Haunted Creek
Friends on a haunted creek uncover ancient relations. Magic
and mystery drive this journey of self-discovery with the enduring power of
family.
Stella Reeves wiped sleep from her eyes and sat up in bed.
She frowned at the glowing numbers on her bedside alarm clock: 4:33. Working
the mid-shift at the plant, she wasn’t accustomed to early morning wakeups. Was
the neighbor’s cat in heat again? Or was it the sounds of her century old home
settling that roused her from her deep dream? A sweet dream it was too…one she
was sure to tell her girlfriends about on their trip.
The trip! She did a double-take at the clock and threw off
her covers. Her feet hit the cold wooden floors as the phone rang.
“Hello.”
“Stella, we’re outside waiting for you. We’ve been ringing
the doorbell for five minutes. Did you oversleep again?”
“I’m sorry, Josie. My stupid alarm didn’t go off again. Give
me five minutes. I’m already packed…just need to dress and I’ll be down.”
“Hurry up, girl,” she snapped. “The river waits for no
woman.”
The line clicked dead in her hand and Stella dressed
hurriedly. She slipped into her new baby blue swimsuit first. Worn jean shorts
and a T-shirt advertising her side hustle followed. It read “Stella’s Gems and
Crystals” with her website emblazoned beneath a purple amethyst. A pair of red,
white, and blue water shoes completed her outfit.
She ran a brush through her long hair (a shade often
disparaged as dishwater blonde), grabbed her packed river bag, and hustled
downstairs.
Thin, raven-haired Josie hopped out of the dark blue SUV’s
front passenger door and stared down her nose at Stella. She stepped to the
back of the vehicle and threw open the back hatch.
“It’s about time, Stella. Throw your stuff in back.”
Stella tossed in her gear, bit her lip, and climbed into the
back seat. Don’t let on she’s getting to you, Stella, she thought.
Rowan, a red-haired woman in her mid-twenties turned in the
driver’s seat and flashed her bright smile. Stella figured it was that smile
that held all the guys in thrall, not her glorious auburn hair as she’d once
thought. As lovely as Rowan was, her smile was her best feature, appropriate
for someone making their living as a dentist. Everyone gravitated to Rowan,
despite her keeping everyone, even Stella, at arm’s length.
“Hey, Rowan. Thanks for driving. I’ve been looking forward
to this week since this time last year.”
“Yeah, we could tell by how you were waiting for us as
planned.” Josie said.
“Chill, Josie,” Rowan said. “We’ll be down county in time to
see the sunrise over the water. We won’t be dipping our paddles before daylight
anyway—when the kayak rental place opens.”
“Tell us about the place we’re going, Rowan.”
“I think you’ll like it, Stella. It’s a little different
than the places we’ve gone to in past years.”
“Different how?”
“Well for one thing, it’s the coastal plain, not the
mountains. The river is slower, and there’s fewer river ‘challenges’ as Josie
calls them. It will be a nice relaxing float. Plus, we should be able to catch
a few fish, crabs and maybe an oyster or two to supplement that tasteless
dehydrated stuff.”
“Yuck, no slimy oysters for me thank you very much.” Josie
said. “I wipe enough slime out of my kindergartners’ noses.”
“The joys of being a teacher, huh Josie?”
“Yeah, not so much…”
“Rowan, didn’t you say that is where your
family’s from originally?” Stella asked.
“Sure is, but not that I recall. Not really. We moved away
before I started school, but we went back sometimes—when we still had family
there.”
“Did your dad take you after your mom…” Stella started.
“Yes, he wanted us to know both sides of our family. There
aren’t many Blackstones left in the area nowadays, but people remember the
family name even if it’s not for the best of reasons.”
“Why is that? Were you a pre-school hoodlum?”
“No, not me, Josie, it was way before my time. There was a
colonial ancestor who got herself into a spot of trouble down county.”
“What? Wait. I haven’t heard of this one. Give it up, Rowan.”
“Nope. Sorry, Josie, but that’ll be tonight’s campfire
story…unless you guys are chicken? I know you’re not, Stella. Those tales never
affect you. Without empirical evidence, you don’t believe in anything.”
“Wow, is this pick on Stella day? Hey, I’m just realistic,
Rowan, but I do get a kick out of a good scary story.”
“That usually ends with you in a fit of giggles.”
“Well, I like them,” Josie said. “Spooky stories around the
campfire are a tradition, and if memory serves, it’s you who hides in your
sleeping bag during the scary ones, Rowan. Remember the guy with the hook for a
hand…”
“One time…just one time and I’m branded for life.”
***
A brilliant orange and purple sunset greeted their arrival
at the campground. The moon was a night or two away from reaching its full
phase and its mirror image reflected on the flat surface of the river.
“The tide is still. It’s as placid as a lake.”
“Like I said, Stella, this trip won’t be like our usual
float. We’ll be putting the kayaks in at the source of a tributary that feeds
the Potomac. The locals call it a creek. They’d call it a river where we’re
from but it’s not long enough I guess.”
Josie turned her back on the scene and stepped away. “Well,
we don’t have time to admire the scenery…not if we want to get camp set up
before dark. Guess we were too late leaving to enjoy it.”
Stella glanced at Rowan and rolled her eyes. “God, what a
witch,” she breathed.
Rowan smiled but whispered in Stella’s ear, “I know, but go
easy on her. She just broke up with Jim. Another lesson to not trust people
with your heart.”
Experience allowed a speedy assemblage of tents. Stella
started a small campfire and put water on to boil for hot cocoa. The three
women unfolded beach chairs and sat around the fire.
Josie stretched and settled into her chair. “Ok, Rowan, it’s
story time. Let the tall tales begin.”
“Are you sure it won’t keep you up tonight?”
“We’ll take our chances,” Stella laughed.
“Very well. Buckle up, ladies, here goes: As you may know, the Maryland colony was
established by folks seeking religious tolerance in the 1630s. Ironically, the
colonists were not immune from the witch hysteria that rocked Salem Town. In
the late 1600s a woman arrived on these shores who was…different. Her name was
Maeve Blackstone. She was…”
“Blackstone? Was she related, Rowan?”
“I’m afraid so, Josie. She was my great-great…I don’t
remember how many greats— grandmother. She was, by all accounts, a beautiful
woman in the prime of her life. No one knows where she came from. She travelled
here alone—very unusual for a single woman in that day and age. She didn’t get
along well with folks. Men were always chasing after her, though she didn’t
give them the time of day…which spurred them on even more. The local ladies
didn’t much appreciate the attention she attracted. They claimed she was an
‘unnatural’ woman, and too prideful and haughty for her ‘station.’ Maeve traded
with the natives and helped those most in need. But mostly she kept to herself,
balked at societal norms and avoided colonial functions—including attending
church services.”
“It sounds like she was an independent woman, not a popular
trait in those days.”
“Exactly and not now either, Stella. Tensions increased when
it became obvious that Maeve was with child. The father was never identified,
but every matron in the colony, even while suspecting Maeve’s never-do-well
hangers on, feared it would be discovered to be their own husband, brother, or
son.”
“So, they ran her out of town?”
“Let her finish, Stella, but do get on with it, Rowan. I’m
ready to hit the sack.”
Rowan smiled and continued. “Maeve was used to the townsfolk
shunning her, but now they took it to a new level. People whispered curses
under their breath when she passed. Children were scolded if they didn’t cross
the street to avoid her. She became the focal point of church sermons as the
preacher railed against godless, immoral, and unnatural acts.
“The colonists’ livelihood in those days depended on tobacco
farming and fishing. When a drought seized the land, work-worn fingers all
pointed at Maeve. Then several children caught what they called the
seasoning—likely malaria which was rampant in the area at the time. Hatred
towards Maeve grew stronger, and folks began to suggest witchcraft was
involved. The icing on the cake was the red tide in the Potomac…”
“Red tide?”
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