Read Online Flower of Scotland 2 by William Meikle - Free Book Online
Authors: William Meikle
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after they’d set up on the riverbank and George had caught a fine two pounder for supper, still Bobby remained resolutely unimpressed.
"If you don’t cheer up, I’ll feed you to the Ogua," George said.
The boy’s head finally rose from where he’d been staring at the phone, even though it was currently switched off.
"What’s an Ogua?"
George smiled inwardly.
I’ve caught him.
"It lives hereabouts," he said quietly. "The Iroquois say it’s as big as a bear, with a hard shell like a turtle and a thick tail that can break a man’s back. By day it stays under the water. But at night it comes out, looking for deer... or anything else it can drag away to its den."
Bobby’s eyes had gone big and wide open.
Time to reel him in.
George waved in the direction of the ruined cabins.
"That’s why the folks who built these here dwellings had to leave. The Ogua got all their cattle... and they were afeared it was coming for them next."
George looked out over the still river, remembering how his own father had told him the story, in this same spot. He cast the line, sending the weighted lure over to the far bank where it landed with a soft plop.
He was remembering his own father’s story, and the insistence, the sincerity with which he’d told it. The Ogua might, or not be real, but one thing was for sure, George’s old man had believed it, and had made George believe it, for a time at least.
Now if I could only get through to Bobby. Maybe we could both believe.
"Its den is about there I reckon," he said. "At least that’s where your Great-Granddaddy saw it, back in Fifty Five. It gave him such a fright his hair went white. And do you know..."
He never got a chance to finish. The boy’s cell phone rang, the blast of tinny music breaking any spell George had woven.
"Yay. I got a signal," Bobby shouted, happier than George had seen him all day.
He was on the phone all the time while George got a fire going and cooked the trout. He only put it down to eat. George tried to interest him in the beauty of the sunset, but the boy sat there, head down, thumbs working frantically, lost in a world George would never understand.
He did get the lad to switch it off as they got into their sleeping bags. Bobby wanted to stay in the tent. George preferred to lie out in the open, like he had in his youth. When he woke to take a leak around midnight he saw a tell-tale blue glow from the phone’s display just inside the tent. By then he was too dispirited to get into an argument about it.
First thing in the morning, we’re outa here. It’ll be best for both of us.
After that, sleep wouldn’t come. He lay on his back, staring up at the Milky Way and remembering nights such as this with his own father; the anticipation of the fishing to come the next day, the feeling of closeness with his old man he feared he’d never achieve with Bobby.
It was nearly two o’clock when he rolled onto his side. There was still a faint glow from the tent where the boy lay.
Enough is enough.
He moved to climb out of his bag.
And that’s when he heard it... a soft slump as something pulled itself out of the water, barely five yards from where he lay.
Bobby!
He rolled, still coccooned in the bag, ignoring the stones and twigs that poked and prodded even through the nylon, making for the boy’s tent.
"Bobby!" he said in a whisper that wanted to be a shout. "Get out of there."
Something big moved across the ground towards him, twigs snapping and pebbles tumbling with small splashes into the river. Above that there was breathing, a liquid gurgle.
"Bobby!" he said, louder this time.
He shucked off the sleeping bag. It was grabbed from his grasp and whisked away. He heard the sound, very close now, as whatever had come out of the water tore the nylon with loud rips.
A bobbing blue light moved somewhere to his left, heading into the woods, but
George had no time to think. He headed for the other tent and almost pulled it out of the
"If you don’t cheer up, I’ll feed you to the Ogua," George said.
The boy’s head finally rose from where he’d been staring at the phone, even though it was currently switched off.
"What’s an Ogua?"
George smiled inwardly.
I’ve caught him.
"It lives hereabouts," he said quietly. "The Iroquois say it’s as big as a bear, with a hard shell like a turtle and a thick tail that can break a man’s back. By day it stays under the water. But at night it comes out, looking for deer... or anything else it can drag away to its den."
Bobby’s eyes had gone big and wide open.
Time to reel him in.
George waved in the direction of the ruined cabins.
"That’s why the folks who built these here dwellings had to leave. The Ogua got all their cattle... and they were afeared it was coming for them next."
George looked out over the still river, remembering how his own father had told him the story, in this same spot. He cast the line, sending the weighted lure over to the far bank where it landed with a soft plop.
He was remembering his own father’s story, and the insistence, the sincerity with which he’d told it. The Ogua might, or not be real, but one thing was for sure, George’s old man had believed it, and had made George believe it, for a time at least.
Now if I could only get through to Bobby. Maybe we could both believe.
"Its den is about there I reckon," he said. "At least that’s where your Great-Granddaddy saw it, back in Fifty Five. It gave him such a fright his hair went white. And do you know..."
He never got a chance to finish. The boy’s cell phone rang, the blast of tinny music breaking any spell George had woven.
"Yay. I got a signal," Bobby shouted, happier than George had seen him all day.
He was on the phone all the time while George got a fire going and cooked the trout. He only put it down to eat. George tried to interest him in the beauty of the sunset, but the boy sat there, head down, thumbs working frantically, lost in a world George would never understand.
He did get the lad to switch it off as they got into their sleeping bags. Bobby wanted to stay in the tent. George preferred to lie out in the open, like he had in his youth. When he woke to take a leak around midnight he saw a tell-tale blue glow from the phone’s display just inside the tent. By then he was too dispirited to get into an argument about it.
First thing in the morning, we’re outa here. It’ll be best for both of us.
After that, sleep wouldn’t come. He lay on his back, staring up at the Milky Way and remembering nights such as this with his own father; the anticipation of the fishing to come the next day, the feeling of closeness with his old man he feared he’d never achieve with Bobby.
It was nearly two o’clock when he rolled onto his side. There was still a faint glow from the tent where the boy lay.
Enough is enough.
He moved to climb out of his bag.
And that’s when he heard it... a soft slump as something pulled itself out of the water, barely five yards from where he lay.
Bobby!
He rolled, still coccooned in the bag, ignoring the stones and twigs that poked and prodded even through the nylon, making for the boy’s tent.
"Bobby!" he said in a whisper that wanted to be a shout. "Get out of there."
Something big moved across the ground towards him, twigs snapping and pebbles tumbling with small splashes into the river. Above that there was breathing, a liquid gurgle.
"Bobby!" he said, louder this time.
He shucked off the sleeping bag. It was grabbed from his grasp and whisked away. He heard the sound, very close now, as whatever had come out of the water tore the nylon with loud rips.
A bobbing blue light moved somewhere to his left, heading into the woods, but
George had no time to think. He headed for the other tent and almost pulled it out of the
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