In the Water part 2: Beginning the Investigation by Nic Rawson
If you missed Part One: In the Water, start HERE!
It was raining. It had been raining for what felt like weeks now. It had probably been less, but I wouldn’t even be able to tell you what month it was, let alone the day. It must have been sometime after August though, because school was back in. I rarely caught the flashes of yellow school buses whisking children to and fro from their classrooms from behind my pulled blinds, but I knew they were out there. I hated them. I despised their constant reminder of my loss.
I had been trying to push this thought from my mind. I didn’t want to be play the victim, but everyday felt like I was starting fresh at the base of a mountain. I didn’t even seem capable of making it halfway up the slopes before sleep returned me right to where I started. No one ever believes that a responsible parent can lose a child. It can only get worse when you start claiming a monster did it. More than once, I’ve heard the rumblings of who they believe the real ghoul is. They probably weren’t that far off. My skin was pale from the countless days I spent with the shades drawn behind closed doors. My sleepless nights had drawn deep shadows under my eyes. If it weren’t a century or so too late, you’d have thought that I was Bram Stoker’s inspiration. Unlike the prodigal vampire, I had begun my prowl in the sunlight. Well, it would have been sunlight except for the constant gray haze of clouds shielding me from the sun’s rays.
I trudged through the puddles along the sidewalk of the university. Freshmen tittered about the latest social media fad as they passed in their roving packs. I only had about a block left to the brick and glass building that mirrored the gray sky. I had thrown on a ratty suit I had bought at the thrift store for this meeting. Just because I haven’t left my house for months, doesn’t mean I have to look the part, right? As I approached the brick and glass multi-story building. I made eye contact with a tall, heavy set man with a broom of a mustache. He stopped the to and fro motion of his mop the moment our gaze met.
“Paul.” I nodded with what I hoped was a smile.
“Art.” He responded after the slightest hesitation. “Haven’t seen you in a while. You doing alright?”
“Yes.” I said curtly and kept walking. I could feel Paul’s eyes following me. We used to meet up every Thursday and have a few drinks while we lied about our most recent adventures. I wonder if tonight he’d tell the harrowing tale of how he stood face to face with the infamous Creature of the Creeks as the whisperers had dubbed me. Frankly, I’m impressed with the locals’ penchant for alliteration, though lately I doubt they’d be able to decipher more than a third of my, or anyone’s, writings.
I slogged onward on my quest. The cold gray concrete flooring near the entrance appeared flooded with the droplets left behind by a thousand feet before me. I tracked my own set of prints forward and then to the right. I followed the walls lined by science posters of overzealous undergraduates attempting to study lunar phases on local ecosystems all the way to “How Happy Does Your Dog Make You?” I rounded the corner and dodged a couple as they walked hand and hand out of the stair case. My face contorted at as they loudly considered what they would name their children someday. I decided to take the stairs two at a time.
After alighting on the 4thfloor of the building, I began to pass posters that were more of my interest. How the Coelacanth Survived Extinctioncaught my eye first. Then there were posters on the giant salamanders native to the area. Part of me wanted to read what they had to say, but I knew most of this could be summed up in the discussion I was about to have. I arrived in the central hub of the area and continued straight through the circular area. When the building had been designed, the spoke and wheel architecture had been considered a marvel. The only problem was that to cut down on cost and, I guess, for artistic reasons there was only one staircase that went the whole height of the building. It was located at the north end of the structure. I was unlucky enough to have a meeting at the south side.
Regardless, there in front of me glinted the golden nameplate. Room 403, the office of Michael E. Harrison, PhD. The wooden door to the office had a vertically running window that was covered by sketches of ancient creatures. I knocked.
“Come in. Come in.” boomed such a gregarious voice that it knocked me onto my heels for a second. I opened the door and was confronted with the owner. I was struck by how small his stature was compared to the sound that had pierced the solid oak and still resonated in my chest. He had short white hair that continued in a seamless line into his neatly trimmed beard. He wasn’t wearing the corduroy that I had imagined and instead had a Metallica t-shirt and faded jeans on. His left ear was pierced and as he stepped out to shake my hand I noticed he wasn’t wearing shoes. They were instead tucked neatly beside the door.
“How do you do there Arthur. I’m Mike.” He said jolting me back to my senses for a second.
“Hello. Dr. Harrison. It’s nice to meet you.” I said faking what I hoped was a smile.
“Come on now. You can call me Mike. Unless you owe me a term paper and have come to grovel because of some excuse about saving a cat from a tree or some such nonsense.” He chortled heartily. “Then you’d have to call me Dr. Harrison.”
“I’ve never been much for heights.” I replied. “So, I guess we don’t have to worry about any of that.”
“HA!” He exclaimed with a pat on my back. “Good man. Well then why don’t we get down to business?”
“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard the story of my son Alan at this point.” I led.
“Yes. Unfortunate to be sure. I’m not entirely certain how I can help with any of that though.”
“I’ve brought the article that I wrote for the local paper that might clarify some of my thoughts and what I experienced that day. I’d rather not have to recount it out loud if that’s ok with you. Some of it’s just too…” I trailed off. Dr. Harrison took the papers from my hand and leaned back into his office chair. I sat across on an ornate mahogany stool that seemed almost designed to be uncomfortable – probably so that students wouldn’t loiter in his office overly long.
“I have read this before, Art.” He said over the top of his glasses.
“Like I mentioned, I paid to have it published in the local paper, so…” I was nervous all of a sudden and was only rescued by Dr. Harrison raising a hand.
“No. I read it in one of the local magazines, the paper, and I’m sure I saw it on one of those placemats at the diner right next to an ad for a car dealership. I’m surprised they fit that much on there to be honest.” His eyes twinkled faintly as he said it, but then quickly turned into a more stern expression. I imagined he probably realized that his joke was ill timed. “It seems you’ve been proactive about getting your story out there, Art. I just don’t see how I can help you, even with this.”
“I just…” My throat tightened unexpectedly. I tried desperately to control my emotions as they battered against the levies of my consciousness. “I just thought that maybe you could help me identify what kinds of… organisms could exist in the waterways. What things might be in the water that could explain my son – or my wound?” I rubbed my leg where the puckered scar would still tingle from time to time.
Dr. Harrison’s face puckered momentarily. It almost seemed like this was the longest time in his life he had gone without smiling. He then looked at the ceiling fan that was lazily rotating about the bright white LED light in the middle. It threw dancing shadows against the shelves of books. It played against the informational posters – glycolysis, organelles, and evolution.
He let out a soft exhale before speaking in a much more hushed tone. “Arthur.” He paused. “The rivers, streams, and creeks in this area have not been able to support much other than catfish and carp…”
“That can’t be true.” I blurted. He raised a hand.
“Until recently. A hundred years ago the major industries in the region were oil, leather, and timber. The production of the first two caused so much pollution that these were considered some of the deadliest rivers in the world. The timber industry disturbed the ancient root structures that had preserved the banks – leading to even more run-off from erosion.” He let out another sigh. “Over the last couple of decades though, we’ve been hard at work to undo the damage. The ecosystem has responded well and we’ve been reporting all kinds of growth. We’ve even identified some species that we thought were extirpated.”
“Extirpated?”
“It means locally extinct. It’s been mostly insects and snails up to this point. Though, there has been a rebound in turtles and colonies of freshwater clams have been discovered. It wouldn’t wholly be out of the question that even more complex organisms have been able to return. However, I can’t think of anything carnivorous that existed in this region recently that would be capable of what you described.”
“What about not so recently?”
“Probably not here. There were large fish remains found near the Great Lakes, but the majority of animals one could consider probably would not have been able to migrate here. It wasn’t until the dam systems were put in place that there was any real depth to the river. It wasn’t even considered a river by settlers – it was originally described as being only inches deep. As far as mammals, there were wolves and mountain lions in the area until relatively recently. Though that doesn’t seem to fit with your experience.”
“No. I would think if the animal came from the shore I would have heard it.” I replied. Relieved that I was finally getting something out of this meeting.
“Probably so.” Dr. Harrison stated.
“What about these large fish remains though?” I asked leaning forward as much out of interest as it was to relieve the strain the stool placed on my lower back.
“I’ll preface this by saying they’ve never been found this far south.” He began allowing a large pause as if he wanted to end his statement there. “Probably the most well-known is Hyneria. It was what is called a lobe fish that could grow up to 12 feet long and had 2 inch long fangs…”
“That could be it!” I exclaimed. The jubilance and relief I felt that some creature could actually exist was short-lived.
“They died out around 380 million years ago, so I would doubt that it would be around today.” Dr. Harrison said. I slumped back into my chair as a response and locked my eyes on my muddy brown shoes. I was relatively certain they were white when I left the house earlier that day. “However,” he started again causing me to straighten and lock his ice blue eyes, “The coelacanth lived during the same period. You may or may not know that it had been thought extinct, but a fisherman off the coast of Africa caught one. So, anything is possible. Though, I stand by that it is incredibly unlikely.”
“So, what else do you know about this Hyneria?” I said excitedly.
“Not much to be honest, but it would need a large population of prey to survive. We don’t really have that here. It really wouldn’t make much sense. I would say that the chance of a large predatory fish being in our river is only slightly higher than zero.”
“It’s an idea at least…” I trailed off feeling slightly discouraged by the meeting thus far. Then another thought struck me. “You mentioned catfish earlier.”
“Yes?” Dr. Harrison raised an eyebrow.
“Have you ever heard about the divers that work on the dam? People say that they encounter giant catfish the size of…”
“A car or a bus, or an airplane?” Smirked Dr. Harrison. “Wives’ tales. Nothing more.”
“I thought that catfish could grow their entire lifetime as long as they had food?” I said repeating the common wisdom I had grown up with.
“That might be true, but in North America the largest catfish ever caught was a flathead catfish that was around 6 feet long. Allegedly a 300 pound catfish was caught in the Missouri River in the 19thcentury, but we’re quite a ways from there. There is no evidence to suggest that catfish in this state ever reach those sizes. Even so, catfish wouldn’t explain the gash on your leg.”
“Catfish whiskers are sharp though? I had thought maybe one of the whiskers had caught me as the catfish swam away.” I protested.
“It’s not actually the whiskers that are sharp. The dorsal fin – the fin on the fish’s back – that has the ability to cut. Again, catfish in this area don’t grow large enough to cause such a gash as the one on your leg – let alone prey on a child.”
“I know what I saw!” I said furiously. The waves of emotion were cresting over the safeguards I had learned to build.
“I’m sure you do, Arthur, but I only have the facts that are available to me. They don’t support a large creature in the water.” He reiterated his point in a soothing tone that was apologetic. “I truly wish that I could give you something to help you.”
“I know.” I stated flatly to my damp shoes more so than to the professor. “What about reptiles?”
“Again there is nothing so large that it could attack Alan or you. There have been reports of alligators coming further north, but our winters would be completely un-survivable to any reptile that large. Sharks have enjoyed some of the same mythos of travelling inland, but the path that one would have to take to get here is improbable at best. There are some aggressive forms of snakes in the wetlands, but they lack venom and would be more likely to need a few stitches rather than the ordeal that you had. Amphibians would also not explain any of this in case that’s your next question.”
“So there is truly nothing, past or present, which could explain any of this?” I said exasperated.
“I’m afraid not.” He replied quietly. “At least nothing that would be able to survive in the ecosystem as it currently exists.”
“Well then. Thank you for your time, Dr. Harrison. I’ll have to take my investigation elsewhere then.” I stood, stretching out my back. I extended my hand.
“You’re welcome. Arthur. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be of more help.” He said grasping my hand firmly. “Oh, and it’s Mike, remember?” He added with a wink.
“It’s ok.” I frowned at him and then made for the door. As it closed behind me, I started on my way back outside. As I met the front door I complete darkness greeted followed by a flash of light.
“Looks like the weatherman was wrong again.” I heard someone say behind me. I didn’t reply and walked out into the wailing wind. This would probably be the last thunderstorm of the year, so maybe I would luck out and be struck by lightning.
As I approached the crosswalk that led directly into my parking garage I became aware of a woman standing next to me. I turned my head to get a better look at her. She had dark black hair that was pulled tightly up into a bun. She was a little over 5 feet tall and was wearing a plain blue dress that came to her ankles. It appeared to be made out of a jean material. Her coat matched the color and material perfectly. If it weren’t for her earrings and necklace, I would have thought she was Amish. Then she turned and greeted me with deep hazel eyes. She opened her mouth as if to speak but then the pedestrian sign changed and I began walking. I heard the patter of rain on her jacket right behind me and keeping pace. What could she want?
“Arthur?” Her voice sang out. I spun around in surprise. I had never seen this woman in my life.
“Wha…” I began. I never had a chance to finish my question.
I saw a bright white flash of light and an immediate searing pain in the back of my head. My thoughts began to swim back and forth. I smiled to myself briefly thinking that I had been hit by lightning. This was fleeting though as several figures appeared over top of me. They were blurred and silhouetted against the orange street light above me. I felt myself float off the ground as my vision went black. I only heard them hiss out bits and pieces before I lost consciousness. “Quick… the tabernacle… before sunset.”