A short story written to free me up of writers' block for Nanowrimo based off of the song by Ludo.
You can listen to Lake Pontchartrain here
My name is Elijah. I’m going to tell you a story about how I lost everything in a single night in the dead of Summer in Louisiana. At the time we were leaving home, it was the morning and we were out of college, intent on enjoying some good Louisiana air. Anything but Missouri, the place was a ghost time that time of the year. The packing itself filled us with such a childish abandon.
The idea of our first trip out of the state to somewhere with some life other than cows and peacock farms was enough to make any one giddy. It was Darius, Nolan, and I. We burned rubber out of that suburbian hell towards what we thought would be freedom. We had the money to survive a while, we turned off our phones to get away from the parents prying questions of where we were, what we were doing, if we were safe. We were in college, but it seemed like the folks never quite let us out of their sight, which was fine when they cooked free dinners.
Anyway, the air seemed to get only muggier the further into Louisiana we got. The trip past the state line was filled with horrible jokes about the girls at our school and countless other insensitive subjects that made me almost crash laughing. The sun sank low but we weren’t nearly far enough to stop for the night, instead we stopped at some dive for a bite to eat. I’m not sure what it was called now that I think back on it. Perhaps it was because I don’t want to remember any of it at all.
We went in and the waitress pushed the crawfish on us as if the smelly little buggers were going extinct. Darius and Nolan took the bait like a pair of children. Who could blame them, the chick was hot and with that much cleavage who could deny her? Minus the man with the shellfish allergy, which would be me. I stuck to the grilled chicken sandwich. It seemed like my buddies got the better end of the deal. They were practically choking on the stuff at the rate they were eating the little red half-lobsters.
We were out of there with a surprisingly low bill, and naturally I was a little skeptical of what effects the food would have on us later. At the time I thought it would be food poisoning the likes of which no man had ever known. I was so wrong. We continued on into the night, the southern bell music was interrupted with a commercial occasionally, about some lake in the back country. “Come down to Lake Pontchartrain, rest your soul and feed your brain, that’s where you will get to see,” It sang in a voice that was eery and less inviting then intended.
But the thing that started to make the night terrifying was the all-soaking rain and the way it killed our visibility. We couldn’t see the map in my dinky car, the light inside was long past the repair date and so we had to pull over in the storm that seemed to brew from nowhere. We sat in the car, huddled around the map outside of a run down motel. The light from the sign being the only light, but just enough for us to see that we were well off course.
Then someone bashed themself against my side of the car. We all leaned away from the driver side window with horror. A man was raving, shouting about something familiar. His eyes were wild and his teeth could have used some work, but what scared us was what he was yelling at us.
“Come down to Lake Pontchatrain,” He yelled at us in that familiar rhythm from that stupid cheap commercial. “Rest your soul and feed your brain, free for you and all your friends, crawfish to the bitter end,” It was different, he had changed it up, we were scrambling to get a weapon of some sort out of fear he would murder us. I got into my seat and slammed the gas pedal to the floor as he yelled the last line; “Wade to where the shallows break, that’s where you will get to see everything the water can be!” But I was gone.
There was no way I was sticking around, putting my Camrys’ engine to the test in an attempt to put some miles between that crazed man and us. My friends were completely silent. Perhaps the hobo scared them or they weren’t feeling that well, I thought. I tried to hit the interstate but the ramp was flooded, forcing me to take a small road that lead straight into the woods. I lost my way soon, the rain coming through the trees washed away all signs of a route.
I slammed my breaks when a sign reared up from the darkness, my headlights making it glow with an unnatural light. It read; “Lake Pontchartrain”. At the time it didn’t hit me something was definitely up. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard Darius saying someone was in the lake that was a few yards in front of us. I looked but I couldn’t see in the rain and lightning, he even pointed and yelled to the point where he was reaching hysteria. Before I could stop him he was out of the car and gone like a gazelle, straight towards the rough lake waters.
I turned around to tell Nolan to stay put but I discovered he was gone too. I got out, staying behind my car door an I yelled for them to come back so we could get out of there. But then I heard it, I swear I heard what they must have heard even if I couldn’t see what they had seen. There were voices, coming from the lake itself. They weren’t panicked mid-drowning voices of people in distress.
They were almost angelic if it weren't for the snake-like hissing and synchronized clashing of the lake. I felt something on my foot, looking down, through the rain, I saw thousands of crawfish making for the lake, and to my horror they were screaming. The look you’re giving me right now is probably one of sarcastic disbelief. No, they were screaming and the lake was moving in the most unnatural way while I stood there in the rain. I remember wiping off my glasses just in time to see the most demonic sight of my life.
My friends were wading in deeper and I tried to call them back but I was too scared to go out and get them myself. The water seemed to climb at an ungodly rate, even with the way the rain was falling, the water was rising oddly, right out of the lake itself. I watched as the lake opened up in front of Darius and Nolan, like a beasts’ maw opening for a meal, and with a horrible roar it swallowed them up. That was the last I saw of them, I swear to you. It was the most unforgettable view I had ever seen, one I wish I could wake up from but I know I can't.
When I first told my story, I sat in the interrogation room. The detectives stared at me like I was insane. “That’s how I told it to them, and how I told it to you and every other reporter, doctor, and curious intern who’s come and asked me.” I said through the pane of scratched up yellowed glass in the Louisiana State Mental Hospital. On the other side sat a reporter, his face was blank, I couldn’t tell if he believed me or not.
Seeing as I was here under an insane plea my attorney made on my behalf, I couldn't blame the guy. I was formally charged with the murder of my two friends, even if nothing was found.
Then I saw the hint of skepticism in the reporters’ face. That look of question as to how he would be able to sell a story like this. “Why would I lie, there were no bodies,” I said, my voice cracking a bit from the retelling of the story. “You could always just say I was a boy who lost his friends in the rain.” I told him, leaning forward a bit. “Any more questions just go and ask Lake Pontchartrain.”
