The Brittingham Boathouse (Revision)

                          The Brittingham Boathouse




    For over three generations Brandon Groeschel’s family have owned a cottage which is nestled in the village of Brittingham, Wisconsin on the eastern shore of Lake Winnebago.  After the death of his grandmother several months before, Brandon’s mother and aunt inherited the family cottage.  However, neither one of them wanted anything to do with the property and began plans for selling it off.  Brandon did not understand why they would let it go.  Certainly it needed some updating, but the tax burden was not that great.  So, he suspected they simply did not want the bother of maintaining the cottage.  Motivated to keep the cottage in the family, Brandon informed his mother and aunt that he would buy the cottage if they insisted on selling it.  They were glad to hear he wanted the aging structure and eagerly signed it over to him.  Over the past couple of months Brandon went about his labor of love for the family cottage, spending long weekends meticulously updating the building.  A deep sense of satisfaction drew a smile from him now as he and his wife, Lisa, were spending a two week vacation there, readying the cottage to host the family’s Christmas celebration.
    Brandon knew his Grandmother relished having the entire family together for Christmas dinner and gift opening under a warmly lit tree.  This tradition which was carried on for generations had been interrupted over the past decade as more and more of his family moved from rural Wisconsin to cities like Milwaukee, Madison and Chicago and were not always able to reunite at Christmas time.  This absence of family gathering at Christmas time left a fathomless void within Brandon.  Both his guilt for not having been able to attend his grandmother's last Christmas and his love for his grandmother ultimately drove him to take responsibility of reuniting the family for Christmas.   
    Brandon had been coming to the cottage ever since he could remember.  The memories of playful, happy vacations there were plentiful.  However, as with any childhood, not all of the memories were happy.  Brandon shuddered at a memory of the winter of 1986.  He was ten years old then.  And after a morning of ice fishing with his uncle, Brandon was walking back to the cottage and fell through a hole in the ice.  He was lucky to catch himself on the ice at his armpits and fueled by an instinctive, absolute terror, managed to find the strength to pull himself out.  Frightening as that had been, the following summer provided another horror for him when he and the neighbor girl were going to go for a swim and discovered a dead man washed up on shore.  The green tinged, waterlogged body reeked like rotten fish.  The whole thing frightened him so that he never went in the lake again.  In fact, to this day he suffers a particular anxiety even when getting in a tub or pool.  Still, despite this fear, he was always glad to come to the cottage and be by the lake.     
    Brandon looked out the front window at the cold, gray afternoon sky and watched thin wisps of snow being blown over miles of ice covering the expansive lake.  He shivered knowing that the Alberta Clipper had arrived.  This storm was expected to bring a blast of arctic air and another six inches of snow.  After stoking the fire he sat on the couch and began thumbing through an old, worn leather hardcover titled “The Lighthouses of Lake Winnebago” which he found boxed in storage next to the Christmas decorations.  A musty aroma rose from its mildewed pages as he tentatively flipped through.  He skimmed through the foreword and skipped around a bit.  The kettle in the kitchen began its screeching whistle the moment he found the chapter on the Brittingham Boathouse Light.
    Lisa returned to the living room with two mugs of steaming Tom and Jerries.  She handed one to Brandon as she sat next to him and pulled her feet up under her.  Lisa took a sip of the spiced egg white and brandy tea and leaned over Brandon’s shoulder to better view the text.
    “What’s does it say?” she asked softly
    “Well, it says the light house was built in 1903 by a man named Oscar Lex….”  He fell silent as he continued to skim through the paragraphs.  “Ah, here we go.  The light for the Brittingham boathouse was originally taken from the ruins of the Peshtigo Island lighthouse in Green Bay, which tragically burned down in December of 1853, killing the caretakers Robert and Suzanne Schumacher and their daughter Katrina.  The light keeper and his wife were discovered horribly burned in the ruins of the living quarters but their daughter’s body was inexplicably found in the lighthouse next to the lantern and otherwise appeared unharmed.  The lighthouse on Peshtigo Island was never rebuilt as it was determined that a light farther south marking the Peshtigo reef was of greater importance….”  He fell silent again and continued to skim.  “Though the light had gone out during the fire, it was later discovered the mechanical aspects of the light were in proper working order.  Still, for reasons which are historically unclear, the light remained on the island and was not used again for another fifty years when Oscar Lex petitioned the Great Lakes Maritime Counsel for permission to purchase the light and transfer it to a lighthouse on Lake Winnebago.  After lengthy debate, a purchase price was agreed upon and Oscar Lex was granted permission to move the light.  The building of the lighthouse was completed in 1903 and it became the first private light to shine over Lake Winnebago….”
    As he flipped to the next page a photo slid out and fluttered to the floor.  Brandon picked it up and curiously studied the wrinkled and torn black and white photo.  A large, plump man wearing a black and white suit and a bowler stood between two young ladies wearing their ankle length bathing suits.  The Brittingham boathouse constituted the background.  Brandon turned the photo over to find hand written names of Mildred Schilling, Oscar Lex and Rose Schumacher dated July 1914.
    “Who is it?”  Lisa inquired after Brandon had been silent for too long.
    “It’s my grandmother with Millie Schilling and, apparently, the owner of the lighthouse.”
    “Wow!  They’re really young there,” Lisa said as if surprised that the ladies were not always grandmothers.  “And this is ‘Crazy Millie’ up the road here?” She pointed her out in the picture.
    “Yeah,” Brandon grinned.
    Millie was an odd old lady, thin and frail, with a slightly hunched back and a cloudy right eye.  She always made grand gestures and spoke in dramatic tone.  She seemed aloof and distant and would often times just stare off into space. Millie seemed to have been at the lake ever since it was formed as the glaciers receded at the end of the ice age.  As a child, Brandon’s grandmother always warned him to never upset Millie and always encouraged him to leave the spinster alone.  This inspired Brandon and the other children to tell one another stories of Millie practicing witchcraft and voodoo.  And on playful nights they would dare one another to run into Millie’s yard.  Brandon grinned at the memories of childish romance and wonders of dares and pranks. 
    “You should have heard what she was telling me and Johnny earlier today when we were snaking her drain.”  Brandon took a sip of his drink, blowing hot, thick fog out of the mug.
    Lisa grinned in quiet anticipation.
    “You know how she says the lighthouse is haunted, right?”
    Lisa nodded and sipped her drink.
    “Well, when we got there she was at her desk pouring over some old books and a handmade calendar.  Johnny asked her what she was doing and she started telling us about this ‘Metonic cycle’ that repeats every nineteen years.  And tonight is the full moon marking the end of the cycle.”  Brandon paused for his drink and grinned widely before continuing in imitation of the old lady’s dramatic tone.  “On this night of the full moon, for several minutes the stars will align signaling the time for dark spirits called ‘shadow people’ to gather.  These shadow people then prey upon the lost souls who did not enter the light when they passed.  These lost souls who still roam the earth are in great peril as the shadow people try to lure them into places where they can feed upon the helpless lost souls.”  He snapped his head to Lisa and pointed.  “So beware my pretty!”  He concluded with cackled laughter.
    “Oh, dear,” Lisa chuckled.  “Is she demented or something?  Maybe it’s time for the home.”
    “Ah, she could be, but I think she just believes in this stuff.”
    “I can just picture the expression on Johnny’s face,” Lisa’s voice was strained with laughter.
    “I can’t believe he didn’t have some smart-ass comeback for her.  He just stood there making faces while trying not to laugh out loud.”
    “Oh, yeah, I’m sure he was the model of restraint,” Lisa jabbed as she got off the couch and started back into the kitchen.  “Come and help me get dinner ready,” she added over her shoulder and disappeared around the corner. 
    Brandon sighed and took another sip of his drink, marked his place with the picture and gently set the book on the end table before following her.

                             ***

    Brandon placed the last of the dishes in the rack to dry.  After toweling his hands dry he took his glass of wine and joined Lisa in the living room.  She was stretched out on the couch reading a magazine under the lamp.  Christmas carols played softly on the stereo.  Brandon looked out the window into the darkness, but could not see anything except his reflection.  He could still hear the wind whipping ferociously and wondered if it was still snowing.  He looked over at the fireplace and was certain they had enough wood to last them through the evening.  Suddenly he saw the lights on the Christmas tree flicker and then the power went out in the cottage.
    “What happened?” Lisa asked in the warm orange hue of the fire.
Brandon stood silent for a moment in the eerie glow of the fire as the wind rattled the windows with a dull moan.  “I don’t know,” Brandon finally replied.  “Maybe we blew a fuse.”
    He found a flashlight under the kitchen sink and went back to the closet that housed the electric panel.  Upon inspection, a surge of disappointment washed through him as he found all of the breakers in order.
    Brandon returned to the living room to Lisa lighting candles. 
    “I think we lost a power line,” he informed her as he picked up the phone.  There was no dial tone.  “We’ve lost the phone too.”
    Lisa picked up her cell phone from where it had been charging on the end table and walked it over to Brandon.  In candlelight he found the number for the power company in the phone book and dialed.
    “It’s just a busy tone,” he informed Lisa.
    “Do you think all of their lines are busy?”
    “Busy or out.”
    A muffled knock thumped at the back door.
    An inquisitive look wrinkled Brandon’s brow as he carried the flashlight and cell phone to see who it was.  A rush of cold are burst in from the dark outdoors into his cottage sending flakes of snow swirling through the air.  A dark figure pushed past Brandon into the shelter of the dark entrance.
    “Christ its cold!”
    Brandon recognized John’s voice.
    “What are you doing here?” Brandon asked.
    “The village has lost power,” John said as he pulled his fur-lined hood back.  “The light at the boathouse has gone out.  We need to go get it back on.”
    “Whoa! Wait a minute,” Brandon protested.  “Isn’t that something the fishing club members or the sheriff should be concerned with?”
    “Normally, yes,” John admitted.
    “Well, we can call the sheriff.”  Brandon held up the cell phone.
    “The problem with that,” John replied, “is that they only have land lines.  There’s no cell phone number for us to reach them at. And we need to get the light on in case someone got stuck out on the lake.”
    Brandon shuddered at the thought of being caught out on the lake in a storm like this.  He knew it happens.  He hears the stories year after year.  Every winter at least one person vanishes from the lake.  Every summer someone is lost and the lake is dredged in vain.  Only half the bodies are ever found.  Brandon could not stand the thought of someone being stranded on the lake, lost in swirling snow, falling victim to hypothermia. His painful personal experience of having fallen through the ice compelled him to help.  Brandon understood the light was a beacon of safety that must be maintained.
    “Alright, just give me a second,” Brandon responded with serious understanding.
John shook the melting snow off his fur-lined hood and shoulders as he waited.  He shivered as the wind whistled softly through the door jamb.  Brandon returned in the dark and stepped into his boots. 
    “I just wanted to let Lisa know where we were gonna be,” Brandon stated matter-of-factly as he donned his parka and wool cap.  “Okay, ready,” he said as he flipped on his flashlight with mitten covered hands. 
    “Don’t worry,” Johnny reassured him, “we won’t be long.”
    Brandon squinted as they stepped outside to keep the whipping snow from his eyes.  He could feel the hair in his nose turn frosty every time he took a breath and his chest tightened under the weight of the cold air.  They blazed across virgin snow leaving tracks that were covered nearly as soon as they were left.
    Even without light and in the storm Brandon could make out the tall, cylindrical silhouette that stood on a sharp crest looking over the lake.  He kept expecting the flash once every six seconds as he had always known it to, but it never did.  As he and Johnny approached the fishing club Brandon could hear the muffled hum of an engine churning in the snow blustered wind.  Brandon followed Johnny to the source of the sound which was an emergency generator stationed outside the stone cylinder which held the light.
    “The generator is working,” Johnny yelled over the racket of the generator and wind.  “We need to get inside to check the breaker box.”
    “How will we get in?” Brandon asked.  “We can’t break and enter.”
    Johnny smiled and led Brandon to the back door.    He grinned and winked at Brandon before reaching down with a gloved hand to brush the snow from the mat, revealing its edges.  Then Johnny lifted the edge to reveal a key which he used to unlock the back door of the fishing club.  The forbidding dark of an unfamiliar place was actually of little comfort to Brandon compared to the snow and the wind outside.  Johnny pulled a small light from his coat pocket.  The howling wind echoed through the pitch dark room as Brandon shut the door tight behind him. 
Johnny panned the circular light around the room revealing a large open living room with a large bay window overlooking the lake.  The air was cool and stale and carried the aroma of a sweet and sour must which emanated from the old couches and chairs positioned around the room.  The dark silence was broken only by the shallow breaths of the two men and the moaning wind at the window.  Continuing their survey they found the living room separated from the kitchen by a counter which could be used as a breakfast bar. 
    Brandon found the light switch along the wall and flipped it, but nothing happened.  He stepped cautiously into the living room slowly swinging his light along the wall until he found a short hallway which led to the bathroom and the door to the light house.  A sudden burst of adrenaline shot through his gut as he saw a shadow stir at the edge of the light.  Brandon gasped and quickly brought the light center to where he saw the movement.  He held his breath for an uneasy moment and sighed relief when he found nothing.
    “Over here,” Johnny’s voice boomed in echo through the darkness.
    Brandon swung his light to where he heard Johnny.  There he saw his friend standing by a door at the far end of the kitchen.
    “The breaker box is probably down in the dock.  I couldn’t find it anywhere up here.”
    The sudden thought of being alone in the house pushed Brandon quickly through the kitchen where he followed Johnny down an old, musty limestone stair well.  The air got significantly colder and Brandon could see the trail of steam from their breath swirl through the beams of their flashlight as they descended to the landing of the boathouse.  A the bottom of the stairs, Brandon could hear the winter winds whistle by and gently rattling the great metal doors that hung in their tracks, protecting the inside from the elements of the lake.  Brandon panned his light around finding two boats suspended from the ceiling in dry dock above their slips.  He shined his light at the slips to see clear, cold water ripple discretely.  Brandon was surprised to see the boat house kept the water warm enough to keep from freezing. 
    “Here we are,” Johnny announced.
    Brandon turned and followed over to the far wall where Johnny stood inspecting the panel.  He flipped the main breaker a couple of times and sighed.  “Shit.  I don’t know about this,” Johnny said as he stepped back.  “Everything here seems to be in order.  Maybe we should go take a look at the light.”
    “What would be wrong with that?” Brandon asked anxiously.
    “Well, I’m not sure, but maybe…”
    In the reflected light Brandon could see Johnny wrinkling his nose and glancing side-to-side with a contorted face.  “Ugh! What’s that smell?”
    Brandon swallowed hard as his stomach knotted.  The putrid aroma of rotting fish stirred his senses forcing him to cover his mouth and his nose with his hand as the childhood memory of the dead man washed ashore flashed through him.  Quick, flattening spasms in the back of his throat forced him to turn to rush upstairs.  As Brandon turned, his light fell upon a man who reached out toward Brandon.  Water seeped over a face of grotesque pallor tinged green and his eyes were fogged over with thick mucus clouds. 
    “Jesus!” Brandon exclaimed in a surprised hiss and dropped his flashlight as he leaped backward. 
    “What is it?” Johnny turned shining his light on Brandon.  “What’s wrong?”
    Brandon could no longer see the rotting, waterlogged man.  He picked up his flashlight and swung it around wildly.  “Didn’t you see it?  Did you see it?”
    “See what?” Johnny asked as he grabbed Brandon by the coat to calm him down.
Brandon took a deep breath and swallowed.  “I’m getting the hell out of here,” he said soberly and jerked his coat from Johnny’s grip. 
Brandon could hear Johnny behind him as he ascended the stairs.  Fear and anticipation filled his chest making his breaths short and shallow.  He swung the door open to find the light from the lighthouse illuminating the living room through the bay window and leaking from under the door at the far end of the hall.  The light was not flashing once every six seconds as it was supposed to; rather it was on in a constant blinding beam reaching out over the lake.
“What the hell?” Johnny gasped as they cautiously made their way into the living room. 
    Out of the corners of his eyes Brandon could see shadows twisting and writhing only to stop when he looked directly at them.  He also saw spectral forms out of the corners of his eyes, mysterious visions that would allow him but a glimpse as they passed by him trying to reach the light.  Brandon shuddered as he could sense the shadows moving in on these ethereal forms.  Suddenly the dark silhouette of a little girl raced before the picture window into the darkness of the hall.  The door to the lighthouse flung open flooding the interior with blinding light.  As Brandon turned to shield his eyes he saw the frail, luminescent figure of his grandmother moving toward the light.  Panic erupted within him as he realized the danger his grandmother was in.
    “No!” Brandon screamed as fear overwhelmed him.
    The door slammed shut but a moment after it opened and all was dark inside.  Quick gasps from Brandon and Johnny filled the stagnant air as they swung their flashlights around.  Then a flash out of the window caught their attention.  The two men stood silently for a minute as the light resumed flashing once every six seconds, as if nothing had been wrong.
    “I’m going home now,” Brandon said in a soft, strained voice.
    “Yeah, me too,” Johnny' voice quiverred.
    The two men walked out of the Brittingham boathouse and into the chill of the snow flurried night.  They walked in awkward silence breaking it only to bid one another good night when they parted.

                               ***

    A week later the family was gathered at the cottage passing gifts and eating and drinking and making merry.  Brandon was relieved he had this to look forward to.  It took him the entire week to process his experience at the Brittingham boathouse and the family gathering was the perfect distraction for him to purge his thoughts from those events. 
    As Brandon squatted in front of the tree to pass gifts to his nieces and nephews, out of the corner of his eye, he saw his grandmother watching over them.  Her ethereal presence forced a sudden discomfort to shift through him.  He smiled weakly to the children, knowing he would soon be talking with Millie, and learning from her, because he also knew there was only nineteen years before the nxtw Metonic Cycle would end.  Then the stars would align allowing the shadow people another chance to prey on his grandmother’s soul.