Missing in Michigan Read online

  I slip my arms around him and place my hand on the back of his neck. Stroking his hair, I bury my face into his shoulder. His body tenses in surprise before relaxing into the moment. I’m torn about what to say, or whether I should say anything at all. My mouth opens and closes multiple times without uttering a peep. Finally, I decide the best thing for both of us is to enjoy a moment of silence together before the storm. If everything I’ve heard, pieced together, and come to suspect is even half-true, we’re in for an extremely bumpy long weekend.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Bright sunlight breaks through the flimsy barrier of the motel’s moldy-smelling curtain. Our drive yesterday was uneventful, as was our evening. I wasn’t sure what to expect when we arrived at the motel, but there were two rooms reserved. I’m pretty sure Chad would have tried to pull some type of “it’s the last room, let’s share it,” nonsense, but that’s definitely not Wayne’s style. Instead, we ate dinner together and then separated with the promise of meeting at 6 a.m. for breakfast.

  I glance at the clock. It’s 5:48 a.m. – I overslept! There goes my hopes and dreams of a long, luxurious shower. On the plus side, the water pressure seems pretty weak in the room, so I’m fairly certain I would have been disappointed anyway.

  A knock on my door comes sooner than I’d like, but I have managed to get dressed and brush my teeth. I open the door and see Wayne standing there with a slight smile. “Good morning, Alex,” he says with more enthusiasm than yesterday. He still seems a bit guarded and weary, but he also looks like a man who got some much-needed sleep.

  Sitting at the booth in the tiny diner adjacent to the motel, Wayne begins to detail the next phase of our journey. “I was able to rent a boat. It’s not much, but it should get us to the island without any serious difficulties. I do need to warn you that it will be very cold and choppy on the water. I hope you’re not prone to seasickness,” he laughs.

  I actually do have some minor issues with motion sickness, but I choose not to divulge that fact. “Great! About the boat, I mean, not the cold and choppiness.” We both laugh. “How long will it take to get there?”

  “The ferries take about three hours, but we can probably cut that down by thirty minutes or so. As long as the water doesn’t get too choppy.”

  I don’t even want to ask what the repercussions of that would be. He reads my countenance, though, and responds to the unspoken question. “Worst case scenario? Well, aside from having to turn back, the longest trip to the island I’ve ever heard of was just over four hours.”

  The thought of not making it to Isle Royale at all sits in my stomach like a heavy brick of greasy food. Wayne must know this because he quickly continues. “I don’t anticipate any problems, Alex. At least not on the water,” he mumbles.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  It’s been more than two hours, and I’m struggling to hold on to my breakfast. Wayne wasn’t kidding about the ride being rough. Wave after wave breaks against the side of the boat, and I’m freezing from the constant spray. The air temperature is supposed to be hovering around fifteen degrees Fahrenheit, but I swear the wind chill is at least negative twenty.

  The water isn’t frozen yet because the lake is so humongous, but we have encountered a few small ice floes. As we get closer to the island, Wayne’s chattiness diminishes to almost zero. His mood is clearly suffering, too. I take a moment to feel badly about the impact this is having on him, but I can’t quite temper my own feelings of excitement and anxiety. I have no idea what we’re about to face, but if it solves even one of these missing person cases, it’ll be worth it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Isle Royale is way bigger than I expected. It’s been in sight for quite a while, but now that we’ve reached the final few minutes of the boat ride, I find myself in awe. The shoreline is very craggy, and there are ice balls accumulating in several areas. Majestic trees soar above the land, and I swear the distinctive howl of one of the island’s wolf residents hangs in the air.

  Suddenly, my vision is filled with white spots and my head is pounding. I reel in the seat next to Wayne as an overwhelming amount of pain, misery, fear, and anger latches onto my mind. “What the…” I say under my breath as I fall to the boat’s floor. Gripping my head, I roll into a ball and try to resist the call of what must be at least dozens of ghosts.

  “Alex. Alex!” Wayne shouts as he tries to get my attention. “What’s wrong? Dammit! I knew this was a mistake. I’m getting us out of here!”

  I push through the murky haze to counter this decision. “Don’t, Wayne. Get us to the shore.”

  He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind – which is kind of what it feels like – before literally tossing his arms up in frustration. We keep heading toward the shore, and I manage to pick myself up unto my knees. And that’s when I come face-to-face with the most simultaneously horrifying and awe-inspiring sight of my entire life. The island’s entire shoreline is guarded by a ring of ghosts. I can’t tell if they’re pleading for help or trying to scare us away, but it ultimately doesn’t matter. I’m going to see this through, even if it rips my mind apart.

  I glance at Wayne and see the concern on his face. There’s also a flicker of something else. Is that fear? I know he can’t see the ghosts or else he definitely wouldn’t keep steering us toward one of the flattest areas of shore. But I get the distinct impression he can feel them, at least a little bit.

  The boat slips past the ghostly border. It takes everything in me to withstand the barrage of emotions. Wayne trembles as we reach the shore. His eyes are filled with warring thoughts, and I end up with a fresh batch of guilt to compound the mess I’m currently in.

  He helps me off the boat, and we both stagger onto Isle Royale with our backpacks full of camping supplies. “What was that?” Wayne asks me.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  He considers this, then his firm jaw begins broadcasting his determination. “Yes, I do. And no BS, all right? Tell me the truth.”

  Sighing, I honor his wishes. “Okay, no BS. The entire island is surrounded by ghosts. I can feel their emotions. That’s how I do what I do. But this was on a scale I’ve never encountered before.”

  His eyes widen. “Is that why everything got so cold and dark for a few seconds? I thought we’d somehow been transported to Antarctica or something. The U.P. is known for getting cold, but I’ve never felt the temperature drop that much before.”

  I sway a little, and he reaches for me. “Yes, that’s what did it,” I confirm. “Cold spots. They’re real, but when it’s one ghost, a lot of people don’t notice them.”

  The true magnitude of what we’re doing at Isle Royale fills Wayne’s eyes. “They’re all dead, aren’t they?” he asks me fearfully.

  “I hope not,” I reply weakly.

  What I don’t say out loud is if what I just saw is any indication, then yes, they’re probably all dead. We’re definitely here too late for dozens upon dozens of unfortunate souls, all of whom appear to be teenage boys. The hope that I can find the three young men in particular who brought me here has fled my mind like a candle getting snuffed out by a gust of wind.

  A sharp intake of air breaks me free of my thoughts. Wayne leaves my side and goes down onto his haunches. An odd-looking set of animal tracks is on the ground before us, and he appears to be measuring them against his right hand. They’re somewhat human in appearance, but longer and skinnier than any person’s foot I’ve ever seen. There’s also indentions from what are almost certainly vicious, large claws. I admit I know next to nothing about animal tracks, but this doesn’t match up with anything in my limited mental database.

  “Wayne?”

  My voice startles him. “Huh? Oh, sorry.”

  “What type of animal do they belong to?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know. But the weirdest part is this is the exact same set of tracks I looked at in Munising the other day. And I don’t mean they’re from the same type of animal. They looked exactly like this.”


  “Did you know there’s another young man missing from Munising? His mother was putting up flyers shortly after you came to town.”

  He takes a deep breath, then plunges forward with great discomfort. “Yeah. I did. Those tracks weren’t just odd, Alex. There was also a lot of blood around them.”

  “So, you mean…?”

  “It’s possible that boy was killed by an animal? That’s one of many theories Chad is considering, yes.”

  “Were the tracks anywhere else in town?”

  “Now that you mention it, there was another set of similar tracks. They weren’t bloody or anything, so we didn’t pay much attention to them.”

  “Where were they, Wayne?”

  Recognition transforms his face. “Oh my God. They were outside the hotel. Behind it, in fact.”

  “Near my room?”

  “Yes.”

  It sounds absolutely insane, but I can’t help myself from asking one further question. “Could it have… I mean, is it at all possible an animal trashed my room?”

  “If it managed to get inside, somehow? Then sure, that type of damage could have been caused by an animal. But how the heck would it have gotten in and out without being seen?”

  How the heck indeed? I silently ask myself.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Isle Royale is almost forty-six miles long. Combine that with a width of nine miles, and we’re dealing with a land mass that would take months to fully explore. Since we don’t have that kind of time, Wayne recommends heading toward one of the ancient mines.

  “Hiding something illegal in the mines makes the most sense,” he reasons. I don’t doubt that, but I also can’t stop wondering what’s hidden within the thicket in the middle of the island. Even though it’s practically winter and most of the trees have been stripped bare of their leaves, they’re still thick enough to provide a lot of cover. There’s also two information centers on the island. Believe it or not, one of them is named Windigo. Wayne has no insight to share about the National Park Service’s decision to choose the alternate spelling of wendigo.

  There are a few trails, and so far, we’ve stuck to them. The woods are beautiful and carpeted by thousands of fallen leaves. Those that haven’t already decayed to the point of ugliness light up the ground with vibrant hues of red and orange. But there’s also a harsh, uncompromising quality that threatens to derail our search if we veer too far off the path. And that’s exactly what bothers me. Why would anyone choose to hide something in an accessible area when so much of the island is harder to walk through?

  Our feet snap on twigs and rocks as we boldly continue trekking across the current trail. Just as we reach a turning point, a pack of wolves appears before us. They’re as magnificent as they are terrifying. I want to flee, but Wayne stops me.

  “No. Stop,” he whispers. “Never run from a wolf unless you have no other choice. Follow my lead.”

  Wayne raises his arms above his head and starts shouting. The wolves appear cowed by this, so I join in. Out of the side of his mouth, Wayne says, “Start backing up very slowly. Do not make eye contact. Keep your arms up.” He then resumes yelling at the pack.

  The largest wolf howls, and it echoes off the trees. Just as I start wondering why a pack of wolves is tromping around in the middle of the day, Wayne grabs my arm. Hard.

  “Shit! Alex, um, we’ve got a very serious problem here.”

  My rapidly increasing heartbeat fills my ears.

  “They’re coming at us from the north and the west. We’ve got no choice but to run for it. On my mark. One, two, three, GO!”

  Before I have time to let him know I have no idea which direction I’m facing or where he wants me to run, he’s tearing away from me. I quickly follow, and so do the wolves. My feet pound the forest floor and pine trees scratch my face as we leave the trail behind and rush headlong into the unknown.

  The lead wolf is almost at my heels. I can feel its breath on my back, and I know I’m about to die. At the last possible second, a sickeningly painful whimpering sound erupts from behind me and I feel the impact of the wolf’s body hitting the ground. There’s no time to look back or to praise my savior. Instead, I unexpectedly slide down a ravine.

  I’m able to slow my downward trajectory just enough to escape serious injury, but my ankle still rolls when I hit the ravine’s bottom. The good news is that the wolves are nowhere to be seen. The bad news is I have no idea where I am.

  “Wayne?”

  A bird chirps nearby, but Wayne doesn’t return my call.

  Chapter Seventeen

  My cellphone is, of course, out of range. I do still have my bag full of food and other supplies. My back is sheltered by the ravine, and I’ve started a small fire for warmth. I heard once that the best thing you can do when you get lost in the woods is stay put. Wayne knows my general location. He’s probably already working his way down the ravine right now.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Three hours have passed. I must admit, I’m starting to doubt my original plan. If Wayne is still anywhere nearby, I should have seen or heard him by now. Even worse, the sun is starting to dip below the horizon. What if Wayne needs my help? It’s now or never.

  I take out the chalk and red ribbon Wayne put into my bag and make trail markers as I walk. I’m also extremely grateful for the tactical flashlight he loaned me. I walk out of the ravine and find a much gentler slope that heads back up to where this entire mess started. I gnaw on my nails with indecision. Should I go back up to the right where the wolves were or hike up the left side of the hill?

  I debate the pros and cons until fear wins out. The left side it is, then. The climb isn’t very difficult, so I manage to get to the top before the sun completely abandons me.

  Despite the desperateness of my situation, I can’t help but be taken in by the brilliant light show painting the sky. The stars are unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, and they help light my path. Even better, green and pink hues dance across the horizon. This is my first time seeing the Northern Lights. Everything I’ve ever heard about them was unable to accurately convey their majesty. This is something I’ll remember forever. If I make it back off this island in one piece, that is.

  Wolves howl in the distance and my blood runs cold. It seems I made the right decision earlier, as they’re clearly on the other side of the ravine. Still, I want to put a few more miles between myself and the beasts before I rest again.

  I hope Wayne is okay.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The insistent chirping of birds wakes me. I must have hiked for four or five hours after sundown, but eventually, I succumbed to exhaustion and took refuge in a small cave. My body and mind are begging for a few more hours of sleep, but I need to take advantage of the sun’s triumphant return. Thanks to Michigan’s depressingly dark and dreary winters, there are just under ten hours until darkness falls again.

  Several hours later, I almost walk into a clearing before I’m halted by the sound of someone’s voice. I restrain my excitement and crouch low by a tree line. If someone else is on Isle Royale right now, they’re probably up to no good.

  I can’t hear what’s being said, but I see a tall, slender woman who I’m guessing is in her mid to late thirties. She’s talking to someone I can’t see, and her body language strongly suggests she’s not happy.

  I have to get closer. I crawl around the edge of the tree line, praying that the snakes and ticks are all hibernating. That’s when life decides to slap me really hard across the face. What is Chad doing here and who is he arguing with?

  “How could you do this, Diane?” he shouts.

  Diane? As in Diane Hambler, his dead wife?

  “You’re such a fool, Chad. Always have been, always will be.”

  I can feel his ego ripping in half from thirty feet away.

  “He’s our son, dammit! How could you involve him in this?”

  “You have no room to be righteous. You turned him away when he needed you the most. This is your fault.�
��

  Chad says something so quietly that I can’t make it out. What I can easily discern, though, is that he’s deflated.

  Diane says, “He came to me willingly, Chad. I didn’t come for him. He asked to be part of this so he could get away from you.” With a cruel and haughty expression, she twists the emotional knife further. “You disgust me.”

  His face crumples, but he manages to defiantly reply. “I can’t clean this up for you anymore.”

  “You don’t need to. We’ll clean it up. We’ll clean you up.”

  A long, strange whistle bursts forth from her lips. There’s a disturbance in the tree line directly across from me. As its maker moves into the clearing, a living nightmare comes to life. The wendigo is here, and it’s running directly at Chad.

  Time ceases to exist. I leave the safety of my hiding spot in an awkward, unsuccessful attempt to save him. I don’t know what he did wrong, and I don’t care. I just don’t want to see him get ripped to shreds. The wendigo slams to the ground mere seconds before that can happen.

  Sitting astride the beast is Wayne, who keeps pummeling it with his heavy binoculars. It tries to buck him off, but he holds fast. With one last, horrific crunch, the wendigo goes silent.

  Wayne barely has half a second to catch his breath before Diane picks up a gun and starts shooting at him. He’s halfway through the clearing and somehow manages to end up right next to me in what I swear was only three lunging steps.

  He grabs my hand and pulls me with him deeper into the forest. Five minutes later, we stop, and I can see his body shaking with adrenaline. “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “That was a wendigo. They’re real. And I just beat one. How in the world did I do that?”

  I hug him and then try to get his attention back on the bigger issue at hand: Chad is in danger, and it sounds like the missing teens might really be on the island. Or, at the very least, Diane is a very likely suspect for their disappearance.