The Raft
Why is the lady on the flat boat waving at me? Why is she pointing at me, then pointing to the flat boat then waving her arms waist high while shaking her head side to side like a football referee indicating incomplete pass? But it’s clearly not that. This is so much more serious. Is it a warning? “DO NOT DO THIS!” She is so far away out on the water. Who is she? Amanda Pennington slowly woke up from her dream, rolled over and looked at the Panasonic alarm clock radio on her nightstand. It was 3:14 am according to the glowing placard numbers. Why do I still have the same weird dream of that day at the lake house? I swear it happens at least once a month!, she sleepily wondered. The alarm clock flipped to 3:15 reminding Amanda that Rick would be by to pick her up in five hours. They were going away up north for the weekend. Through steadfast and kind-heartened coercion, her boyfriend Rick, her best friend Maureen “Mo” and Mo’s boyfriend Ben, collectively begged Amanda to take a weekend getaway to her family’s lake house in Albion, Maine; the foursome plan on leaving Quincy, Massachusetts around 8:15am to make the four-hour drive to Shadow Lake in Albion. The cottage had been with the Pennington family since the 1930’s when Amanda’s grandfather and her great-uncles built it. It was handed down to Amanda’s parents in 1951, then eventually given to Amanda after her parents divorced two years ago in 1972. A neighbor, Mr. Dowd, served as caretaker of the property. Even though the deed has been in Amanda’s possession for over two years now, she hasn’t visited the property since her ownership. In fact, she hadn’t been to the lake house since her nine-year-old brother drowned while swimming in the lake eighteen years ago. The cottage sits on a quarter acre of shoreline property. It has full electrical power with well water and a septic tank. It has two small bedrooms, a kitchen, a rustic living room and a full bathroom. The cottage also has an enclosed outdoor shower. The quaint lake house also features a screened–in back porch looking out over Shadow Lake. Forty-two wooden plank stairs, starting from the cottage, take guests down to the tiny lake beach. A thirty-foot-long dock with a rowboat awaits would-be sailors. From the shore looking out about fifty yards is a large twenty foot by twenty-foot floating dock. Her grandfather made the raft, constructed with a stout wood frame and long timber planks. Twelve sealed airtight metal drums kept it afloat at the time it was built. Amanda’s father replaced the metal drums with plastic ones back in the 1960’s. An aluminum pole ladder was mounted to the front of the raft. One cement-filled steel drum, sitting on the thirty-foot bottom of Shadow Lake, served as the anchor keeping the raft from floating away. A heavy-duty steel link chain joined the anchor to the raft. It seemed that just as Amanda had drifted back to slumber her clock radio alarm went off at 7:30am to 104.1 WBCN out of Boston. Mick Jagger woke her up singing, “ooh Brown Sugar, how come you dance so good?” Forty-five minutes later the horn of a 1969 Oldsmobile Cutlass convertible boomed outside her apartment. Some bass-distorted Aerosmith song was playing waking up all the sleepyheads of Quincy. Amanda looked out her window and saw Rick at the wheel with Ben climbing over the front seat to join his girlfriend Mo in the back seat. Head still clouded with sleepy cobwebs, Amanda jogged down the stairs, threw her small suitcase into the opened trunk and hopped in at shotgun. That’s when she saw the source of the blaring music; Rick had the new Aerosmith album Get Your Wings inserted into the 8-track tape player. Amanda reached for the volume knob and turned it down a few decibels. “God Rick…are you deaf? I told you to keep the tunes down low this early in the morning. I like my neighbors and they like me….and that’s how I wanna keep it!”, nagged Amanda. “Mandy, do I get a good morning kiss or what?”, asked Rick. “Not until you trim that bushy moustache fella’!, replied Amanda. Amanda leaned over and kissed Rick’s right cheek. She looked back at Maureen and Ben, smiled, waved and said, “What’s happening guys! You ready?” “I was born ready sister! Got the cooler full of ice, case of Miller and a few “jonnies” rolled by yours truly!”, barked out Ben while Rick was revving the Oldsmobile engine. “Hey Mandy! As you heard, Ben took care of the important things. I picked up eggs, hotdogs, hamburgers, chips, rolls and buns. I’m ready to party!”, proudly stated Maureen. “Okay great. I’m hoping there’s still that little market in Albion that we used to go to when I was a kid. I’ll pick up the paper goods, charcoal, soda, deli meat, bread, whatever we need….” Rick then put the Cutlass in gear, turned up Seasons of Wither and screeched down Worthington Avenue much to the aggravation of the sleeping Quincy community. Four hours and twenty minutes later they arrived in Albion, Maine. They stopped at Abner’s Market to pick up final supplies then headed toward the cottage. Amanda gave Rick step-by-step instructions, by memory, as the road went from asphalt to dirt. Amanda had called Mr. Dowd, the caretaker, three days prior to let him know they would be staying the weekend. He had told her that he would be visiting relatives in New Hampshire that weekend and that he’d leave the cottage key under the front door mat. After settling in, the four young adults slapped together sandwiches and grabbed some beer and walked down to the lake shore. They laid out on the sand enjoying the warm August day. After lunch Rick, Ben and Mo put on their bathing suits and went for a swim. Amanda refused to join them. She sat on the sand, drinking her Miller beer and watched them frolic. “Mandy..come on! We’re finally here! You mean to tell me you don’t wanna go swimming? My God the water is beautiful!”, yelled Rick. “Oh..you don’t know what yer missing!”, exclaimed her best friend Maureen. “Nope, nope and nope!”, replied Amanda shaking her head side to side with each word. Later that night after a dinner of grilled hot dogs and cheeseburgers the four sat in the screened-in back porch to watch the sun slowly ease into the western horizon. By now everybody was moderately buzzed from the beer and weed. The daytime noises of motorboats, ducks and sparrows were slowly replaced with the nighttime lake noises of bullfrogs, crickets and loons. Gnats and mosquitoes danced in harmony together as they became attracted to the front porch yellow light. Invisible spiderwebs were meticulously weaved near the light with the owners of the webs lurking in the shadows nearby. Maureen brought her Radio Shack transistor radio out to the porch, extended the antenna, hit the power button and proceeded to dial the FM frequency knob, first hearing a news station talking about Watergate then a Red Sox game in progress then finally she heard a semi-clear Top-40 music station filling the porch air. Carly Simon was midway through singing to Warren Beatty about how he was so vain that she actually saw clouds in her coffee. The four of them sat close together passing a joint around to each other. Ben stared out at the floating raft and said, “Guys, tomorrow…lets party on the raft!” “How we gonna party if we have to swim out there?, asked Maureen. “Mo, listen…we load the rowboat with our party supplies and one of us rows out to the raft! The rest of us can swim to it!”, replied Ben. “I can dig that scene my man. Gimme some skin dude!”, said Rick who slapped Ben’s outstretched hand. “Hmmmm….not sure about that. I dunno…”, added Amanda. “Come on Mandy! It’ll be fun!!, exclaimed Maureen. “Okay…hold on…sorry Mandy. I forgot. Guys, that raft brings up some not so good memories for Mandy.”, said Rick. “Oh my God…why? What happened Mandy?”, asked Ben. “Okay…hold on…probably not a good time to talk about it.”, said a concerned Maureen knowing full well what had happened years ago to her best friend’s brother. “Mandy, you don’t have to do this.”, said Rick. “No, actually I’m okay to talk about it. Sorry Ben. Rick and Mo know what I’m talking about. It’s actually a release when I do…I actually feel better…it’s like a relief valve.” “Hold on a minute Mandy, anybody need another beer while I’m up?”, asked Rick as he got up from his porch chair. Three hands were raised signaling this could be a long, deep and emotional conversation ahead of them. Steely Dan’s Rikki Don’t Lose That Number wafted from the radio speakers. Maureen reached down and turned down the music in preparation of their talk. “Eighteen years ago, when I was six…I can remember it being Fourth of July weekend because of the fireworks over the lake. My family was here to spend time with my grandparents. My brother, Michael…he was older than me…he was nine at the time. He wanted to swim to the raft on his own for the first time without a life preserver. My dad said no, not without a life preserver. My mom had overridden my dad and said okay. My dad said that Michael just had a big lunch and that he could cramp up. My mom said it was no big deal. I remember this because it would be brought up once in a while when they argued. Also, another thing I learned from those arguments, was that my dad accused my mom of drinking too much that day. I was six, I didn’t know…thinking back, I just thought my mom was funny. I later found out that she was a functioning alcoholic before that day but after that day she became of full-blown sloppy drunk.” “Anyway, Michael swam out there on his own; we watched him from the shore. Me, mom, dad and my grandparents all cheered for him when he made it and climbed up the ladder. I can remember Michael jumping up and down and posing with his arms up, making muscles like a body-builder. We all laughed…I remember it like it was yesterday! I believe that was the last time we all laughed together as a family.” Amanda paused to take an extended sip of her Miller High Life beer. “It was a hot summer…I do remember it being a beautiful clear day. Then a fog rolled in while Michael was still out there sunbathing. We watched the fog roll across the water coming toward our cottage. My mom yelled out to Michael that it’s time to come back. There was no worry or panic in her voice at that time. She just wanted him back before the fog reached us.” “We noticed Michael was slow to respond to my mom’s calling. He sat up and waved. Then we saw that the fog was billowing right behind him. We all called out and waved to him to swim back. He stood and saw the thick grey mist rolling toward him. He stood frozen looking at it as it swallowed him up, covering the entire raft. My parents were yelling out to him to swim toward their voices. We heard a splash. We kept screaming out his name. The fog started breaking apart…we saw the raft was covered in a light mist but we didn’t see Michael, either in the water or on the raft. My dad immediately got into the rowboat and paddled out there calling his name. I remember seeing my dad jump out of the boat and start diving down deep into the water around the raft. My mom hysterically ran to our neighbor’s house to tell Mr. Dowd we need him and his boat to help find Michael.” “We never found him. My dad called the local sheriff. I can remember the police used their boats to search for my brother. I can recall hearing the term “dragging the lake” and not knowing what it meant. They never found his body. The next day, I overheard the sheriff and my parents talking, they speculated that maybe he got confused in the dense fog and swam toward the middle of the lake, got tired or cramped up and drowned. The sheriff said that the unpredictable currents of the lake may have taken his body downstream. My parents were never the same after that. Their marriage was completely hollowed out. I became a ghost in our home. There were so many arguments and so much blame, especially when my mom was drinking. Somehow the marriage continued until they eventually divorced years later. I think they waited until I was out of high school.” “Oh my God Mandy, I am so sorry you went through that at such a young age.”, said a sobering Ben. He continued, “We will not go to the raft tomorrow if you don’t want to.” “We all completely understand.”, added Maureen. Amanda stared off into the dark lake in front of her. The raft was now absorbed into the inky darkness of Shadow Lake. “Another thing that I’ve never told anyone about that day was when the fog covered Michael and then apparently, he jumped into the water because we heard the splash. Well….like a minute or couple minutes later I thought I heard a baby cry out there on the water in the fog…dunno..maybe it was some bird making a weird noise…dunno but it sounded like a baby cry. Just once, then it was gone and then the fog started clearing.” Amanda continued, “So…I’m okay. I’m twenty-four years old now and I need to get over this. We will party on the raft tomorrow” She wiped a salty tear from her eyes, smiled and said, “BUT…I will NOT swim out there…I shall be the one paddling the rowboat out there with our supplies!”, she said jovially. “You sure you’re okay with this babe?”, asked Rick. “Absolutely, you guys just don’t swim out any further than the raft. Shadow Lake is known for its strange currents!”, answered Amanda. “Ben, Mo, you guys still in?”, asked Rick. “Yes…forecast for tomorrow is sunny and 80s…perfect day!”, stated Maureen. “Oh..dude..I’m getting fuckin’ wasted tomorrow! I brought a bottle of JD! I’ll swim out but I can promise you I’ll be passed out in the rowboat on the way back!”, exclaimed Ben. All four laughed hysterically. They raised their beer cans and toasted to their plans. “Okay…It’s getting late. Big day tomorrow. I’m in charge of breakfast. You guys ready for bed?”, asked Maureen. Amanda wasn’t quite finished yet. “What was strange, was that about two days before the accident…I saw something weird out there”, Amanda said as she pointed out to the lake. “Out there…like far out there in the middle of Shadow Lake. I saw something so bizarre that I still dream about it occasionally. But…nobody else in my family saw it! Nobody but me. It seemed so real.” “So, two days before the accident, we had just arrived for the long 4th of July weekend. We all walked down to the shore and stood looking around and talking. I can remember Michael and I were so excited to be at the lake house. So, it was me, Michael, my mom and dad and both my grandparents. I can remember I was holding my dad’s hand. There was a fine mist across the lake as it was still morning. While everybody was talking to each other, and Michael was digging up something in the sand I saw this woman…out in the middle of the lake on a flat boat. The flat boat was moving slowly caught in the weird currents this lake has. This woman looked like she was waving to me…she was so far away but I could see this…so I waved back. My mom asked who I’m waving to and I pointed and said, ‘the lady out there on a flat boat’. My mom looked and said there was nobody out on a boat in the lake. I let go of my dad’s hand and walked closer to the shoreline, the morning mist was still a little hazy. I said ‘Look’! Everybody stopped talking and Michael stopped digging. They all looked out to where I was pointing to, and they all said there was nothing out there.” “Then I saw her jumping up and down trying to get my attention. The mist was clearing, and I saw her pointing to me, then point to her boat then she made a swinging motion with her arms, while shaking her head side to side…like…don’t go out there! Or that it wasn’t safe! It scared me, it seemed like it was a warning. I ran back into my dad’s arms and kept my back to the lake. Two…maybe three minutes passed…I looked back and she was gone. Two days later my brother drowned.”, said Amanda. “Dunno what it means….but I still dream it.”, she finished. “Whoa, that’s freaky man!”, said Ben. “You never told me about this or your dreams babe’, said Rick. “I know…I thought you’d think I’m crazy. But now that we’re actually at the lake and I’m wicked buzzed..so..I figured I’d share.” “Okaaayyyy…I think we all need a good night’s rest!”, stated Maureen. The two couples went to their rooms to retire for the night. Lake house dreams did not accompany Amanda’s slumber. After breakfast the next day, Rick and Amanda took the Cutlass down to Abner’s Market to pick up a few items for the raft party. The Maine morning sun broke through the tall pine trees speckling the land with beams of gold light that spotted and flashed across their faces while driving the convertible through the rural roads of Albion. The heavy scent of fresh pine overwhelmed them. The air was crisp, and the temperature was already in the 70s. When they got back, Ben and Maureen had already loaded the rowboat with a cooler of beer, the transistor radio, a bottle of Jack, binoculars that they found in the cottage, beach towels and a baggie of rolled joints. Rick and Amanda brought the groceries into the kitchen and began making sandwiches for their raft outing. They included a large bag of Wise potato chips along with Orange Crush soda to go along with sandwiches. Rick, Ben and Maureen changed into their swimsuits while Amanda, the boat rower, kept her jean shorts and yellow halter top on. Amanda boarded the boat tied to the dock, shifting her weight side to side as the boat stabilized her weight distribution. Rick untied the line and gave the rowboat a solid heave ho. Amanda struggled with the synchronizing of her oar strokes at first, with the boat moving in semi-circles. The other three dove into the seventy-seven-degree lake water from the dock. They quickly caught up to Amanda and passed her. Rick stayed with the boat and offered Amanda some nautical guidance and flirty conversation as they moved closer to the moored raft some fifty yards out from the shore. Maureen and Ben had already climbed up the ladder and were sitting on the warm decking of the raft by the time the rowboat reached the raft. “It’s about time…Mo and I are thirsty!”, yelled out Ben. Rick let go of the rowboat and climbed up the ladder and onto the deck of the raft. Amanda tossed him the boat rope and he tied it off to one of the ladder poles. Amanda, sitting in the rocking boat, looked around and felt a sense of uneasiness. The lake was quiet for a weekend in the summer. She did hear voices, a dog bark and the sound of a motorboat echoing somewhere off in the distance. Rick bent down and extended his hand to help her up. She hesitated, her throat was dry, goose bumps ravaged her skin. A light coating of sweat clung to her forehead. Her fingers trembled ever so slightly. She shook off the nerves and grabbed Rick’s hand and hoisted herself up on top of the raft. Cans of ice-cold Miller beer were tossed around to everyone. Maureen extended the antenna on her transistor radio and picked up the same station they had listened to the night before. Kasey Kasem was mid-way through America’s Top 40; Tell Me Something Good by Rufus had just ended as the #19th most popular song that week, August 3rd, 1974. Kasey described the next artist as the boys unraveled their wrapped Oscar-Mayer meat and cheese sandwiches and began to immediately chow down. Rock the Boat by the group The Hues Corporation was the next song in line. Everybody looked at each other and recognized the irony of the song and began laughing and singing it in unison. “Rock the boat. Don’t rock the boat baby. Rock the boat. Don’t tip the boat over!” Once lunch was over and the group was on their second beer, Ben proceeded to fire up a joint and passed it around. Ben twisted the cap on his bottle of Jack and took a sip. His face reacted comically to the strong kick of the whiskey. He offered the bottle to the girls who refused. He handed it to Rick who took a “fake” big swig of the whiskey, feigned the burning impact of the whiskey, licked his moustache and gave the bottle back to Ben. Afternoon Delight came on the radio making both Ben and Rick smirk with the “hopeful” and suggestive afternoon quickie lyrics to the song. Soon they laid out their beach blankets and soaked up the hot August sun. American Top 40 was interrupted with the breaking news that President Nixon would resign effectively immediately. “That’s some fucked up shit, man!, said Ben finishing off his sentence with a burp. “I didn’t vote for him! I always knew he was a crook!”, added Maureen. “Oh great, so now Ford is our president? Perfect!”, sarcastically exclaimed Amanda. “I think Ford will do alright! His priority should be to get us out of the Vietnam war!”. said Rick. Two hours later the group of four continued lazing on the raft listening to the Doobie Brothers. The tied rowboat served now as a garbage receptacle for their fifteen empty beer cans. With everyone laying down with their eyes closed, they noticed the sun became a little dimmer as if God pulled down a translucent window shade. The Doobie Brothers song started crackling with static. Amanda opened her eyes and saw a semi-dark swirling mist above her. She sat up and looked around. The beginning remnants of a cooling fog was rolling over them. The air temperature dropped ten degrees. A groggy Ben woke up, looked around and said, “Who shut off the lights, man?” “Why is there lake fog in the afternoon, thought that was a morning thing?”, asked Rick. “Let’s hold tight, it’ll pass.”, said Maureen. “Rick? Rick…I..I don’t like this…this is something bad…I just feel it.”, said a rattled Amanda. The fog bank grew thicker as the shorelines melted away. The two couples could barely see each other. The radio went full static. It seemed the fog was almost palatable…a bitter taste greeted and stuck to their lips and tongue. Five minutes later the fog was reduced to a mist which gradually became a shiny haze as the August sun burned it off. They all looked around and didn’t know where they were; completely disoriented. The radio returned with the 60’s group, The Beach Boys. “THE BOAT!!”, Rick yelled. The other three looked toward the ladder to see that the rowboat was no longer moored to the raft. They all stood up and spun 360 degrees to look for the boat. It was nowhere in sight. The cottage was gone too. They were stranded out in the middle of a very large lake…a lake that no longer resembled Shadow Lake. Rick grabbed the binoculars and searched the shorelines; nothing but trees. There were NO cottages!! Help me Rhonda, Help, Help me Rhonda…, pumped out from the radio. “Where the fuck are we?”, asked a confused Ben. “Where are all the lake houses?” , asked Maureen. “Amanda, is this part of Shadow Lake…did we drift?”, inquired Rick. ….help me Rhonda, Help, Help me Rhonda… “Why is this station playing oldies?”, asked Ben. “We are drifting…look…were floating…moving….the currents…”, said Amanda. “Where is the rowboat?? Why is it fuckin’ gone? I don’t understand!”, yelled Rick. The music of the Beach Boys was interrupted, “Breaking news…rioting in the Watts District of Los Angeles. President Johnson calls for peace and calm”. “Shh…listen……”, said Amanda. “…buildings are burning and at least seven people are dead. Thousands are rioting and looting after a violent arrest of a young black man in Watts. President Johnson is ready to call in the National Guard…” “Why are they replaying something on the radio that happened in…in like ….1965?”, asked Maureen. “Why would that be on the radio now?, asked Ben. The breaking news announcement ended and the DJ, someone named Fast Eddie, continued playing music. He announced the next song; Wooly Bully by Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs. “Did somebody change the station?”, asked Ben. “Fuck the radio, Ben! What are we gonna do? We’re fuckin’ stranded out here!!”, yelled out Amanda. “Mandy, what time do you have?”, asked Rick. “Babe..my watch stopped!”, replied Amanda. Rick looked at Amanda then at the nearest shoreline. “I can swim..I…I can do it….it’s probably 400 yards….I know I can…, said Rick. “No..NO Rick! You’ve been drinking and smoking, no way you can reach the shore!!”, begged Amanda. “Babe, remember I told you I was on the swim team in high school? I still got it! I swear I’m sober now. It’s our only chance…I’ll find somebody…somebody with a boat or at least a telephone….police have rescue boats…They’ll come and tow us in”, replied back Rick. Rick walked to the edge of the floating raft. He started stretching his limbs. “Rick..NO! Let’s wait for a passing boat. Somebody is bound to see us!”, said Maureen. “How did the rowboat get untied? I’m getting a weird vibe here, man”, added Ben. “Rick..stop what you’re doing. Look how far the shoreline is!”, yelled Amanda. Rick ignored their pleas and started rubbing his hands together. He looked at the distant shoreline drew in a deep breath and dove in. He hit the lake water and then swam another ten feet underwater before surfacing twenty feet from the raft. He spun around, waved and yelled, “Whoa…colder than I thought! I’ll send back help!” He spun around facing the shore and started aggressively doing a perfectly synchronized breaststroke, moving in sharp three-foot increments. He suddenly stopped about forty feet away, spun around facing the group on the raft. He looked and sounded different. The three on the raft stepped closer to the edge of the raft. Rick yelled to them, “Okay..wow…hey guys…I feel weird..dunno why. Something is off!” He started swimming back to the raft. After a few strokes back toward the raft, he looked up and his face had changed; he looked a few years younger, his bushy moustache was barely noticeable. Rick’s voice cracked like a teen boy heading into puberty, “Help…I think I need help…I’m losing strength….” His rough adult facial features were slowly morphing to a younger teen version of Rick Hawkins. He spun around looking at the shoreline then spun back facing his friends on the raft. In that moment he lost five years; Rick appeared to be de-aging. He looked like a boy somewhere between seven and ten years of age. He frantically started doing the dog paddle back to the raft. The music on the radio played The Beatles 1965 hit, Ticket to Ride. Amanda, barely recognizing the boy in the water yelled, “Oh my God Rick…Ri…Rick….swim back! Ben, help him!! Maureen saw the transformation of Rick and screamed, “What the fuck is going on!!” Rick’s head went under. Ben dove in and swam to Rick, reaching him in five quick strokes. Ben held him up above the water line as Rick started coughing up lake water. Then Rick, the boy, now age six, started crying. Ben didn’t recognize the child he was trying to save. Ben felt himself getting weaker as he was treading water and holding up Rick. Ben’s head was facing away from the raft but when he turned toward the raft to bring Rick back, the girls saw it immediately. Adult Ben, age twenty-five, was now a teenager. His full and hardened adult face looked smooth and innocent. His once construction-toned arms, one wrapped around his friend Rick and the other paddling, were now slim and devoid of muscle. The girls went silent as they could not mentally process what was unfolding before their eyes. They could only issue encouragement to the boys by waving their arms. The radio went full static then came back clear. Barely audible to the petrified girls, the transistor radio announcer sporadically barked in broken sentences, that President Eisenhower had issued a warning to Communist China about developing nuclear weapons…….the death of Queen Mary…….an updated Brooklyn Dodgers score. Then the radio station began to play the 1953 hit Pretend by Nat King Cole. The spectacle in the water now looked like a ten-year-old trying to save his four-year-old brother. They struggled, they cried, they splashed and spun in circles. One minute of lake time turned into two more years of de-aging. Rick was now a toddler screaming for his mother. Ben was probably six years old now, finding it impossible to tread water and still hold onto his baby brother. Both girls turned around at this time, each crying hysterically, not wanting to watch the inevitable. The last sound they heard were two babies crying in unison. Then it was silent. It was over. They were gone. Amanda and Maureen huddled together in the middle of the drifting raft horrified at the sight they had just witnessed. “Mo, why is this happening? This can’t be real.”, cried Amanda. “We just….we just….n-need to ride this out.. I…I think we’re s-safe staying on the raft. Someone will find us.”, continued a shaken Amanda. Maureen sat in silence, Indian style with her head down. The radio went full static. A new, yellow haze slowly appeared, soon enveloping them and the raft. “Mo?”, called out Amanda. Maureen stood up, almost robotically. She turned right and tilted her head as if listening for something. “Mo..Mo, what’s the matter?”, asked Amanda. “Do you hear that? It’s so beautiful. It’s my grandmother’s voice!”, answered Maureen. “Mo, I hear nothing….please just sit…” “Shhhh….”, hushed Maureen. The creaking of the wooden raft and the sound of lake water splashing up against the raft was all that Amanda heard. Maureen walked closer to the edge of the raft. “Mo…MO!! Come back!”, begged Amanda. “She’s out there. My Grammy….she needs me.”, answered Maureen. Maureen walked off the raft but did not plunge into the cold lake water. She simply strolled above the water as if the yellow mist was gravity-defying. Maureen’s arms stretched out to her sides, her wingspan seemingly supported by invisible, guiding arms. She barely walked three steps before the haze swallowed her up. “Mo!! Mo! MOOOO!!!!!” Don’t leave me!”, screamed out Amanda. Amanda cried out then silently whimpered while lying in the fetal position in the center of the raft. The slapping of water against the plastic raft barrels was the only sound she heard. She slept, maybe two minutes, perhaps two hours….two weeks? Time was irrelevant and unmeasurable out in the misty void of the lake. Amanda woke when the sun started burning through the haze. She felt her skin warm up. The radio, which had been static, popped back to life with the 1956 hit, Don’t be Cruel by Elvis Presley. The raft glided slowly carried by the lake’s erratic currents. Amanda looked up and out toward the shoreline. It looked partially familiar with lake front cottages, docks and white sand beaches. She picked up the binoculars and instantly recognized the landmarks and her neighbor’s lake houses; she was back at Shadow Lake. The raft was no longer out in the middle of the lake, it cruised about one hundred yards off the shore. A lake-effect morning mist still lingered out on the water. Her cottage was coming up next as the raft trolled along at a slow pace running parallel to the shore. Without the use of the binoculars Amanda recognized the white siding and green trim of her cottage. She saw the dock with a rowboat attached and the floating raft was also there. She was confident that it was her cottage. She looked down and saw a group of people standing on her beach looking out. She jumped up and down trying to get their attention. To Amanda it looked like four adults with two children. One child seemed to be sitting down, playing in the sand. The other, a smaller child, appeared to be holding hands with one of the adults. Amanda continued jumping and waving, now adding echoing screams for help. As the raft passed right in front of her cottage, she saw that it was a little girl holding hands with her father. The little girl looked out over the water, apparently seeing Amanda jumping and waving, and offered a small tentative wave back. Amanda saw the parents bend down to ask the girl something. The girl pointed out to Amanda. The girl’s parent’s gaze followed her pointed finger and appeared to search the lake horizon. Amanda furiously continued her comical jumping-jacks on the raft. The parents apparently saw nothing, bending down again, this time shaking their heads. The little girl was still pointing and staring at Amanda. The raft continued coasting past, leaving Amanda just a matter of minutes before it floated past her cottage. The little girl’s right hand left her father’s and walked closer to the shoreline. Amanda grabbed the binoculars and keyed in on the girl by the shore. The image was blurry and unrecognizable. Something in that blurred image was familiar. Amanda found the dial on the binoculars and slowly drew the focus into crystal clear reality. Her first couple seconds of viewing allowed Amanda to recognize the Mickey Mouse Club shirt with the famous Mouseketeer, Annette Funicello on the front that the little girl was wearing. She knew that shirt…and she recalled the red, white and blue shorts that she once worn for 4th of July. She moved the binoculars up to see the face of this child. It was her! Amanda pulled the binoculars down to her waist, her heart skipped a beat then she drew in a deep breath and brought the binoculars back up. The little girl on the beach was Amanda, age 6. With the use of the binoculars, she found her mother and her father there on the beach. Her mother was sipping from a yellow Tupperware cup. She moved her view and saw her now deceased grandparents looking fit and healthy in their sixties. Amanda finally moved her focal point to the sandy beach below. It was Michael all right; nine years old, alive and well. He was digging in the sand with a plastic shovel. She dropped the binoculars and frantically started pointing to the young Amanda looking out at her from the shore. The raft kept gliding past. Another mist was forming waiting for her in the direction that the raft was traveling. It was just a hundred feet away. The radio, once playing hits from the 50’s, cracked with static. She was running out of time. With young Amanda still watching, Amanda pointed at the girl then emphatically pointed to the raft then swung her arms in front of her trying her best to communicate to the little girl to DO NOT GO ON THE RAFT. She looked like a signalman on the deck of an aircraft carrier as she motioned the hand signals repeatedly. The haze crept closer surrounding Amanda with a drizzly mist which started to cloud Amanda’s vision of the shoreline. It was fading like her dreams. She continued her desperate and animated gymnastics, this time screaming out Michael’s name. “Michael!! MICHAEL!! DO NOT SWIM TO THE RAFT!! As the fog bank eased in around Amanda, just before it obscured all shore visuals, Amanda saw the little girl run into her father’s side and turn her back on Amanda and the raft. Then, five seconds later, her family, the cottage, the original raft, and the dock were all gone forever, lost in the rip currents of time. Amanda curled up in a ball in the middle of the raft exhausted. The radio snapped and popped with white noise. She began crying. She looked up with watery eyes and stared in the direction the current was now taking her. The fog pressed against her skin, it was cold and bitter. She wondered, not just where she was going next but also “when”. Credit: G. H. Appleby Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.