Mystery at Red Marsh Lake Read online

  © 2019 Marshall Cavendish International (Asia) Private Limited

  Text © Nathanael Reed

  Published by Marshall Cavendish Editions

  An imprint of Marshall Cavendish International

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  National Library Board, Singapore Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

  Names: Reed, Nathanael, 1950-

  Title: Mystery at Red Marsh Lake / Nathanael Reed.

  Description: Singapore : Marshall Cavendish Editions, [2019]

  Identifiers: OCN 1097223892 | 978-981-4868-12-9 (paperback)

  Subjects: LCSH: Criminals--Canada--Juvenile fiction. | Friendship--Canada--Juvenile fiction. | Monsters--Canada--Juvenile fiction.

  Classification: DDC 813.6--dc23

  Printed in Singapore

  Cover illustration by Wong Pei Si

  To Hope, Ella, Caleb,

  Isaac, Willow, Neely,

  Elijah, Charlotte, and Weston

  Prologue

  The night outside was pitch black, with nothing to illuminate the wilderness but the dim light from the train’s windows. Caleb gazed out into the darkness, forcing his mind away from the hard vinyl seats and the constant lurching. Once again he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass. Self-consciously, he reached up and ran his fingers through his blonde, unruly hair. His mom always said that his green-blue eyes were the most expressive she’d ever seen – that was until she had upped and walked out on them a few days ago.

  Folding his arms across his chest for warmth, he turned his gaze to the passing darkness outside his window. Almost within arm’s reach the unending forest flashed by – the tall, dark silhouettes of pine, spruce and birch. A shiver passed through him as he adjusted himself once more on the uncomfortable seat.

  Clank-clank. Clank-clank. The ever-present clatter of the train passing over the rails hammered into his brain. Clank-clank. Clank-clank. It had been a day-and-a-half since he’d left his home in the city for the wilderness of the north. Thirty–six hours of stopping at every hamlet and outpost, no matter how remote or how small, rattling their way further and further into Canada’s deep and inscrutable interior. Now, on this last stage of his journey he found himself a reluctant passenger on this ancient train, with no heat, a squalling baby and no earthly chance of getting any sleep.

  He turned and glanced back at the four passengers who had remained with him through the past eight torturous stops. The most obvious of the four were a young, frazzled woman and her discontented baby. The two were seated at the very back of the car, snuggled up in a thick Hudson’s Bay blanket, the mother enjoying a temporary lull in her child’s persistent protests. Three seats ahead of them was a grey-bearded, grizzled old prospector accompanied by two ancient backpacks, dilapidated suitcase and a single canoe paddle propped up on the seat beside him. The last of Caleb’s fellow passengers was a much younger man, stylishly dressed in a navy blazer and a thin black tie – probably a government official or a salesman from the big city.

  Barely had Caleb turned his attention from his four companions when the baby awoke and began wailing at the top of her voice. He groaned. How could one small child keep crying for so long? Several hours ago Caleb had asked the conductor if he might switch cars. The next car, he was told, was off limits, filled with supplies destined for the general store in Chismo – the town to which Caleb was headed and the train’s last stop.

  Now Caleb turned in his seat, searching for the elusive conductor. Where had he disappeared to? In fact, Caleb was sure the man hadn’t made an appearance since punching their tickets several hours earlier. He was probably back in the caboose sound asleep.

  It was no use. If he continued to sit and listen to the crying baby for one more minute, he would totally lose it. His nerves were beyond frayed. Quickly he slid from his seat, no longer caring how upset the conductor might be, made his way to the front exit and crossed over to the neighboring car. For a few minutes of peace he would just take his chances. It was packed with supplies and colder than a refrigerator, but at least it would be quiet.

  He stepped into the darkened car and gently closed the door behind him. The distant moon shining through the car’s windows provided the only light. Caleb felt his way down the aisle until he came to a seat without any boxes or parcels, then sagged gratefully into it. He closed his eyes, tucked himself into his fleece-lined jacket and got as comfortable as he could as a deep sense of weariness washed over him. The quiet of the car felt wonderfully luxurious. Just a few more hours and his long journey would be over. He could feel his heart rate ease and his breathing slowly settle.

  It was then, just as sleep was edging its way into his exhausted brain that an unusual sound stirred him back to consciousness – a faint, rustling sound emanating from somewhere in the darkness ahead of him. He sat completely still for a long minute, not even daring to breathe, every sense now on high alert. Was it the conductor? Instinctively he cleared his throat, and immediately regretted it, for an even deeper silence now seemed to fill the car.

  A shadowy shape slowly emerged from among the boxes and crates across the aisle from him. He could feel his own breath catch as the strange, ghostly figure hovered briefly before him in the blackness, then in the next instant it was upon him – a large rough hand clamping down hard over his mouth.

  For several terrifying seconds the face remained only inches from his own, barely distinguishable in the dim moonlight. Even so, Caleb could see that the man’s features were dark and angular, with a wide nose and a razor-thin mouth. Long, stringy black hair fell down around his face, hanging almost to his eyes.

  “Say one word and I’ll snap your neck like a chicken’s.” The hand slid from Caleb’s mouth and the man moved his face even closer to Caleb, his cigarette breath wafting over him. It was then that Caleb saw the feature he would never forget – one of the man’s eyes was milky white, lifeless, yet somehow penetrating at the same time.

  “Get out of this car right now,” the man whispered.

  He reached out, grabbed Caleb by the front of his jacket and hauled him to his feet. “If you tell anyone I’m here, I’ll look for you and find you, and when I find you, I’ll bury you so deep they won’t uncover your bones for a hundred years.”

  One

  Caleb stumbled down the aisle, groping clumsily for the handle of the door and scrambled back to his former seat.

  What on
earth was that man doing up there anyway? Did the conductor know he had a stowaway on board his precious train? Caleb’s mind grasped for anything that might help explain what had just happened. Was it possible that the man was joking, having a good laugh at how he had scared the city boy half to death? He shuddered. Not a chance. That guy had meant every word he said – and then some.

  Caleb turned and glanced back at the other passengers. All of them now seemed fast asleep, even the baby. He sat there in the stillness, collecting his thoughts, settling his heart rate and calming his jangled nerves. He pulled up the collar of his jacket and leaned back against the window, knowing sleep would be a long time coming. He glanced down at his watch. 4:30 a.m. The train was due to arrive in Chismo at 8:00 a.m. – a long, mind-numbing three-and-a-half hours from now.

  Chismo. What kind of village was his dad calling home for the summer anyway? Judging from the villages they had been passing through, he suspected that Chismo wouldn’t leave him overwhelmed by its amenities. His dad had already warned him that the town was really small, without even a road connecting it to the outside world – just this one solitary rail line. And a good many of the people who lived there were Ojibway.

  Thoughts of his dad made Caleb’s blood pressure rise. Professor Weston Weybourne was an anthropology professor who had never let his family get in the way of his four-month-long excursions into the middle of nowhere every summer. Excavating the relics of ancient civilizations meant him having to spend long weeks out in the field, and that was an unfortunate part of his dad’s job. Caleb knew his mom had never gotten used to him being away so much, and this summer’s expedition had been the final straw. A few days before his dad left for the north, his mom packed up her things and moved across town to live with her sister. Caleb, of course, had been dragged along, sleeping on his aunt’s lumpy couch in her cramped, cat-filled apartment. In a fit of desperation, he’d come up with the brainwave of spending the summer with his dad, an idea that seemed preferable to enduring months in a hot apartment with his cranky aunt.

  His dad, of course, was dead against the idea, but Caleb’s mom simply informed her husband that he was going to spend some quality time with his son whether he liked it or not, then as soon as school was out for the summer, she promptly put her thirteen-year-old on the next train to Chismo. Caleb let out a long sigh. It had certainly seemed like a half-decent idea at the time. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  Finally, he woke to find the sun dimly lighting the car’s interior. The treeline beyond the windows, too, had turned from dark, forbidding shadows to a myriad of lonely sentinels lining the tracks. He looked down at his watch then sat up with a start. 7:45. They were almost there!

  The first thing he had to do was to let his dad know about the guy who had threatened him. Was the man simply a stowaway, too cheap or too poor to buy a ticket? And why hadn’t the conductor made an issue of him being up there anyway? And speaking of the conductor, where had he been for the past several hours? Surely his dad would know what to do. One thing about the professor, he didn’t take guff from anyone. For a guy with several university degrees, he was one tough monkey. Yes, his dad would straighten things out in a hurry. He was sure of that.

  A moment later he finally felt the train grind to a noisy, shuddering stop. He looked out the window and could see a handful of people standing patiently on the platform looking up expectantly at the disembarking passengers. Where was his dad? He made his way to the exit, clumped down the metal steps, and then once again searched among the waiting faces.

  A surge of angry panic welled within him. Yet, why should he be surprised? Wasn’t that just like his dad? Agree to spend the summer with him and then not even bother to meet him at the station. He set his duffel bag down and felt a dark cloud of dismay overtake him as he watched the people disperse. Maybe his dad was just a bit late … surely even he wouldn’t just leave him stranded here at the train station. It was then he noticed a boy of about his own age looking his way. He appeared to be Ojibway. His dark hair was cut down almost to his scalp and a pair of black-framed glasses was perched on his nose. Caleb’s brow furrowed as the other boy slowly crossed the platform toward him.

  “Are you Caleb Weybourne?” the boy asked.

  Caleb nodded.

  “I’ve been sent to pick you up.”

  “My dad sent you?” Caleb asked.

  “Yah. He couldn’t make it. I’m Isaac Cobby.”

  “How come my dad couldn’t meet me?” Caleb asked, trying to keep the anger from his voice.

  “He’s off somewhere.”

  Caleb could tell that Isaac wanted to get going, but still he hesitated, the anger simmering inside him. “He’ll be back soon, then?”

  Isaac shrugged. “Most likely not,” he said. “He and Emmett went upriver yesterday.”

  Caleb picked up his duffel bag, drew in a deep breath and glanced at his surroundings for the first time. A two-story white building across from the train station caught his eye. The sign out front read: Chismo Hotel.

  “Is my dad staying at the hotel?” Caleb asked.

  He saw a slight grin pass over Isaac’s face. “Not exactly,” he said. “Come on, we’ve got a ways to go.”

  With that, Isaac turned and led the way across the platform to the dirt road that served as Chismo’s main street. Caleb surveyed the few buildings that made up the downtown core. The business section appeared to consist of the hotel, a general store, small café, a combined hardware store-pool hall and a few other shops. Beyond, there were a dozen or so houses and other buildings, and beyond these, a fairly wide river which stretched off into the distance in both directions.

  He fell in beside his guide. “Did my dad rent a place on the river?” he asked hopefully.

  Again the faint hint of a grin passed over Isaac’s face. “Sort of.”

  “What do you mean?” Caleb asked again, trying his best to keep his frustration from showing.

  “Your dad’s camped over on Badger Island,” Isaac finally said, motioning to the far shore across the river before them.

  Caleb felt his heart sink. “He’s camping on an island?”

  “Yah. And it ain’t much of a camp,” Isaac replied. “Or much of an island either, for that matter.”

  Two

  Caleb was still seething with anger as he followed Isaac down the gravel road toward the river. But why should he be surprised that his dad hadn’t been at the train station to meet him? He’d been ignoring and forgetting everyone and everything for years. In fact, that was precisely why his mom had left. But this place, this town. He looked grimly at the dilapidated log cabin they were passing. At least that shack was a building, while he, on the other hand, would probably be spending his summer in some leaky old tent.

  When they reached the water’s edge Caleb could see that the river was wider than he’d first thought – probably the length of about four city blocks.

  “This is the Caribou River,” Isaac said. “Not that there’s caribou in these parts anymore. Or any badgers.” He led the way down to the end of a long wooden dock to where an aluminum motorboat was tied up. “Hop in. Your dad asked me to take you over to his camp.”

  “I’m surprised my dad even thought to get someone to meet me at the train,” Caleb said, tossing his duffel bag into the boat. He climbed aboard and took a seat in the prow while Isaac pushed them out from the dock, then sat himself in the stern, started the outboard motor and pointed the prow toward the opposite shore.

  “Where did you say my dad went to?” Caleb shouted above the roar of the outboard.

  “Up north of here to Wendigo Lake. He said he’d be gone for a couple of days.”

  A couple of days! Caleb shook his head in frustration. What was he going to do with himself on an island in the middle of nowhere?

  As they neared the island Caleb could see a cleared area in the forest about the size of half a football field. Visible were two canvas tents, an upside-down canoe and what appeared to be an outhouse set ba
ck among the trees. A woodpile, partially covered by an old canvas tarp, stood near the smaller of the two tents.

  “He uses the little tent for an office,” Isaac explained as he beached the boat. “The big tent is where you’ll be staying.”

  Caleb’s new accommodation was an ancient, weather-beaten relic, probably purchased used from an Army Surplus store back in the city. Pushing the door flaps aside, he was grudgingly surprised at how roomy his new home was. Piled at the back was a large assortment of boxes, canvas bags, cases of canned goods and a couple of crates, which he assumed, contained his father’s archaeological equipment. Two canvas cots were propped against the inside wall of the tent. The only other items that roused his interest were several fishing rods, a large tackle box and a lever-action rifle lying on top of one of the crates. He dropped his luggage onto the canvas floor and backed outside.

  “You eat breakfast yet?” Isaac asked.

  Caleb shook his head. “There was no diner on the train.”

  Isaac disappeared inside the tent and returned a moment later with a kettle and several other items tucked under his arm. “I’ll fix us up some bannock,” he said, walking over to a fire pit a few feet away.

  “You seem to know your way around here,” Caleb said.

  Isaac shrugged. “My brother and I helped the professor bring all this stuff over from the train station.”

  Within a few minutes Isaac had a fire going, complete with a long strip of dough wrapped around a stick, which he was now rotating several inches above the flames. “Bannock goes best with jam,” Isaac explained, nodding to the jar of marmalade sitting on the ground beside him. “But marmalade will have to do.”

  “My dad loves marmalade. He probably packed about thirty jars.” Caleb squatted down beside the fire and stared into the flames. “Do you live back in Chismo?”

  Isaac shook his head. “No. I live just north of town on the Reserve.”

  “The Reserve?”