When Evil Came To Town

The drive to Fallen Leaf Lake brought back memories from a time that no longer existed. It had been a year since Jeff Burgmann and his wife last enjoyed their little cabin on the lake together. It had been a year since tragedy struck, and a split second changed their lives forever. After the sudden death of his wife and two innocent people in another car, he was left with only overwhelming grief and unbridled guilt. 

Jeff sat in the driveway for quite a while. His last clear memory was of him and his wife driving away from the cabin, excited about returning in a few weeks to enjoy the Labor Day weekend. That weekend would never come for the two of them ever again. Now, he was going it alone, returning to the cabin after a year to pick up the pieces of a shattered life.

What Jeff saw when he slowly opened the door to the cabin was a memory frozen in time. Everything looked the same. He compared the room to a photograph-like image etched in his mind that he didn't know was there until he opened the door. The scarf his wife forgot to grab when they left the cabin was still laying on the back of her favorite chair as if physically taking her place in a memory from another time. He closed his eyes as he held the scarf against his face and could almost smell the faint fragrance of her favorite perfume through the musty air of the closed-up cabin. It created something palatable that made the moment feel real, like something he could touch. The grief of losing the person he loved had driven him to the edge of sanity more than once over the past year.

The thought of returning to the cabin and settling his mind was something that he needed, and he was looking forward to some quiet time over the next few weeks but the razor-sharp emotions of doing that washed away any energy he had left as the sun began to set in the distance.

Jeff fell into bed shortly after sunset. He lay still, hypnotized into a semi-fitful sleep by the ceiling fan whirring overhead. 

The morning sun was encumbered by ominous clouds on the horizon. Hungover from a restless night's sleep, he sat quietly on the porch and watched the steam rise from his coffee cup as a police car slowly appeared up the driveway. It was the local sheriff.

A curious conversation occurred; the Sheriff asked about any activity in the area last night. Jeff denied hearing or seeing anything unusual and was shocked to learn the Sheriff had been at his neighbor’s house investigating a murder, the third murder in as many weeks. Jeff wasn’t sure he heard the Sheriff correctly because his words were almost inaudible, engulfed by the howling wind of an approaching storm.

Jeff made it through another day of whirlwind thoughts, fragmented feelings, and self-reflection as night fell upon the cabin. Once again, Jeff turned in early, lulled to sleep by rain pinging off the glass. The boom rolled through the trees and echoed through the cabin as lightning violently flashed through the windows as if sent to scorch the earth. Jeff jumped to his feet and walked into the kitchen, flinching as lightning ricocheted from every corner of the room as he peered out the window into the darkness shattered by flashes of light. 

Something caught his eye: a reflection, a shadow. Was it real, or was his fragile mind playing tricks on him in the storm. A sudden rattling of the locked door jolted him back to earth; "Get out of here—I will kill you," he screamed at the shadow dancing in front of the windows.

The blast from the shotgun propped next to the door pierced the night. Jeff dropped to his knees and began to sob. Adrenaline exploded through his body as screams emptied the air from his lungs for nobody but him to hear. What had he done?

Shotgun still in hand, Jeff slumped against a kitchen cabinet in the cabin's empty darkness, waiting for the Sheriff, wondering how this could happen. 

The storm had run its course; lightning was replaced by a sea of shadows as clouds lumbered past the crisp outline of a brilliant moon. Jeff watched as the headlights filled the room with light as the Sheriff parked in front, studying the hole in the door made by the shotgun. With gun drawn, the Sheriff carefully entered the cabin to find Jeff, his face white, dripping sweat and tears, kneeling in the kitchen. The lawman was face to face with a hollow shell of a man, plummeting into insanity one gurgling sob at a time.

Squinting through the purple haze of gunpowder hanging in the air, the Sheriff asked what had happened. "A man was trying to break in—I killed him," Jeff kept repeating. "Where is he?" the Sheriff asked. Jeff pointed toward the door, but the Sheriff knew no dead man was on the porch.

The Sheriff took Jeff’s gun, went outside to check for this mystery man, and found nothing. Evil had come and gone, leaving no trace but a fragile mind filled with the feeling of impending doom cowering in the kitchen. Skeptical of Jeff’s story, the Sheriff drove away.

As the Sheriff turned onto the main road, he slammed on his brakes as two frightened deer bounded in front of his squad car. He took a deep breath as he watched the tule fog drift through his headlights on the road leading up to the lake. The woods around the lake sat silent. He could feel the eyes of its tiny residents peering at him through the cover of darkness, wondering who was invading the solitude of their forest. But the Sheriff, an experienced lawman, also felt the eyes of evil; he knew it was out there, waiting, watching. 

Jeff came outside to survey the damage to his door. Shards of broken glass crunched under his feet, a reminder he had just fired a gun through a door at a shadow that didn’t exist except in his mind. As Jeff grabbed his broom, he noticed a plastic bag with a single rock and a piece of paper inside. It was a newspaper clipping about an accident, a drunk driver killing a family of two. A twin brother of one of the victims, overcome by such grief, had to be committed to an asylum. Jeff’s stomach clenched. Who was this brother? How did this piece of paper get here? Panic surged through him like a current as his eyes darted from side to side. The moment felt like the beginning of the end. Revenge was in the air and beyond his control, just like his life.

Jeff felt the need to get back inside the cabin. He cautiously opened the front door and peered in, waiting for something or someone to jump out at him. It was a strange feeling; everything was in its place, but nothing felt the same. He was a bundle of nerves checking behind every door, looking in every closet but seeing nothing except the vivid images of a single night of terror left behind in his head. Jeff couldn't shake off the feeling that something was still very wrong, and whatever had happened wasn't over.

Jeff didn’t sleep that night, consumed by uncertainty and fear and the thought of how easy it was to pull that trigger. The next morning, reality set in. "Ok, enough is enough," Jeff said to himself. He knew he was alone, but the only way to keep the demons at bay was to keep busy. He focused on the mess he had to clean up and a colossal mess it was.

It was a beautiful day, and the sun felt good as he swept the glass and dirt from the porch. He carefully measured the window frame, thinking tomorrow was a good day to head into town, pick up some supplies, and get a piece of glass to replace the broken window.

Later that night, as Jeff sat at the heavy oak table savoring a bowl of lukewarm canned soup, the only real food he had today, he felt pretty good about what he had accomplished. He had won, at least for today, the tug of war in his head, and he felt good about it. Hour by hour, he had willed himself to keep moving, stay busy, and keep the chaos of his fragile world at bay.  

A knock at the door sent the spoon flying to the floor as Jeff jumped to his feet. He moved the large piece of cardboard to the side and apprehensively peered out the window to see a tall man wearing khaki pants and a black shirt with the imprint of a gold badge. He breathed a sigh of relief when he realized it was the law and slowly opened the door. "Howdy!" the man said with a smile. "I was passing by and saw the light, so I thought I would stop and check on things," Jeff assured the officer everything was fine and thanked him for stopping by. "I've never seen you here before; you work with Sheriff Stone?" Jeff asked. "Yeah, I'm a detective," pointing at the unmarked Impala parked in the driveway. "I get up this way now and again," he said. "Well....nice to meet you, and thanks again for stopping by," Jeff said as he shook his hand. "As long as everything's okay up here, I guess I'll be on my way; you take care; I'll probably see you around," the officer said as he walked to the car.  

Jeff closed the door, flipped the latch, and cleaned up the soup he spilled as his frayed nerves uncoiled with the knock. Happy, the lawman stopped to check on him; he didn't feel much like talking to anyone, still carrying an uneasy feeling that wouldn't go away. Jeff pulled all the shades, double-checked the lock on the door, something he had never done at the cabin, and turned in for the night.

It was early morning at the lake, and the sun was just beginning to rise as Jeff suddenly turned his attention to the sound of a car coming up the driveway. He was relieved to see it was the Green Impala the Detective drove. Jeff watched the Detective walking towards him when suddenly, his worst nightmare materialized before his eyes as the man yanked a fake mustache from his upper lip and pulled his hat off to reveal his shoulder-length, scraggly hair. "Remember me!" the man growled. Jeff's heart sank as he realized the man standing before him wasn't a detective but the man he saw at his window, the man he thought he had killed. Jeff's dash for the cabin's safety was cut short by the distinctive click of a gun being cocked. He stopped in his tracks and turned, looking dead center at the quivering barrel of a handgun pointed directly at his head. "What do you want with me?" Jeff yelled. The stranger moved closer to Jeff and said, "Your wife ruined my life; she killed my family, my mom, and my brother, and now, it's your turn to pay!" Suddenly, all the dots connected; Jeff wasn't crazy; his fear this whole time was real, but there was no relief in that now.  

Jeff's constant feeling of impending doom had made him weary; he had no fight left; he was done running from everything and nothing. As he stood staring at the business end of the stranger's gun, he closed his eyes, thinking, it's odd what you remember right before you die. Just then, a loud bang reverberated through the trees. Still standing and feeling no pain, he opened his eyes to see a bloody and twisted body crumpled at the foot of his porch. Jeff saw something move, and out of the corner of his eye stood the Sheriff, gun still pointed at the man he had just shot at the foot of the steps. Jeff stood silently, still in shock, watching the Sheriff walk up to the man's lifeless body and fire another round into his head.

Frantically trying to process everything that unfolded in front of him, he asked the Sheriff how he knew the guy would be here? "Trouble came to my town and always seemed to end up in your neck of the woods; all I had to do is wait for trouble to return," he calmly told Jeff.

Jeff sat in a silent daze on the couch. One by one, the constant crackle of police radios and flashing lights disappeared, and the only thing left behind was the image in Jeff's head of the Sheriff shooting a dead man. The Sheriff slowly opened the cabin door to find Jeff staring at the wall, a half bottle of Pendelton Whiskey in his hand and a shotgun propped against his knee. The Sheriff took the bottle from Jeff, grabbed a long swig of whiskey, and set it on the coffee table well out of Jeff's reach. "You know, the only thing left in the bottom of an empty bottle are problems," he said as he pushed the bottle a few more inches out of Jeff's reach.

The two men sat silently on the couch for several minutes until Jeff finally spoke up, "how do you do what you do?" he whispered. "I love my job more than life; sometimes you must love something enough to hang onto the good stuff and let the bad stuff go. Evil never takes a break, and tonight, I made our town a little safer. I will sleep like a baby tonight, then I’ll be on the lake fishing in the morning; it's just another day at the office," the Sheriff replied. 

Jeff couldn't keep quiet; he reminded the Sheriff he shot a man twice, once after he was dead. "I killed the man that brought evil to my town, and then I shot a monster that's haunted you for weeks," he told Jeff.

In a matter of minutes, the Sheriff disappeared into the night. Like everyone in Jeff's life, everyone he ever loved, they all appeared and suddenly disappeared. Once again, he felt alone.

Jeff walked through the cabin, seeing the world through a different set of eyes; everything he saw played in his mind like a slideshow of a happy life he once knew, life returned to him. His eyes stopped on a picture next to his favorite clock on the mantle. Jeff picked up the picture, tucked it under his arm, and grabbed the clock, an anniversary gift from his late wife, as he turned and walked to the door. He placed them on the front seat next to him and headed down the long driveway.

Instead of making his usual left turn at the road, he headed north to the lake. He took in its beauty one last time at the overlook, the most beautiful place on earth. Like a postcard, the lake was smooth as glass; a small boat with a lone fisherman sat quietly in the middle of the lake, a background of trees lining its banks. He wondered if it was the Sheriff in the boat.

The downtown seemed back to normal, bustling with families enjoying a beautiful Saturday morning. Children laughing, families talking and smiling, he took in every sight and sound along the way. His favorite diner, where they served the best poached eggs and ham around, was busy as usual. He slowly drove through Fallen Leaf Lake, never to look back.  

Jeff noticed a large billboard in front of the local church on the other side of town. "Today is the day. Welcome to the rest of your life," it read. He read it repeatedly until the horn from an impatient driver behind him at the stop sign interrupted his thoughts. As the car pulled around him, the driver yelled through his open window, "MOVE ON!" Jeff Mullins did just that; he moved on, carrying a photo, his favorite clock, and the memory of the place he loved so much.

The Sheriff had told Jeff evil took no holiday and monsters have no remorse, no conscience, no guilt for what they have done. They continue their carnage until someone stops them. As Jeff pulled on the freeway, he experienced a cold chill. The words of the Sheriff about not having any guilt or remorse struck a chord with him. A part of him enjoyed seeing that monster die in front of him. He was scared as he wondered, had he himself become just another face of evil?