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Authors: Kathryn Meyer Griffith
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a little threadbare and his button-down tan sweater over a white shirt was frayed at the cuffs.
“Queerer than usual?” Ann asked. The newspaper received odd calls every week; some on the level, some not.
Zeke liked the ones where people spotted criminals they’d seen on America’s Most Wanted. He often alerted the police to check them out.
Ann was partial to the ones where little blue aliens visited or had abducted the callers.
Zeke sometimes ran the stranger stories if he could, tongue-in-cheek, as a joke, as if they were real news. Their readers loved them. It was a small town, people knew each other and most had a sense of humor.
At her desk in the back, Ann sipped a cup of coffee, and done with the ads, cleared her work area off a little; the rain a lulling presence beyond the cozy room. She liked things neat and usually ended up straightening up Zeke’s and Jeff’s messes as well.
She was working on a last minute article about the recent earthquakes for the next edition. All she had left to do was check her facts, a little polish, and it’d be ready to go. Outside, the rain reminded her of the story she truly wanted, but had to wait to get.
In the meantime Zeke continued his story. “Ya, this guy’s tale was a doozy. And right in your backyard, Ann. He runs one of those tour boats out from Wizard Island and claims there’s a creature, a water leviathan of some kind, in the lake. Can you imagine? We now have our own Loch Ness monster in Crater Lake. Ha! An American Loch Ness monster!”
Ann’s hands froze over the keyboard. Her mind went to those bones Henry had spoken of up on the crater’s rim. Could there be some connection? Henry believed the bones had once been prehistoric dinosaurs, but they’d lived millions of years ago. Dead now. Just bones now. The weird thing was, this call might be something they’d expect to get later, once the fossil bed was public knowledge, but not now. No one else knew about the bones. Or did they?
Henry had also said the paleontologist from John Day suspected the lava rivers under the lake were flowing again, which was why the lake’s temperature was rising. The terrain beneath the volcanic lake was rearranging, shifting and regurgitating ancient rock and dirt. What other repercussions were those changes bringing? What else was the volcano regurgitating?
Certainly not monsters.
Nah. Of course the call was a crank, or an old man’s flight of fancy.
“Did the caller sound drunk?” she asked. “Or just mentally unbalanced?”
“No. I’ve known the guy for years. He keeps his boat in one of those boat houses on Wizard Island and docks it for the tourists at Cleetwood Cove. He always was a little eccentric, and as independent as all get-out. But as far as I know, he’s neither a boozer nor a nut. You know the type?”
Oh, Ann knew the type. They spent their lives doing what they pleased and worked when they wanted. Self-employed and obstinate, they were drifters and dreamers. Oregon was full of them. The park was full of them.
She got up, moseyed over and stood looking down over her boss’s shoulder as he worked. “Well, what else did he say?”
“Not much. He sounded embarrassed to be calling. I had to pull most of the story out of him, like a bad tooth, after the initial confession. He sounded scared and claimed the creature butted his boat, as it was getting dark, the evening before. Rammed it hard enough to rattle him and the vessel. And you know how big those tour boats are.”
“Yeah.” They were big; held up to sixty people. “Was anyone with him?” Collaboration was the first thing a good reporter checked on.
“Nope. Claims he was alone. He’d emptied his last tour group of the day at Cleetwood Dock and was heading back to Wizard Island to put the boat away. He swore he wouldn’t have said anything, but he thinks the creature is a menace and not only to him, but for everyone on the lake.”
“We going to do a story on it?” Ann’s
“Queerer than usual?” Ann asked. The newspaper received odd calls every week; some on the level, some not.
Zeke liked the ones where people spotted criminals they’d seen on America’s Most Wanted. He often alerted the police to check them out.
Ann was partial to the ones where little blue aliens visited or had abducted the callers.
Zeke sometimes ran the stranger stories if he could, tongue-in-cheek, as a joke, as if they were real news. Their readers loved them. It was a small town, people knew each other and most had a sense of humor.
At her desk in the back, Ann sipped a cup of coffee, and done with the ads, cleared her work area off a little; the rain a lulling presence beyond the cozy room. She liked things neat and usually ended up straightening up Zeke’s and Jeff’s messes as well.
She was working on a last minute article about the recent earthquakes for the next edition. All she had left to do was check her facts, a little polish, and it’d be ready to go. Outside, the rain reminded her of the story she truly wanted, but had to wait to get.
In the meantime Zeke continued his story. “Ya, this guy’s tale was a doozy. And right in your backyard, Ann. He runs one of those tour boats out from Wizard Island and claims there’s a creature, a water leviathan of some kind, in the lake. Can you imagine? We now have our own Loch Ness monster in Crater Lake. Ha! An American Loch Ness monster!”
Ann’s hands froze over the keyboard. Her mind went to those bones Henry had spoken of up on the crater’s rim. Could there be some connection? Henry believed the bones had once been prehistoric dinosaurs, but they’d lived millions of years ago. Dead now. Just bones now. The weird thing was, this call might be something they’d expect to get later, once the fossil bed was public knowledge, but not now. No one else knew about the bones. Or did they?
Henry had also said the paleontologist from John Day suspected the lava rivers under the lake were flowing again, which was why the lake’s temperature was rising. The terrain beneath the volcanic lake was rearranging, shifting and regurgitating ancient rock and dirt. What other repercussions were those changes bringing? What else was the volcano regurgitating?
Certainly not monsters.
Nah. Of course the call was a crank, or an old man’s flight of fancy.
“Did the caller sound drunk?” she asked. “Or just mentally unbalanced?”
“No. I’ve known the guy for years. He keeps his boat in one of those boat houses on Wizard Island and docks it for the tourists at Cleetwood Cove. He always was a little eccentric, and as independent as all get-out. But as far as I know, he’s neither a boozer nor a nut. You know the type?”
Oh, Ann knew the type. They spent their lives doing what they pleased and worked when they wanted. Self-employed and obstinate, they were drifters and dreamers. Oregon was full of them. The park was full of them.
She got up, moseyed over and stood looking down over her boss’s shoulder as he worked. “Well, what else did he say?”
“Not much. He sounded embarrassed to be calling. I had to pull most of the story out of him, like a bad tooth, after the initial confession. He sounded scared and claimed the creature butted his boat, as it was getting dark, the evening before. Rammed it hard enough to rattle him and the vessel. And you know how big those tour boats are.”
“Yeah.” They were big; held up to sixty people. “Was anyone with him?” Collaboration was the first thing a good reporter checked on.
“Nope. Claims he was alone. He’d emptied his last tour group of the day at Cleetwood Dock and was heading back to Wizard Island to put the boat away. He swore he wouldn’t have said anything, but he thinks the creature is a menace and not only to him, but for everyone on the lake.”
“We going to do a story on it?” Ann’s
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