The Essence of Evil

By JACK STUBBERFIELD

"The Essence Of Evil" is fiction, and was influenced by the pristine wilderness and some events and people that lived in the general area that the story is written about. The young girl in the story could be anyone's young daughter; she has courage and a maturity beyond her years. We all know someone that could be her. The serial killer that stalked the author and his three little girls was eventually caught and put behind bars; but that is a story for another time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 3, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491827475

JACK STUBBERFIELD

Jack Stubberfield was raised and lived in the wilderness of the Pacific NorthWest - primarily central British Columbia. He fished and hunted this area with his dad for many years, and still does with friends and family; never forgetting the wisdom passed on by his best friend and mentor Ned Stubberfield. Jack had several hair-raising experiences with both grizzly bear and a serial killer over the course of his life. He met and became friends with a lot of interesting people, from all walks of life; most of them having the the same love for the wilderness that he has to this day.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The summer of 1983—

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S helley watched the massive brown bear move back and forth across the creek; searching for a salmon. She felt a chill run down her spine as the monster caught her scent; turned and looked in her direction. Even four hundred yards away and high on the trail above the creek she felt uneasy. She slowly moved back up the trail towards the fishing lodge on the other side of the ridge; about a mile away. Her dad had warned her never to go into the bush without her rifle and she was sure wishing she had it now.

She was spending the summer with her dad at his fishing lodge in north central British Columbia. The camp was on a large lake with many creeks and several small rivers coming into it right off the mountains, and one large river running out, not far from the lodge, to the Pacific Ocean.

She was a mature thirteen years old, and had spent the last two summers at the lodge with her dad, helping him during this very busy time of year. Her step-mom would join them in time to close up the lodge for the winter and they would go south to her home in California for the winter.

Shelley had been savagely attacked while she was home alone last winter. She had managed to grab a small kitchen knife, and in the struggle that had ensued she had stabbed her attacker in the stomach. When the police had arrived she was covered with his blood, and sitting on the front step crying, and shaking like a leaf. He was an escaped felon, and had still been wearing the prison clothes he had escaped in. He had fled the scene, and they had been unable catch him since. She still refused to talk about it, and had frustrated the therapist with her silence. She now slept with a knife under her pillow, and said she wanted a job as a police officer so she could carry a gun.

She looked up, towards the roar from a small float equipped bush plane as it flew low over the tree tops. Some of the clients drove the long dusty road to get here; but most arrived in planes like the one that had just passed on its way to the logging camp a few miles down the lake. Shelley had a strange ability; she had the gift of premonition. She suddenly had a feeling that she would be leaving at the end of the summer on that small plane.

The lodge was spacious, made of logs, with several log guest cabins added over the years. The view from the deck looked down on the dock and across the lake towards the setting sun in the west. The lodge had a diesel power plant, and her dad had recently constructed a separate building with shower stalls and a concrete floor, with drains to a large fenced lagoon that was the sewage system for the entire complex. The water was a gravity system and came from a spring; with a two inch plastic pipe that directed water into a large cement cistern built into the side of the hill above the lodge. The cistern held enough water for at least a week, and could be flushed out with a drain built into the bottom with plastic pipe and a valve. The overflow was directed back to the creek bed.

Shelley had covered the mile back to the lodge in about ten minutes, and glanced back the way she had come before leaving the ridge to drop down to the lodge in the large clearing below. Her heart jumped into her throat seeing the grizzly a short distance behind her. That scary monster had followed her from the creek, and you never knew when these huge bears were just curious, or if they were intent on tearing you apart like a caribou, or hapless beaver caught too far from its run. She ran the last hundred yards to the dog run and quickly opened the door so the two dogs could do the job they were here for. They bounded out and around the camp, not yet catching the scent of the bear. The dogs kept the bears out of camp at night, and were fed and put into the run in the morning so they wouldn’t run off.

She walked through the dining area, back into the kitchen. No guests tonight so it would be just her and her dad for supper. A new group was arriving tomorrow, a man and his two grown up sons. They would sleep in one of the guest cabins and eat at the lodge.

After starting a small fire in the cook stove she wandered through the dining area and out onto the large deck. Sitting on the top step she gazed across the lake in momentary awe at the beauty of the setting sun amongst the clouds, mirrored on the flat surface of the lake. As she sat there she contemplated the serenity and the loneliness of this isolated area nestled in the foothills of the surrounding mountains.

Just then she heard a truck pull into the yard; it was her dad, back from the store and post office in the small logging and mining community about two hours from the lodge on the lake. She would tell him they had a grizzly close to camp; she would not tell him she had gone to the creek without her rifle. She ran to help him carry the supplies into the lodge.

CHAPTER 2

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T he bear had approached the camp; he stopped, catching the scent of the dogs. He didn’t like dogs; in his mind they were no different than the wolves that harassed him when he crossed their path from time to time. Turning his back on the clearing he moved off in the direction of the creek; the salmon would soon be arriving so he wouldn’t go very far. He had a sore foot; a porcupine quill that he’d had for months that just wouldn’t come out when he chewed on it. He was cranky and had lost his edge when it came to running down a moose or caribou from ambush, or fighting for territory along the salmon creek with other bears. He had never stalked a human until today; and he had planned on catching the one he had followed to the camp; if not today then maybe tomorrow, but the dogs had changed his plans for now.

CHAPTER 3

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S id owned a large used car lot in the city, and his two boys usually worked for him when they weren’t off on a party. They were now sitting in a small roadside restaurant, it was late at night and they were still a hundred miles on bush roads from the fishing lodge that he had booked for a week. They would take a room at the old motel just down the road, and leave in the morning.

He loved his sons; they had been in trouble with the law pretty much their whole lives, and in his opinion were entitled to do pretty much whatever they wanted. Boys would be boys, and he had always bailed them out. He grinned as Len, the oldest, dropped his fork, and when the young waitress bent to pick it up, her short skirt rode up and George reached over and grabbed her butt.

Her face was as red as a beet and she looked like she was ready to cry. They all laughed; that trick worked almost every time. The boys were just having fun, and he would leave a big tip.

It was obvious she was here on her own, this place probably didn’t get much business, and except for them the place was empty.

CHAPTER 4

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J im enjoyed the lodge, his folks had given it to him and he would give it to Shelley. It was a great life. He had come back when his folks had gotten too old to keep it going, and had not regretted that decision for one moment.

He spent five months at the lodge, two weeks before opening and two weeks after closing. Sarah was here for three months in the summer, and Rebecca, his wife drove up from California about three weeks before they closed, a working holiday for her.

His friend Albert Chin, a prospector during the summer, would stay here during the winter months to keep the lodge heated during the cold weather.

He sat for a moment after turning the truck off; watching Shelley come down off the deck, walking towards him. She never sat still and accomplished far more than most people in a day. She was a skinny little thing, and Jim often where she got her strength. She smiled at him as she went to the back of the truck, and before he could say anything, he looked around to see her carrying a fifty pound sack of potatoes toward the lodge. He scrambled out of the truck to run after her; then stopped, laughing as she turned and grinned at him. He just shook his head and returned to get the rest of the supplies.

CHAPTER 5

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T hey sat on the deck after supper having tea, while Jim went through the mail. A man and his sons were arriving in the morning and another group the following day. They would be busy over the next few weeks, and Jim hoped that Jenny, a slim, middle aged Metis lady, and the camp cook would be back soon. She was a huge help and had gone home to weed and hoe her large garden. Jenny was on her own raising two autistic teen-aged boys. Working here for the summer gave her some much needed cash for her house hold. She and the boys stayed in one of the cabins, and ate with Jim and Shelley.

Her boys had both been different from birth and looked a little odd. Jim liked having them around, they always knew when a storm was coming, and on this big lake that could save your life. They were both good workers and were very well mannered. Jim knew that Freddie and Charlie could survive for days in the bush with just matches and a salmon snare. They both loved their mom and worshipped Shelley.

The boys would probably spend the rest of their lives in this area prospecting and guiding. They were proud of the fact that they had taught Shelley the bush lore that was second nature to them. They knew she was different, and were amazed when she would tell them things about themselves that she should not have known.

CHAPTER 6

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