Erik Henry Vick [Vick - The Hag

the hag

the bloodletter collections

ii

Erik Henry Vick

Table of Contents

Title Page

For Jackson W. Barnett, with my thanks, and for the residents of Lake Lida, Minnesota.

It doesn't matter what you pretend, she'll wreck it

It doesn't matter what you defend, she'll wreck it

It doesn't matter how you live your life

Doesn't matter anymore to your wife

Doesn't matter even how you die,

she'll wreck that too

Dave Mustaine

My angel's left me, sorrows are my own

Now I'm here, with the Devil on my own

Just like a churchyard shadow, craving after me

It's only there to terrify my mind,

a black swan keeps haunting me.

Dave Mustaine

I hope you enjoy the hag . If so, please consider joining my Readers Groupdetails can be found at the end of the last chapter.

book one:
wrecker

1986

As the placid surface of Genosgwa Lake began to chop, Greg glanced over his shoulder to judge how far he was from his grandparents dock. He was almost halfway across the lake, and the mild gray sky had turned dark and ugly.

Greg didnt like bad storms, even though the storms in Western New York were nothing compared to the ones in his Florida hometown. He gazed toward the shore opposite his grandparents lake house and tried to guess how far hed have to travel to get there.

A small convenience store stood on that bank. Well, it wasnt right on the shore or anything, but it was a short walk from where the waves lapped at the small beach. It was close enough that in the evenings, he could read the neon sign for the store as if it were next door.

He dithered, trying to decide whether to turn back or risk being caught out in the storm. On the one hand, he was already damp as a result of horsing around in the kayak before he set out, but storms could be freezing on the lake. Regardless of the rain, his grandfather had given him five dollars for candy.

Five whole dollars.

His parents had gone shopping for the afternoon, and they would make him give the five dollars back on their return. No question there, not without serious pleading. Not only would they want him to return the money, but they wouldnt want him to have five dollars worth of candy even if they allowed him to keep the Franklin. Not in one afternoon, not in one week.

He glanced up at the sky, trying to judge whether the ugly, purple-black clouds meant business or not. In Florida, there would have been no question. In Florida, dark clouds indicated a sky-shattering thunderstormusually within the next fifteen minutes. But at the lake, a dark, ugly sky could mean nothing at all.

Again, he glanced over his shoulder at the yellow and white dock his grandfather maintained with precision. Some docks on the lake had faded paint or missing slats, but not his grandpas dock. His dock was pristine, year after year.

Greg twisted back around and looked at the far shore over the bow of his red kayak. He couldnt tell for surehe wasnt good with distancebut he thought he was halfway. He glanced down at the pocket of his bathing suit, where the five-dollar bill lay nestled inside a Ziploc bag.

What do I do? he asked no one.

As if in answer, a cold wind gusted at him from behind, and he shivered. He couldnt remember the last time hed gone swimming in Florida and had gotten cold. It was hard to understand why people would want to have a lake house in a state where you could only swim two-and-a-half months out of the yearand freeze while you did it part of that short timebut there was no figuring out adults.

If he were still in Florida, that same cold wind would mean that the coming thunderstorm would be a bad one. But up on Genosgwa Lake, the same cold wind might mean nothing at all.

The five-dollar bill seemed heavy, hot.

Its now or never, kiddo. If you dont go, your daddy will make you give it back, and if you have to give it back, no candy.

Yeah, butthose clouds look like they mean business, he muttered. The kids back home would make fun of him for talking to himself, but it was just something he did. His mom called the voice his invisible friend. Greg didnt know about that, he seemed realeven if Greg hadnt ever learned his name.

Do you want the candy or not?

Of course I want the candy! Dont be an idiot.

Do it, Greg. Do it, do it, do it.

But what about the storm?

Good grief, kid. Im telling you if you dont go now, no candy. Ill ask you once more: do you want the candy or not?

His imaginary friend seemeddifferent somehow since theyd arrived in New York. A little less understanding, a little more insistent. A little meaner. Why is that? he wondered.

He shifted his position and dipped the paddle into the water but withdrew it without taking a stroke. I dont even know what types of candy they have. That sounded whiny, even to his own ears.

Come on, Greggy. Get it together. If you want candy, put that paddle in the water and get moving. Even if the storm comes, youre halfway there already. How wet could you get?

But it will be cold.

Candy. Candy. Candy, candy, candy.

Yeah, yeah. Candy.

Look, boyo, if you turn back now, you will lose that five-dollar bill. You know it, I know it. Your mom and dad will never let you buy five dollars worth of candy, even if they let you keep the billwhich they wont. Your dad will say five dollars is too much for a boy of eleven and make you give it back to your grandpa.

I know. Trust me, I know that all too well. Greg scratched his ear. He didnt like his friends new habit of calling him things such as boyo or sport either.

So what are you waiting for? Why are you sitting here talking to me?

With a shrug, Greg dug at the water with the kayaks paddle. He dug hard, making long strokes through the water, leaning back as he pulled. The kayak skimmed across the surface of the water like a sleek torpedo running at the surface.

He made it a game, pretending he was racing in the Olympics, and he was out front in the gold-medal race. Greg could almost hear the crowd cheering.

He kept his eyes on the far shore, which grew nearer and nearer with each pull of his arms. He wasnt looking at the convenience store, he was looking at the line where the shore turned into someones lawn. That was his finish line.

The only problem was, Greg was a horrible judge of distance, and when the rain fell, he had just reached the actual center of the lake. Fat, cold raindrops slapped and splattered all over his body and made the temperature out on the lake feel colder in an instant.

Greg stopped paddling and peered over his shoulder at his grandparents lake house. The yellow and white building stood out as if bathed with Batmans spotlightas if it were the only safe place left in the world. Despite not paddling, the kayak continued to glide through the choppy water, carrying him farther and farther away from warmth and his grandmothers cookies. Cookies arent candy, but theyre almost as good.

Greg glanced in the direction he was traveling, sure he must be almost there, but he wasnt. It appeared each shore was the same distance away, and the rain seemed colder, wetter.

Great idea, he muttered. Try to race the storm to get candy. Well, tell me something, smarty-pants. How much candy can I enjoy if Im at the bottom of this lake?

Aw, is little Greggy scared? Does the storm terrify you?

Shut up! Why do I ever listen to you? You think youre so smart, but youre not. Youre dumb.