall. Quietly, Troy fell unconscious.

***

Suddenly, Troy awoke on a snug mattress. His body was veiled by crimson satin bed sheets. As his eyesight adjusted to the darkness, Troy gazed at the white ceiling and smirked. A sense of normality swept through his body as his head swayed from the sweet allure of sleep. He shuffled on the queen-sized bed, searching for the perfect position, then blindly reached for the opposite side of the mattress. To his utter surprise, Gloria was absent. Troy lifted his head from the cozy pillow and gazed at the neighboring cushion.

He furrowed his brow and whispered in a dubious tone, “
Gloria?
”

Troy yawned and stretched as he stood from the bed. His navy flannel pajamas whooshed and swayed on his portly figure. The hardwood flooring creaked and howled with every other step as Troy departed the bedroom.

The master bedroom was the last room in the hallway. To the left of his room, there were two doors. The first door led to the other bedroom, the second led to the bathroom. The staircase awaited beyond the final door. Troy trudged down the hall, vigorously rubbing his eyes as he brawled with the temptation of nocturnal slumber.

The neighboring door squealed as Troy carefully shoved it open. Cathy slept on the bed directly across the bedroom's entrance. Her soft, innocent face was caressed by the moon's radiant glow. She shined like a beacon of celestial beauty. Troy couldn't help but smile as he listened to Cathy's faint snore, like a cat purring at night.

Troy whispered, “Good night, sweetheart. I love you.”

Troy scrunched his face as the door's shrill squeak reverberated through the room and hall. He waited in the hallway with his ear planted on the door and his bottom lip protruded forward. He sighed in relief as Cathy's adorable snore continued. Troy glanced towards the bottom of the neighboring door – the bathroom light was off.

He placed his hands on his hips and whispered, “Where the hell are you, Gloria?”

Troy shambled down the creaky stairs. He furrowed his brow as a muffled voice increased in volume as he slowly descended. His bare toes wiggled as he planted his feet on the frigid tile flooring in the kitchen. He glanced towards the living room to his left. (The living room and kitchen were solely separated by the kitchen bar and a change in the texture of the floor.) The muffled voice became more distinct – the sound of a female whispering.

“Gloria? Gloria, is that you?” Troy asked with a raised brow.

There was no response. He sauntered through the living room and approached the glass sliding doors leading into the backyard. The door wobbled as it slid open. Troy protruded his head out of the entrance, then turned to his right. Gloria sat on a wooden bench with a white landline phone planted on her ear. She sighed as she quickly disconnected from the call, then rolled her eyes towards Troy.

Troy asked, “What are you doing out here?”

“I just needed some fresh air,” Gloria immediately responded like if she knew the questions to the inevitable interrogation beforehand.

Troy inspected his wife with narrowed eyes. Gloria only wore a large white t-shirt down to her slender thighs – her regular nightwear. Her brown hair was tied in a tousled bun. Troy rubbed his shoulders as a cold breeze danced through the backyard and drifted into the home. The gust was unusually chilly, but Gloria seemed unaffected.

Troy asked, “Aren't you cold?”

“No.”

Troy nervously chuckled from the blunt response, then asked, “Yeah, well, what are you up to? What do you need a phone for if you're out here for fresh air?” Gloria nonchalantly huffed as she turned her attention towards the beautiful night sky – the twinkling stars were hypnotizing. Troy shook his head and sternly asked, “Who the hell were you talking to, Gloria? What kind of secretive bullshit is this? Huh? You think I'm playing with you?”

Gloria gave off an insouciant smirk, then said, “I wasn't talking to anyone. I'm going to bed.”

Composed and calm, Gloria shoved past Troy, planted the phone on the landline base, then pranced up the rickety stairs. Troy stood by the glass doors in utter awe – the sheer lack of respect was baffling. Troy shook his head as he walked towards the landline phone. He redialed the number, then planted the phone on his ear. His arm trembled from the dreadful anticipation as the shrill ringing pierced through his psyche and mocked his insecurities.

Abruptly, a man answered, “Everything okay?”

Troy asked, “Who the hell is this?” The call immediately disconnected. As he glared at the phone, Troy whispered, “What the hell?”

Troy returned the phone to the base as he deeply pondered the situation. His mind wandered between the possibilities, but his thoughts always stopped at the same dead end:
she's cheating.
He could feel the knife of deceit turning in his back. His body trembled as his mind swelled with savage thoughts of vengeance.

He gritted his teeth, then rushed into the kitchen. He skidded to a stop as he slid towards the marble counter by the fridge, then retrieved a kitchen knife from the wooden block. Bent on revenge, he sprinted up the stairs – skipping a step with each lunge. He hurtled down the hallway, then brutishly shoved the door open. Gloria bolted up from the bed, shocked by the booming entrance.

Wide-eyed, Gloria asked, “What the hell do you think you're doing? You'll wake Cathy...”

Troy shook his head as he stepped into the room and said,
“Shut up.
I don't care. Tell me: who were you talking to? Who was on the phone?”

“You're still going on about that? Seriously? Get over it, Troy. I just needed some fresh air. You don't have to make a big deal over everything. We don't have to make a scene over a damn phone. It was nothing.”

Troy glared at Gloria with a soul-penetrating stare – his piercing eyes ripped through her facade. Gloria nervously chuckled as she attempted to keep her poker face. Her anxious smile and cackle vanished upon spotting the gleaming knife in Troy's hand.

Troy asked, “Who was on the phone, Gloria? Who were you talking to?”

Gloria stuttered, “It–it was my–my brother...”