(Author's Note: This is
part 6 of a 7 part series. To read previous entries, please visit
jonpenfold.com)
Chautauqua:
A Story in Seven Parts
Inspired by Actual
Events
Part Six—The Legend of Chauty
I
wake up in the back seat of Suzy Q, the sun piercing my eyes through the
window. I sit up to see that Tex is laid out across the front seats, stripped
down to his underwear. I wake him up and we stumble out of the car to find
Tommy in the trunk, his legs draped over the bumper. “What the hell happened
last night?” I ask.
“I
remember Mike telling us that he was grounded, Tommy admitting that he made
everything up, and then you saying, ‘I’ve got an idea.’ After that it’s all
black.”
“I
don’t remember anything either,” I say, “but I’ve got one hell of a hangover.”
I
kick Tommy awake. “What happened last night?” I ask.
“I
don’t know,” he moans. “Just drive me home.”
“You’re
in the trunk.”
“I
know. I don’t care. I’ll ride back here.”
“We
drove four hours to get here and don’t remember a goddamn thing. I’m not going
home without at least seeing the lake.”
Tex
and I pull Tommy out of the trunk and we all head downhill towards the water.
When we reach the shore, we gawk at acre upon acre of open water, its smooth
surface like a mirror, the sun glistening off it. “It’s beautiful,” I say.
“Sure
is,” Tex says.
“Like
heaven,” Tommy adds.
“Even
better when you’re out there.” A grizzled voice startles us from behind.
We
turn around to find an ancient man, probably close to two hundred years old,
standing behind us. “So, what do you say?” he asks.
“What
do we say about what?”
“About
seeing the lake from out there? I can make it happen.”
“What
are you talking about?” Tex asks.
“I
can rent you a boat, so you can really experience the lake how it was meant to
be seen. Only five bucks for three hours.”
“Deal,”
I say without even consulting my friends.
The
old man leads us down the shore about fifty feet to a rotting wooden dock with
a small motor boat tied to it. I hand him a five dollar bill.
“Now,”
he says, “there’s only one rule: No Joyriding!”
“We
wouldn’t dare,” Tex replies.
“Well
then,” the man says, “if you’re not joyriding, then what are you going to do
with my boat?”
“Fishing,”
Tommy says.
“Without
poles? I can rent you some for five bucks.”
I
hand him another five.
“What
about bait? You’re going to need bait to go fishing. I’ve got worms for sale.
Five bucks.”
I
hand him another five and he hands me a small Styrofoam container. Tex, Tommy,
and I climb into the boat and pull on the cord to start the engine but it won’t
turn over.
“You
boys need some gas?” the old man asks. “I can sell you a gallon for five
bucks.”
“Five
bucks!” I say. “I got a gallon for 87 cents last night. Fuck this. We’re done.
I want all my money back.”
“I’ve
got it,” Tex says as he pulls a five out of his pocket. “I mean, we’re already
in the boat and I’m kind of excited to get out on the water.”
The
old man takes the bill. “Alright boys.” He hands us a plastic jug of gas. “Just
remember: No Joyriding! and: Beware of Chauty!”
“What’s
Chauty?” Tommy asks.
“You
mean to tell me you’ve never heard the legend of Chauty,” the old man lets out
a sinister giggle. “Ever heard of Nessy, up in Loch Ness? Or Champ, up in Lake
Champlain? Well, this lake has its very own monster, Chauty, who preys upon the
flesh of boys who go joyriding.”
“Sure
he does,” Tex says as he starts the motor, drowning out whatever words the old man
is yelling as we pull away from the dock.
We
immediately get to joyriding. The boat isn’t fast by any means, but it’s
steady, and turns, though not on a dime. The lake is narrow, but long—only two
miles at its widest, though seventeen miles from end to end. After running the
motor for about an hour straight, we decide to give it a rest. “Now what?”
Tommy asks.
“We
could fish,” I say. “I mean, we have all the stuff.”
“Sounds
lame,” Tommy says. “Nothing’s more boring than…”
Before
he can finish his thought, Tex casts a live worm through the air. It makes a
beautiful plopping sound as it strikes the water’s surface. He slowly starts
reeling it in when something snags it. Something big. Tex does his best to
muscle the pole, but it’s useless. The force on the other end pulls him to his
feet and nearly flips him off the boat. Luckily, Tommy and I catch him in time
and use your combined weight to keep him stationed in the boat’s stern. But Tex
doesn’t let go of the pole and we suddenly realize that whatever is on the
other end of the line is actually pulling us across the lake at a faster pace
than the motor ever did. “Just let go!” I yell.
Tex
lets go of the fishing pole and the boat comes to a halt. But then there’s a
jolting impact beneath us that causes the boat to temporarily lift out of the
water. We come crashing down, pushing waves in every direction. I notice Tommy
looking over my shoulder, his eyes wide and crazed. His arm is extended and
he’s pointing into the air, and his mouth is hung open, though no words are
coming out. Tex and I both turn out heads around and towards the sky to find
some sort of sea creature staring back at us. Its neck is long, like a
giraffe’s, and its head must be twenty feet above us. I immediately grab a
paddle and strike it across the monster’s smooth, wet skin. The paddle snaps in
half and the creature lets out a deafening roar that has so much velocity that
it pins our bodies to the bottom of the boat. We lay there, petrified, and
scream like little girls at a slumber party.
I
close my eyes to contemplate my death and when I open them, the monster is
gone. I sit up and look around the lake—nothing. “Get up guys,” I say. “Let’s
get out of here.”
We
start the engine and head back to where we came from. When we arrive, the
ancient man is standing at the end of the wooden dock, waiting for us. When we
pull the boat in and cut the engine, he looks down at his wristwatch and says,
“Ten minutes too late. That’ll be another five backs.” Then he notices the
broken paddle. “What the hell is that?” he asks, pointing at the splintered
wood. “And where’s my fishing pole? And how much gas did you use?”
The
three of us jump out of the boat and beeline it towards the shore. “Where do
you think you’re going?” yells the old man. “You owe me money for the paddle
and the pole and the gas.”
Tex
turns around, infuriated. “Listen here, old man,” he yells, “you sent us out
there knowing there was a monster in those waters…”
“A
monster?” the old man says. “What are you talking about—a monster?”
“Remember—Chauty,”
Tex replies.
“Oh,
I made that whole thing up to scare you kids. Now just give me what you owe me
and you can go.”
“You’re
not getting another dime,” I say as we hurry away from the water.
We
start running up the hill, back towards Mike Smith’s house and the old man is
yelling the entire time. “I curse you,” he’s shouting. “I curse you…”
When
we get back to Suzy Q, Mike Smith is sitting on the hood. “There you guys are,”
he says. “I talked my dad into letting me off the hook for today, so we can
hang out.”
“Screw
that,” Tex says. “We’re going home.”
I
pop the trunk and throw the Styrofoam container of worms into my cooler. After
closing everything up, Tex, Tommy, and I hop in the car and head back to our
hometown.
To be continued...
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