Strange Tales for Cozy Nights 1

By Brian Bakos

Nine offbeat tales guaranteed to disturb your cozy nights. From strange voyages and baffling powers to dystopian athletic competitions, these stories are for you if you enjoy burning the midnight oil with a good yarn. Happy reading!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian Bakos
• Release date: May 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370038220

Brian Bakos

I like to write and travel. I'm from the Detroit area originally and try to see other places as often as possible. My most recent travels have been to China, Ecuador, and Belize. Am thinking of my next destination. It's wonderful how travel inspires the writing process. Attended Michigan State University and Alma College.Not much more than that. Anything else I have to say comes out in my books. If you really want to know more, please contact me through my website, https://www.theb2.net/. May life bring you many blessings!

Book preview

STRANGE TALES

FOR COZY NIGHTS – 1

by Brian Bakos

Hello dere, friends!

cover art: Tony Ortiz photos: Brian Bakos

Copyright 2017, Brian Bakos / revised 04–2023

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to anyone else. If you want to share this book, please buy an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords.com and obtain your own copy. Thanks for respecting the author’s hard work.

Table of Contents

Prolog

Thing in the Lake

Voyage

The Man Who Loved Winter

Haunted Woods Excursion

Bear Country

The White River Terror

Personnel Enhancement Service

Rifle King

Healer

Connect with the Author

Other Books in the Series

Prolog

A word from the author:

Are you the type who enjoys a little distress with your evening mug of cocoa? Do mysterious abominations creeping in the gloom hold a special charm?

If so, these nine stories are for you. They encompass a wide variety of topics and settings, so with a little imagination, you can put yourself into at least one scenario. Not to worry. The best part about nightmares is waking up and discovering they aren’t real. Or are they?

Happy reading!

Thing in the Lake

1. The thing finds me

Something thuds against the bow as I drift through the darkness.

What the hell?

I drop to my knees and switch on the flashlight, expecting to discover a small log or a beer cooler floating in the water. You never know what some drunk will toss off a party barge. I ready my paddle to shove aside the obstruction.

Ahhh!

My flashlight tumbles into the water as I fall back along the floor. The canoe rocks, threatening to capsize.

God help me!

But God is nowhere in this night. I’m alone and unprotected as clouds scud across the sliver of moon. My canoe ceases pitching. The thing in the lake scrapes the hull with the scratching hands of death. My own hand trembles as I flick on the electric trolling motor clamped to the stern.

I grip the drive handle and bring my craft gently around. It bears me away. Somewhere, a loon shrieks.

My patio light draws closer. I scramble onto the seat and open the motor to full throttle, not looking back to see if the horror pursues.

When the bow strikes dry land, I leap ashore. The next thing I recall is standing in the shower under a hot blast.

I fall into bed.

* * *

It’s still dark when I awake. The clock is lying face down on the carpet, and Jodie is not with me.

Did any of this really happen? Am I still out on the lake, and is the bedroom an illusion?

Things have come unstuck in the world.

After daybreak, I drag myself downstairs to the kitchen and open a wine cooler. Jodie is fond of these, the sole blemish in her otherwise impeccable taste. It’s the only alcohol in the house. I drink it fast and open another. Then I head out the sliding glass doors to the lake.

The neighboring houses are distant and empty. Midweek interlopers like myself are uncommon on this gentrified part of the shoreline. My canoe lies in its customary place. Everything seems in order, except…

That smear along the port hull—was it there before?

I slug down half the wine cooler and gaze over the watery expanse. In other countries, this would be a ‘sea,’ but here in Michigan, it’s just one of several massive lakes gouged out by glaciers and augmented by dams.

I’ve been coming here my whole life since Mom and Dad owned the place—before the second floor got built and Jodie’s designer furnishings took over. The huge body of water seizes my mind and returns it to a winter day when I was twelve.

You could see a long way down into the frozen lake. That’s where I found it. No one else could, especially not Rex, who proclaimed I’d gone wacko. But I knew what was there.

I return to the house and make a call on the landline. My cell phone is for my other life downstate.

2. Struggle to comprehend

The waitress smiles as I push open the glass door to the Kawfee Cup café. A few locals sit scattered around the tables and counter. Nobody I know. Rex sits in a remote booth wearing his usual jeans and checked shirt. His hair and beard are neatly trimmed.

You look like crap, Ben, he says by way of greeting.

Thanks.

Same old Rex. We had many adventures together as boys, and we’ve kept in touch. When I come up here for a break, he helps me shed my more complicated self and take on the simpler aspect of this small town.

So, what’s the problem? Rex asks.

The waitress arrives with coffee before I can tell him.

The mini-breakfast, egg over easy, I say.

Coming right up.

This skimpy repast is all I can handle right now. The waitress departs. She’s cute. Hopefully, I haven’t been too blunt with her. I don’t want to come across as some insensitive jerk from downstate.

Rex is a blunt guy, too. That’s another reason I like him. He’s devoid of the political hackery and double talk I must deal with in the working world. He isn’t one to stick a knife in your back.

I spend a few minutes trying to absorb the relaxed ambiance with my coffee. Then I get to the point. Remember when we were kids, and I saw that car under the lake ice? You said I was crazy.

Rex grins, good-natured, though a bit apprehensive. How could I forget?

But I was right, as later events proved.

I’ll grant you that, Rex says, with a tip of his cup.

How to continue? The waitress arrives with my breakfast, and I dig in, stalling for time.

I’m famished and regret not ordering something more substantial. Rex has a calming effect on me. The waitress’ friendly attitude also gives me some grounding. My numbed sensibilities begin to thaw.

Rex turns reflective. This is the point where he’d yank a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and light up if smoking was still allowed in restaurants.

That was quite a day, all right, he says.

I wait for him to say more, but it’s not forthcoming.

Well, don’t expect too much from a hick, I think uncharitably.

I drink some coffee, holding the warm mug like a comfort blanket. Something similar happened last night.

Rex’s eyes flash, and he gulps hard. Really?

Yeah. I took my boat out on a ‘loony cruise.’ Something was in the water.

I have another sip of coffee, wishing it was a powerful cocktail instead.

What was it? Rex says in a virtual whisper.

A body.

Color drains from Rex’s face. Did you report it to the sheriff?

No need for that.

No need? If there’s a body in the water, the sheriff’s gotta be informed. Rex glances around and lowers his voice. Do you know who it was?

I nod.

Who? Ray’s voice cracks as it goes up an octave.

I lean in close; we meet halfway across the table. I whisper the answer into his ear, then sit back.

There’s no doubt. I seize my cup. You know I wouldn’t lie.

Rex looks like somebody has slugged him in the gut. Time hangs suspended in the little restaurant.

More coffee? the waitress asks. Her name tag identifies her as Carla.

Please, I say, and more for my friend, too.

She smiles at me but pretty much ignores Rex. He could be having a coronary, and she probably wouldn’t notice. Rex is only the familiar truck hauler and handyman, while I’m the exotic ‘rich guy’ from down south.

The fact I can think in such terms verifies the release of tension. My sophisticated, or at least more cynical, self is reemerging. It helps to get things off your chest—especially when it’s a vision of death floating in the water, glassy eyes staring into a flashlight beam.

Carla tops up our coffee and leaves, swaying her hips. She’s a year or two out of high school, and life must seem dead-end-ish here.

Rex recovers from his shock. Hey, don’t do that to me, man. A joke’s a joke, but –

This isn’t a joke.

Damn, Rex says. Damn.

He stares at me like I’m a ghost. I can’t resist the temptation to reach across the table and grip his forearm. He jerks back; I grin wickedly.

Did you tell Jodie?

She’s at home, I say. Our schedules don’t match this week.

I see.

A vacuum descends on the conversation, sucking out all life.

I take a final slug of coffee. It was good talking to you, pal. Sorry if you’re upset.

No… it’s all right.

For a moment, all the social strata BS falls away. I’m suddenly fed up with who I am