Beware Moose Estates

Before my best friend’s wedding, we rented a cabin in South Carolina from a company called Moose Estates. We stayed there a full week with four of our closest buddies who were the rest of the groomsmen. The cabin was situated near Redwood Lake, and a river named Cripple Creek fed into the lake about a half mile from the property. It really was a peaceful place. I remember lying in bed and being able to hear the river babbling along if I listened close enough. There was an eerie calmness that appeared at nightfall, something that you’d never find in the city. It’s probably because there were no other log cabins around for miles. I mean, you could stand on the pier and see them across the lake, but I don’t remember ever seeing anyone else. There were boats docked along the piers, bobbing up and down, yet there was nobody pontooning or skiing like I had expected. Maybe, there were rules against that. If our neighbors heard us being rowdy, they never complained, but for all I know, it could have been just us.

We would sleep all day and go to the Indian casino and clubs in the evening. On the first night, I was the designated driver. I really didn’t mind. I was dedicating this trip to my best friend anyway. I would be the designated driver every night if it meant making him happy. It’s not like I didn’t have fun. I gambled like the rest of them, and I even got to wake up the next morning without a splitting hangover. Either way, it was disorienting to be up bright and early while the rest of my buddies were battling their terrible decision-making.

I made myself some breakfast and had expected for someone to be awake by then, but I could still hear the snores coming through the thin walls. That’s when I decided to explore the cabin a little more. The cabin had two floors with the second floor housing most of the bedrooms. I remained downstairs though; the creaking floorboards were God awful. So, I was left with the first floor to explore. I wasn’t really sure what I expected. Cleaning crews went through these cabins every time the tenants changed, so I really only found basic supplies such as silverware, pots, pans, and soap.

I had just closed the door to a supply closet when I saw the small cabinet tucked behind the dining room table. I crouched down and pulled at the handles which refused to budge. I thought that the cabinet was for decoration at first, but I felt the right door shift forward. I held the black handle tighter and forced it open. I smiled lightly when I was rewarded with a stack of dusty, vintage board games. Man, these games were old! The games were Easy Money, Chutes and Ladders, Battleship, Shenanigans, Super Punch which was some archaic comic game, and Monopoly. It was the kind of stuff that you’d find in my grandparents’ basement. What I found beneath the games interested me the most, and to some degree, I wished that I had never found it.

I removed a large, spiral-bound book that had not aged well at all. The cover must have been a bright yellow at first, but it had dulled considerably. The book was titled “Air Pilot Gene’s Guide to Crafting Paper Airplanes.” Air Pilot Gene was sitting in the middle of the cover, riding an oversized paper airplane with his red scarf billowing in the wind behind him. I stared at the thumbs up that Air Pilot Gene was giving me before sitting the book on the kitchen table. I shoved the rest of the games back inside the cabinet and took a seat to study the book further. The book was extremely brittle, and almost all of the pages were tattered from overuse. As soon as I opened it, a powerful musty stench hit me from layers of dust and abandonment. It reminded me of how houses smell when nobody has lived in them for years. A dedication message was written in cursive on the inside cover.

To Roony:
Adventure is not outside man; it is within. Never let your adventure die.

Just below this dedication was a scribbled note.

Property of ROONY (the name was in all caps)
Stay away! That means you Erik!

The note got a faint giggle out of me. I skipped over the next page or so since they were advertisements for the companion book, “Sailor Gene’s Guide to Crafting Paper Sailboats.” I skipped the introduction too and stopped on the first page that offered a design of a paper airplane. The left page displayed the design and provided fun facts about it while the right page gave the instructions on how to make it. I had time to kill, so I snatched the closest piece of paper which happened to be my old shopping list for booze and started glancing over the instructions.

The design that I chose was called The Stable. Below the diagram, it stated that this plane had a lot of stability and could fly large distances, yet it had a tendency to flip upsidedown if constructed incorrectly. I made paper airplanes like this one back in grade school, so it wasn’t very hard for me. I won’t describe the instructions; they are really not that important. Needless to say, it was really just your typical paper airplane with a pointed tip and two wings folded outward.

My buddies were still not awake, so I stepped outside and crossed over to the wooden pier behind the cabin. I remember being pretty nervous since I was worried about the wood being rotted. With every creak, I thought that I might plummet through. I mean, it would be no big deal since the water was so shallow along the edge, but the water just seemed so nasty. It was really murky as it became deeper, and I saw a lot of algae and grasses growing near the shallow end. It was probably super muddy and slimy too. Either way, when I reached the end of the pier, I stared out over the water at this small island near the center of the lake. It was really kind of bizarre given the size of the lake. The island was heavily forested with redwood trees and seemed a bit rocky. All I could think about is how it would be a crazy place to explore. We actually had a three kayaks and one large canoe on standby. The swimming distance alone didn’t seem too bad either.

Clenching the paper airplane tighter, I threw it and watched it soar over the water. Without warning, I heard one of my buddies calling for me from the deck, and it scared the living hell out of me. Like I said, the entire area was unnaturally silent, and my heart probably jumped into my throat from surprise. When I turned back, I had no idea where the paper airplane went. It probably nosedived into the water or something.

That night, I was the designated driver again. I’m not lame. I just didn’t trust my buddies driving on the curvy road into town. Somebody had to be the bigger person in the situation. It was kind of fun to be the sober one. I got to watch my buddies act like idiots, and I remember every second of it.

I woke up early the next morning, and to no surprise, my buddies were still fast asleep. I passed on my breakfast and decided to wait until everyone woke up too. We ate large breakfasts, and there was no since in making an entire spread for myself. I went on a morning jog and experienced the nature a bit. I actually saw a family of deer, a mama deer and her two fawns. This was the first time that I had seen deer in person, so it was a big deal to me. Upon my return, that’s when I noticed something weird with the mailbox. The mailbox’s burgundy flag was tilted upward, and there was a piece of paper caught between the flag and the metal box. It was a paper airplane, the same paper airplane that I had tossed over the lake.

I was confused to say the least. How the hell did it end up here? I never saw where it landed, but there’s no way that it could have changed direction and blown over the cabin. It hadn’t even been that windy yesterday, so I was shocked that it flew at all. I began pushing those thoughts away as I entered the cabin. I began to crumple up the airplane when I saw writing all over the wings. Unfolding the paper, there was a frenzy of scribbles, all changing directions and crashing into one another, repeating one word over and over: thief. One of my buddies must have done this. I did leave the guide out on the kitchen table. Even if they were shit-faced drunk, they must have been messing with me. Yeah, that’s it.

I threw the airplane away. What made me uneasy is that none of my buddies ever mentioned the prank. They gave no indication if they had been plotting this since yesterday or anything really. I felt like asking them about it, yet the whole thing was just so ridiculous.

For the rest of the day, we just relaxed. We didn’t plan on going anywhere. Everyone had been in favor after drinking so much and staying up half the night two days in a row. It became a little dull nearing the evening, so I broke out “Air Pilot Gene’s Guide to Crafting Paper Airplanes” again and grabbed myself a beer. Nobody paid me any mind. My buddies were too busy researching the neighboring clubs and taking shots while doing so. Before I got roped into their antics, I constructed another plane called The Cross Wing which seemed to be Roony’s favorite; I knew because it was scribbled in the margins. This plane was much smaller than the other one and was built for speed. Its design was more complex and had four wings instead of two. From my understanding, the more complex planes flew better. I had just finished making it when I got pulled away to do shots.

This is when things got a little weird. The next morning, I woke up on the roof of the cabin. I just remember feeling really cold, and I felt something jutting into the small of my back. I blinked my eyes open and came extremely close to rolling over the edge. I cannot explain how I got up there. I don’t know if I was extremely drunk and climbed up there myself or if my buddies put me there. I don’t know. The only way down without jumping off was to shimmy down a drainage pipe which nearly came loose. I stood at the bottom of the pipe for a full half hour before trying to get back inside. Both the front door and back door were locked tight. I was terrified, but at the same time, I was extremely pissed off at my buddies for doing this to me. That’s the only thing that made sense, aside from the fact that there was no visible way onto the roof. There was no window access. There were no ladders. I checked. Also when we shared breakfast, nobody said a damn thing about it. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to sound completely nuts.

I had some alone time the rest of the day. I didn’t want to be around everyone else if they couldn’t take this prank seriously. I could have fallen off the roof and broken my neck or something. I sat on the edge of the pier with my legs dangling over the edge. The paper airplane that I made from the night before rested in my lap. I bet my buddies were talking about me and making fun of me for messing with the book at all. This would be the last paper airplane that I would make. I raised The Cross Wing and threw it over the water. I was watching to see where it landed, but I never found out. I must have blinked because one moment it was there, and the next moment, it was gone.

All I can say is don’t get drunk. Please drink responsibly and surround yourselves with people you can trust. When we returned from clubbing that night, I was winding down with a beer in my hand when we heard a massive splash. We went to go investigate, and we saw a figure surfacing out of the water. When one of my buddy’s turned the deck lights on, we saw my best friend just walking away from the pier and sinking deeper by the second. He was obviously drunk, and we called out to him, trying our best to get his attention. It’s like he didn’t hear us, or he was ignoring us. He just kept walking with his back completely rigid, not even bothering to stay above the water. Three of my buddies had to chase after him and leap into the lake to save him. We were really afraid that he might drown. When he snapped out of it, he was really confused and had no idea what we were talking about.

After that, I suggested that we slow down on the alcohol and clubbing. We clearly were not being very safe about it. I slept in the next morning and was pleasantly surprised to see a note left for me on the fridge. About half of my buddies went hiking on one of the nature trails and would bring food upon their return. I was left behind with my best friend who was sleeping off last night. Shortly after I went to take out the trash, that’s when I found it – the paper airplane. It was sitting on the welcome mat this time.

I dropped the garbage bag and ripped open the plane, smoothing out the wings. The entire plane was covered in words this time, some bigger than others, with jagged edges and written in a frenzied script. It said: burn. I brought the paper inside to examine it better, and I was terrified. This was the same damn airplane. I started to consider my buddies again; maybe that’s why they all went hiking without me, like this was never-ending prank. At the same time, how on Earth would they have gotten the plane? It must have landed in the water! I would have seen it if it had changed course! I felt extremely uneasy about this. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

This is when I discovered something deeply disturbing. I had seen this writing before. It was Roony’s handwriting. There was no mistaking it.

That’s when I dropped everything and went to find answers. I grabbed “Air Pilot Gene’s Guide to Crafting Paper Airplanes” to use the paper inside and deployed the large canoe into the shallow end of the lake. I laid the paddle across the middle seat and shakily climbed inside with the guide tucked under my left arm. I placed the guide at the bottom of the canoe and cast off, using the paddle to push against the shallows, and eventually, the canoe quit scraping against the bottom of the lake. I had my phone with me, so any of my buddies could call me if they were concerned. I was determined to get answers though; I needed to know where these paper airplanes would have landed. I paddled toward the middle of the lake, halfway between the pier and the weird island, and I stopped. I put the paddle down and was about to tear a page out of the book when I felt a thunk on the bottom of the canoe. I honestly thought that a fish had brushed against the bottom, so I didn’t pay it much mind. That was until the thunk returned but a little more insistent. It was fine. It probably was just a school of fish. I paddled myself a few feet away and reoriented myself. This time though, the thunk was so hard that it wobbled the canoe a little. That’s when I began to panic. I could only envision entering the territory of a massive snapping turtle or even an alligator! Once the thought crossed my mind, that was it for me. I threw the book down and began paddling like hell toward the island since it was closer. I wasn’t staying out on this lake another second. I yelled in horror as the thunking followed me, and at one point, I swear that I hit something very solid beside the boat. I stabbed downward with the paddle, trying to bash whatever was there, and I nearly careened into the island. I don’t know why I threw the damn guide ahead of me; I wasn’t thinking straight. But, I had never jumped so high in my life to get out of that canoe.

I stood on the shore with a horrified expression, clutching the book to my chest and staring intently at the shoreline. Whatever it was, it seemed to have disappeared, yet I was uncertain. Slowly, I inched forward and grabbed the rope attached to the front of the canoe and pulled it onto the land. I would bide my time. I would drag the canoe to the opposite side of the island if I had to, so I could leave in the opposite direction. Hell, I just hoped to God that alligators weren’t crawling all over this place. I left the canoe behind and pushed through the treeline. By the time I approached a wide clearing, I stopped and removed a lighter, lighting a cigarette to calm myself down. I was trying to quit. I really was, but there was nothing like being chased across a lake in a patchy canoe to freak you the hell out. I tossed the cigarette aside when I had finished and exhaled one last smoky breath.

I remember studying my surroundings and enjoying the relative silence before the stench really hit. Something was dead. There was a very odd rock formation to my right, and the stench was coming from over there. I cautiously approached the area and gagged at the sight. The bones had been picked clean some time ago, but it didn’t help the flies and maggots roiling around the remains. The clothing was ragged and filthy, and what should have been the limbs were splayed in all different directions. What hurt me the most was that the bones were small. It was the body of a child.

Before I could really process what I was seeing, everything became eerily dark. All noises stopped, and when I think back on that moment, I thought that I had gone momentarily deaf. That’s when the disjointed whispering began. I turned around to see a creature surrounded by thick, impenetrable fog. The figure’s neck was stuck at 180 degrees, and the jaw was dislocated. Its arms were stretched past its waist and hung uselessly by its sides. The right leg was twisted all the way around while the other leg had bone protruding out of its thigh. It was just…shuffling towards me. It was not fast by any means. It was broken. The speech was garbled, and somehow, I understood it.

I backed up against the rock and shakily removed my lighter. I held the guide book in front of me and screamed in panic until the pages caught flame. I threw “Air Pilot Gene’s Guide to Crafting Paper Airplanes” in front of me and watched the damn thing burst into dark blue flames. I slid down the rock face and could only watch as the shambling figure stopped before the fire, and then, it disappeared. I wanted to think that I was hallucinating because when I glanced around, the dead body was gone. I was left to watch the smoldering remains and ashes of the book. It was around sunset when I finally forced myself to stand and return to the canoe. By this point, I had completely forgotten about my previous incident on the lake. I just felt detached and cold with fear. Now that I think back on it, I probably had gone into shock.

However when I pulled the canoe back onto the shore, I clambered onto the pier and saw a figure in the middle of the lake. I blinked several times, thinking it might go away, but it was still there. It was standing on the water.

I don’t want to go into detail about how I almost got ushered to the hospital. I was a mess, and apparently, my buddies had been calling me for hours. The only thing is, this figure did not go away. It gradually came closer. Overnight, it had covered twice the distance, and I could see its features more clearly.

To explain what I experienced, I did a little research, and it makes me sick what I found. Before Moose Estates bought the area around Redwood Lake, it used to be a little villa where families would go summer in the 40’s-60’s. There was a family who used to live in our cabin. There was two boys, Ronald Myers and Erik Myers. One day, Ronald disappeared without a trace, and I think I found his corpse. I can only assume what happened. The body had been at the base of a cliff, so I think he must have jumped. The only problem is that I don’t understand how he could have climbed to the top because the rocks were completely smooth. As for his brother, Erik, oh man, I don’t know how to explain this. A few days after Ronald disappeared, Erik just began walking into the lake, and he never came back out. His cause of death was ruled as a drowning, and the body was never recovered. And, Erik is still here. He’s just standing out on the lake, gradually getting closer and closer.

None of my buddies can see him. I raced outside once because one of my buddies had walked out onto the pier, and Erik was standing on the water about ten feet away. This was the first time that I had gotten a good look at him. His skin was tinged blue, especially his lips and fingers. Death had sapped all the color and warmth from his features. His gaze was like that of a fish, no emotion whatsoever. Chunks of his flesh were missing, especially on his left cheek where something must have nibbled it away. He never said anything. He just stared and inched closer while your back was turned.

My main point is that, this is not my problem anymore. I left that place weeks ago. Do not go near Moose Estates. I tore that cabin apart, but I never found Erik’s book.