Lyra had secured the best of deals. She had made a name for herself in the New York art scene, only to realise that she was unhappy with city living. Over time, her art had started to suffer, and she had lost the early originality and talent that propelled her career. Her family lived on the West Coast, so she had no ties to New York, and as a freelancer she reasoned that it did not matter where she lived, as long as she was able to work in solitude. Her early paintings conveyed a darkness that had somehow disappeared in the lights of the city. Lyra knew that the darkness was still there and still needed to escape onto the canvas, but there were far too many distractions in the New York nightlife. It was easy to become submerged between promotional events, exhibitions and, of course, the infamous after-parties. At heart, Lyra was really a small-town girl and the fast living proved too much.
The talkative realtor, Amy Penrose, had shown her plenty of houses strewn around the wilderness of New Jersey, but none matched Maple Cabin. Lyra had fallen in love with the cabin at first sight. The property stood empty in the forest wilderness of Maple Lake. It was a simple home; open plan with two bedrooms and a bathroom. One bedroom, Lyra hoped, would serve as a studio. The porch led to a small private beach at the edge of the lake, and the woodlands encompassed the rear of the cabin. The cabin came ready-furnished and at an excellent price. Lyra could not resist, and the realtor rushed the paperwork through much faster than expected. It seemed the perfect deal.
Lyra, having already travelled across the country to New York, already owned a Jeep and trailer which proved ideal for the move. Her art equipment took up the majority of the trailer, and her clothes and a few personal belongings crowded in the back of the Jeep. She had planned to leave at the close of the week, Friday the 13th of September. However, Amy had insisted that she would be unable to meet up that day and Lyra had to move the date back to the Thursday. Again, the realtor, who had been overly helpful during the sale, proved awkward in almost demanding that Lyra arrive by midday as she would be unavailable in the evening. Lyra obliged and arrived in the nearby town of Forest Green by noon as promised.
Most of the legalities had already been dealt with by the lawyers, and all that remained was for Lyra to collect the keys. The town was small and there was ample parking for her outside of the office, which looked more like a grocery shop than a realtor’s office. Lyra wasted no time and immediately called into the office. The customer area was empty, and she could hear raised voices in the back room; a man and a woman who she was certain was Amy. After a few minutes and feeling a little awkward having intruded on an argument, Lyra shook the old bell that sat on Amy’s desk. The voices quietened and Amy stepped through the partitioning door. She appeared flustered, but quickly straightened herself and sat in the chair opposite Lyra.
Lyra nodded towards the back room.
‘Problems?’ she queried. Amy forced a smile.
‘No, no problems. Just professional differences.’ As she spoke, a man in a sheriff’s uniform barged out of the back room. Amy grimaced and spoke quickly.
‘I have the key; the generator has been tested and there is a working water supply at the cabin. Is there anything else you need to know?’ As Amy spoke, the sheriff strode over to Lyra and stood uncomfortably close with his arms folded. Lyra glanced at him and then back to her realtor.
‘I don’t think so. I’m guessing the local stores and banks are here in town, and I have my phone for internet connection.’ Amy looked quizzically.
‘Honey,’ she drooled, ‘you may not get internet connection out there. It’s a bit haphazard.’
The sheriff continued to stare down at Lyra. Amy glanced up at him and then uttered,
‘I’ll get you them keys,’ before shuffling out of her chair and into the back room. The sheriff chewed at something.
‘Missy, we don’t get many outsiders here,’ he stated coldly. Lyra looked up at his imposing form.
‘Oh?’ she replied, not really knowing what to say to the stranger.
‘No, we certainly don’t,’ he continued. ‘Causes trouble, you see?’
‘I don’t intend to be trouble,’ Lyra retorted. ‘You won’t even know that I’m there.’ The sheriff bent down to Lyra’s ear.
‘Lady,’ he whispered in a change of tone that surprised Lyra, ‘I’m trying to help you here. There’s better places for you to be living. I’m giving you some advice. Go back to where you came from.’ An unease crept over Lyra; for a second, something felt terribly wrong. The sheriff held her gaze until Amy reappeared.
‘Found them!’ the realtor exclaimed before noticing the sheriff crouched above her client’s ear. ‘Isn’t your lunch break over, Sean?’ Her tone was abrupt. The sheriff rose to his full height, shook his head and marched out of the small building. Lyra stared after him with her mouth open. ‘Don’t mind him!’ Amy interrupted.
‘He said I should leave,’ Lyra muttered, not so much answering a question but thinking aloud.
‘There’s some funny old folks in town,’ Amy snapped. ‘They have funny ideas! Superstitious, you know?’
‘Not really,’ Lyra replied honestly. ‘No.’
‘Every town has its legends, and some folks are taken in by them.’ Amy appeared to be lost in thought.
‘What legends?’ Lyra asked, waking her from her reverie.
Amy looked at her client. The sale was over, and the deeds and, more importantly, the money had been exchanged. Amy sighed and looked at her client. Lyra swore in that moment that there was pity in Amy’s eyes, a sadness, maybe even guilt. Amy shook her head and let out a strained laugh.
‘I guess it won’t hurt to tell you!’ Amy smiled. ‘Years ago, back when there was a summer camp at Maple Lake, a boy drowned. His name was Kane.’
‘That’s sad,’ Lyra whispered.
‘Legend has it that he came back from his watery grave and haunts the woods.’ Lyra raised her eyebrows; she had heard urban legends in the city, and this wasn’t that different. A wave of guilt washed over Amy; she knew the truth and she had sold this young woman a cabin in his wilderness.
‘They say he saw his mother murdered and kills to avenge her death and his own,’ Amy stammered.
There was a long silence as Lyra absorbed Amy’s words. The silence was broken by Amy releasing a stifled cough.
‘How about I go up there with you, just to make sure you’re settled in?’ Lyra smiled.
‘There really is no need. I am fine. I don’t believe in ghosts, ghouls or any other nonsense.’ Amy bit her lip as if she wanted to say something, but just could not find the words. A sigh escaped from her lips and reluctantly she stated,
‘I think I will accompany you, just to get you settled in.’ Her eyes flicked to the window. ‘Bob, my husband, has the car, so I can go up with you and get a lift back into town from Harlon.’ Lyra’s eyebrows knitted. ‘Harlon is the old caretaker. He stayed up there after the camp closed.’ Lyra smiled a smile of relief.
‘You see, Harlon lives up there and he’s OK,’ she chuckled. Amy’s lip twitched. She wanted to say Harlon had tried to save Kane from drowning or that Harlon was now Kane’s caretaker, but the words sounded ridiculous. Harlon was a hermit; perhaps he had been absorbed into the Kane legend.
Lyra’s Jeep bounced along the disused road trail through the woods. The town seemed a world away, and so did the legend of Kane. She was home; the woods were pure paradise, home to a diverse array of colourful trees and bushes. Ultimately, they led to the shimmering lake and Maple Cabin. Lyra knew that she could get lost in the wildlife forever; it was everything she had hoped for, a different world; her isolated Eden. The Jeep fitted aptly by the side of the cabin, and Amy proceeded to help Lyra unload her belongings. Lyra was used to moving and had loaded everything meticulously so that it could be easily unpacked and put straight in its new place. Her clothes were hung in her closet, kitchenware put in the cupboards and, most importantly, her art equipment placed in her new studio.
Once the last items had been put away, Lyra loaded a bucket full of pre-ordered wood into the stove and lit it up. The two women slumped on the sofa, exhausted.
‘I told you everything would be fine, but I really appreciate your help,’ Lyra said, pulling her blond, bobbed hair away from her face. Amy smiled; the guilt was still gnawing at her.
‘No problem!’ she replied casually. ‘If you need anything,’ Amy hesitated, ‘anything at all, Harlon is your closest neighbour.’
‘I didn’t see any other houses.’
‘No, you won’t. Not from the road anyway, but there are three other cabins in the area. Harlon is your nearest. You can’t reach it by road, but there’s a trail by your beach and his place is about a five-minute walk up that trail.’ Amy sighed. ‘There are a few trails. Better stick to your own one.’ Lyra smiled at her ongoing superstitious nonsense.
‘Who do the other houses belong to?’ Lyra asked as she handed Amy a mug of coffee from the freshly boiled kettle.
‘Marietta lives on the other side of the lake,’ Amy explained. ‘She likes to keep to herself and it’s best not to go up there.’
‘And the other cabin?’ Lyra persisted.
‘Empty. Best not to be messing around there too.’ Lyra wondered if everyone in Forest Green was as superstitious as Amy and the sheriff. As they sipped their coffees, the cabin darkened. Amy fidgeted nervously and looked at her watch. ‘I need to be going now. Come on and I will show you the trail,’ she beckoned, rising to her feet. Lyra followed her realtor out of the cabin to a foot trail that was hidden snugly between the trees past the road trail.
‘Straight up there. Five minutes and you will find Harlon.’
‘OK, and thanks for all that you have done.’ Amy grimaced and sighed.
‘No problem.’ The women shook hands and Amy started up the path.
Lyra stood alone on the beach; she cast her eyes over the lake. It was perfection. The sun was rapidly disappearing, blazing a trail of dusk light across the water. Lyra breathed in the air; it was so fresh, so unlike the city. She was finally home. At length, she sauntered back to the cabin and flopped wearily on the sofa; between the traveling, the unpacking and the crazy rumours, the day had been long. She closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep.
‘Harlon!’ Amy called. Harlon’s cabin was not like Lyra’s; it was in poor condition. A few rusting vehicles sat strewn around the outside and the generator rattled outside angrily with age. ‘Harlon!’ she called again. The door of the cabin hung off a poorly erected porch and clattered in the breeze. Amy rapped on it loudly. ‘Harlon, are you in there?’ She waited uneasily. Amy hated being near Maple Lake; she cursed the guilt that had racked her and driven her to be in his wilderness. She grabbed the door mid-rattle and swung it open. Harlon was a notorious hunter and dead animals hung from the beams in the scruffy sitting room. Amy waited; there was no answer. The door suddenly flung open in the breeze and then slammed shut again. A nervous gulp rose in Amy’s throat; she swallowed and edged towards the door as it again swung open.
The woodland suddenly seemed dark as the evening set in. There was no sign of Harlon. Amy looked at her watch; the day had flown by and she must have lost track of timing helping Lyra to unpack. It was gone six and eerily dark. Thick black clouds hung over the cabin as Amy edged out of the door. ‘Harlon!’ she shouted desperately. The trees surrounding the cabin rustled in the whistle of the wind. Amy thought rapidly; if she headed back to Lyra’s, then Lyra could take her back into the town before the night set in. Her high heels tottered back onto the trail and she scurried towards the beach as fast as she could. Branches danced around in the moonlight, and the trees seemed to close in behind her as she moved, forcing her to quicken her pace.
A faint moonlit glow drove her on as the water came into view. Relieved, she stopped for breath at the end of the trail. Her eyes closed as she sighed deeply. As she opened them, she noticed a figure standing in the water, almost emerging from the lake. His masked face was fixed in her direction; his hulking body grew from the depths. Kane raised his right arm rigidly from the water. Amy whimpered and backed away, rearing into the tree behind her. She jumped at the feeling, turned to the tree and quickly turned back to the monster before her. In his right arm, he was holding a harpoon. Amy opened her mouth to scream, but the spear moved swiftly through the air and drove through her eye, pinning her lifeless corpse to the tree behind.
