CHATEAUGAY LAKE STEAMBOAT GAZETTE CO.

The morning mist rose off Chateaugay Lake like the breath of a sleeping giant. I stood on the shore outside my grandfather’s homestead, watching the vapor curl and twist in the rose gold light of dawn. This was my favorite time, when the world felt new, untouched by man or beast. Just me, the lake, and the loons calling to each other across the still water.

I turned and went back inside the rough-hewn cabin, the smell of coffee and griddle cakes greeting me. My grandfather sat at the table, already digging into his breakfast with vigor.

“Morning Pops,” I said.

He grunted in reply, eyes on his food. I smiled and loaded my own plate up, taking a seat across from him. We ate in easy silence, the only sounds the scraping of forks and the crackle of the fire in the hearth. Overhead I could hear my little sister Patience starting to stir in the loft where we all slept.

When we had sopped up the last drops of syrup, Pops finally looked up at me.

“You’ll be wanting to head over to the Lake House today, see if Mr. Bellows’s got any guiding work for you.”

I nodded. “Yes sir. Reckon them city folks always need someone to show them the best fishing holes.”

He smiled slightly, brushing crumbs from his bushy mustache. “You’ve got a good nose for the trout, Nattie boy. Make us proud today.”

“I will Pops.”

I grabbed my worn wool jacket and my fishing pole and headed out the door toward the trail through the woods. It was a crisp fall day, sunlight dappling through the turning leaves. Squirrels chattered and scurried around, busy with their winter preparations. The forest floor was a carpet of gold and crimson. I breathed deep, taking in the cool air.

As I came out of the trees, there stood the Lake House, stately and solid against the vivid blue sky. It was built of local lumber, milled down at the lake outlet, with a wide porch that looked over the jewel-like waters of Chateaugay Lake. I stepped up and rang the bell.

Marie, the cook, answered with a smile. “Well hey there Nattie. Mr. Bellow is expecting you, c’mon in.”

I followed her back to the kitchen where enticing smells wafted. Mr. Bellows sat at the prep table with his ledgers. He was portly, with round spectacles and a neat beard.

“Ah, good morning Nat!” he said warmly. “Are you ready to take Mr. Peabody fishing today?”

“Yes sir, all set.”

Mr. Peabody soon appeared, dressed in fine city clothes. I could tell right off he was a greenhorn, but he seemed amiable enough. We packed a picnic lunch of Marie’s fried chicken and biscuits, along with our rods and gear. Then we headed down to where I kept my boat.

“Ever do much fishing Mr. Peabody?” I asked as I rowed us out to a favorite spot. Gray stone cliffs rose up around us.

“Oh no, this is my first time. Please, call me Edward.” He looked around eagerly. “Are there truly salmon here?”

I nodded. “Landlocked salmon run this lake. We’ll see if we can hook you one.”

We anchored and baited our lines. I lit my pipe, leaning back contentedly. Edward cast his line awkwardly, nearly snagging himself. But after a few pointers he got the rhythm of it.

For a while we sat in easy quiet. A pair of loons passed by, their haunting calls echoing. The sun filtered down through the colorful leaves.

“Quite something isn’t it?” I said. “Like we got the whole lake to ourselves.”

Edward nodded. “It’s magnificent. The air, the colors…we don’t have anything like this in Boston.”

Just then his line jerked sharply. “Oh I think I have something!”

He reeled fast, fighting the fish. It flashed silver in the water. I helped him bring it in close and net it. A fat two pound salmon.

“Well I’ll be darned, you’re a natural Ed!” I said.

He beamed, unhooking the fish. We ate our lunch, talking of the beauty of the North Country. Edward was sharp, inventing all sorts of contraptions back home. But it was clear he was smitten with the wilds up here. I promised to show him some other sights.

As we were packing up, Edward paused and pointed up the long ridge towards Norton’s Peak.

“I say, what’s that up there? Steam rising from those rocks?”

I looked and sure enough, faint white vapor emanated from a crevice about fifty yards up. Odd. I’d fished these parts for years but never noticed that.

“Not sure,” I said. “Let’s go take a look.”

We secured the boat and hiked up. As we got closer, the steam billowed thicker, obscuring the dark gap it came from. Almost like the lake was breathing out of the mountainside. It made my skin prickle in a strange way. I glanced at Edward. His eyes were wide with fascination.

“A cave!” he exclaimed. “The steam must be venting from some thermal feature inside.”

He scrambled right up to the opening, despite the unsettling feel of the place. I followed cautiously. The cave mouth was narrow, but the pale vapor poured out fast. Edward fished a candle and matches from his coat and lit it, peering inside.

“Fascinating,” he murmured. “Some kind of limestone cavern. Nat, we should return tomorrow with rope and proper lighting. I’d love to explore it further.”

His excitement was contagious. “Alright, let’s do it.”

The next morning Edward and I met at the lake shore along with Pops and some other local men. We had coiled ropes, oil lanterns, and torches. Marie had packed extra food and a medicine kit. Our group hiked up the slope with eager chatter.

But as we approached the cave, a hush fell over us. The limestone around the entrance was stained rusty red in places. It looked like blood. I glanced around at the others. Pops muttered a quick prayer under his breath. Edward’s eyes held more trepidation than yesterday. One of the men whimpered softly.

“Well, let’s get to it then,” Pops declared gruffly.

We lit the lanterns and torches, the firelight casting monstrous shadows. I tugged on my fur-lined jacket against the chill. Bracing myself, I stepped over the threshold into the mountain’s dark throat, the others close behind.

The way descended gradually, the stone underfoot worn smooth. Our lights pushed back the oppressive blackness. The steam swirled thicker, beading on our skin. The cave smelled strange, like copper and decay.

As we progressed, things moved in the peripheral darkness. Bats, I told myself, just bats. But their skittering and fluttering put my heart in my throat. Some of the men muttered prayers or charms under their breath.

The winding passage emptied into a larger cavern, stalactites dripping down like stone teeth. Our lights glinted off crystals embedded in the rock. But in the back corner sat a pile of…something. Furred, yet with almost a pinkish hide. As I stared, a low, warbling groan issued from it.

The men cried out in alarm. Edward gripped my arm, his face bloodless.

“N-nat, shine your light back there,” he whispered shakily.

I licked my dry lips and took a step closer. My lantern illuminated the thing in the shadows. Not just one creature, but several…arrayed in a grisly mound of tangled limbs and vacant eyes. Their features were eerily human-like, though with elongate limbs, massive claws, antlers, and stag-like muzzles.

My mind recoiled from the implications. These were no ordinary animals. They seemed freakish, unnatural things that belonged in no taxonomy I knew. Another pitiful groan came from the pile, and now I saw the faint rise and fall of breath. At least one still lived.

Edward clutched his crucifix, praying rapidly under his breath.

“Sweet mercy, we need to get out of here,” Pops said, voice quavering. The rest of the men looked near panic.

I forced calm I didn’t feel. “Alright, let’s go, slow and steady now.”

We backed away from the nest of creatures. Their scent pursued us, alien and sickly sweet. The men’s lantern flames shook with their unsteady hands. Shadows leapt and loomed.

Finally, finally, we emerged back into blessed daylight. Edward fell to his knees, making the sign of the cross over and over.

“God preserve us, what evil dwells inside that mountain?”

“Not of this earth,” I muttered. I wanted only to put miles between myself and that unnatural cave.

We solemnly made our way back to the Lake House.

But over the following days, we could not speak of what we had witnessed. It was as if the words dried up in our throats. I rowed guests about the lake, barely hearing their chatter. My dreams filled with pale writhing shapes and black bottomless pits. A melancholic pall had fallen over Chateaugay Lake, and a strange dread dogged my steps.

Fall deepened, the leaves blowing away, turning the hardwoods skeletal and bare. The loons departed for warmer waters. An early snow dusted the ground. It was time to close up the Lake House till spring.

But all winter long, the image of that awful cave haunted me. Those creatures plagued my thoughts. What were they? Where had they come from? I had to know.

As soon as the ice broke up on Chateaugay Lake, I told Pops I was going fishing early before breakfast. In truth, I hurried to the cave to face my fears. Alone in the raw spring sunlight, it seemed less ominous. I steeled myself at the entrance, then went back down into the earth.

The stench hit me first. So thick I could taste it, like carrion and moldering fur. It took all my effort not to gag. I crept forward, dreading what I would find.

The nest lay empty. Just blood-soaked fur and gnawed bones scattered about. Entrails and chunks of gristle littered the stone. Bile burned my throat.

I fled that accursed cave and did not stop till I hit the lake shore. I collapsed on all fours, gasping for clean air. When I finally looked up, Mr. Bellows stood nearby, watching me grimly.

“You went back, didn’t you Nat?”

I nodded, ashamed.

“I figured you might. What did you find?”

Haltingly I told him, still shaken to the core. He sighed heavily.

“I know you need answers, son. We all do. But there are some mysteries that God intends we not unravel. What happened here is…beyond our human ken. There are forces, entities, older than time itself, that sometimes break through the thin skin of our world. Native legend speaks of such things.”

I shuddered. “You really believe that Mr. Bellows?”

“It frightens me to, Nat. But after what we saw…I cannot deny it. I’ve already spoken to the others. When summer guests return, no one will guide them to that cave. We must let the mountain keep its secret.”

I looked out over the lake, doused in spring’s soft light once more. But now I knew, just beneath that placid surface lurked deeps full of shadowy, writhing things from beyond imagining. My innocence was lost; this was no ordinary wilderness full of abundant beaver, deer and bear. It was a land filled with ancient mysteries not meant for mortal eyes. I would heed Mr. Bellows’ warning. Whatever lurked in that stygian grotto, it must remain undisturbed in the sunless depths. We ignorant men could but turn our faces from it and pray for forgiveness. For we had glimpsed what we never should have.