The Other Side

By Dave Sampson

Scott Frost has settled into his isolated forest cabin. He embraces the simplicity of a solitary life in the Cascade Mountains of southern Oregon. On his 24th birthday, Scott’s world changes forever. An unexpected visitor, a door to a place where everything is the same…but different and a psychotic ex-con, draw Scott into a world of mystery and danger.
Caught in the same place, between two different times, Scott has to rely on new friends and traditional skills to evade a madman to protect and preserve the life he’s come to love on “The Other Side.”
Scott discovers the bonds of friendship and love. He’s forced to realize that the concept of “here and now” is relative and that evil exists where it seems least likely.
“The Other Side” is a struggle between good and evil and the mind-bending concept of a single place separated by time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9781728328461

Dave Sampson

Dave has spent years camping, fishing and exploring the Cascade Mountains of southern Oregon with his wife, Niki. Together, they’ve enjoyed the seasons, views and recreational opportunities provided by the mountains. The inspiration for “The Other Side” comes from a few locales important to Dave and his wife. The “Pine Lake Lodge” represents an actual resort where the two met. The open field where Scott finds his cabin, serves as a winter recreation destination for snowmobilers and cross-country skiers living in the region. Enjoy “The Other Side!” If you ever find yourself in the area, take in the beauty on the drive between Medford and Klamath Falls, Oregon. Keep an eye out for a beautiful resort and The Great Meadow. You may just get the feeling you’re back in 1975.

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© 2019 Dave Sampson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/07/2019

ISBN: 978-1-7283-2847-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-2846-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019914663

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1 A Fresh Start

Chapter 2 The Visitor

Chapter 3 A Strange New Place

Chapter 4 Friends & Enemies

Chapter 5 Discovery and Danger

Chapter 6 Evil Thoughts

Chapter 7 An Uneasy Calm

Chapter 8 Criminal Minds

Chapter 9 Plans In Motion

Chapter 10 Financial Planning

Chapter 11 Revealing Times

Chapter 12 In Pursuit

Chapter 13 Trouble On The Other Side

Chapter 14 Confusion

Chapter 15 Unexplainable Things

Chapter 16 An Uneasy Freedom

Chapter 17 Out Of Then…Back To Now

Chapter 18 A Last Stand

Chapter 19 Explanations And Realizations

Chapter 20 Justice and Joy

CHAPTER 1

A FRESH START

An old trapper’s cabin, patched together over the years and repaired now with what materials were available from the surrounding woods, served as home to Scott Frost. It was located in a high meadow, surrounded by the thick forests of the southern Oregon Cascades Mountain Range. Rugged mountains and the jagged remains of long dormant volcanic peaks loomed on the skyline surrounding the remote outpost.

Scott had lived here since running away from an abusive monster of a father, when he was just fifteen years old. He found the remote seclusion ideal for the life he’d carved out for himself. It offered him freedom and subsistence, which was all he really required. He had never been social and the frequent beatings and horrific punishments dealt to him by his father made him leery of others from a very young age.

His only real friend growing up had been his older brother, Harley. Scott turned fifteen years old the week before Harley died from a severe beating his father had handed him using a tire iron. He found Harley in their back yard that cold fall day with his head caved in. His father was in a rocking chair on the back porch with a bottle of whiskey in his hand and an evil, satisfied look on his face. Retreating back into their ramshackle two-bedroom house, Scott grabbed what he could shove into his backpack and left for good.

He spent that winter in Salem’s underbelly. Soup kitchens and freeway overpasses provided food and shelter through the winter and Scott developed the skills to survive and avoid the attention of the police and social services. In the spring, Scott decided he needed to find a place to settle down. Hitchhiking, and miles of pavement underfoot, provided his transport to the southern Oregon town of Medford. It was there he met Claude Owens.

Claude was an old timer who frequented a park where Scott would often seek a place to sleep. Claude told stories of the mountains to the east, where he’d helped his grandfather trap and hunt as a young man. The way he described the beauty of the mountains and the remoteness of the region caught Scott’s attention. From the descriptions and general directions Claude provided, he set out when the weather warmed, to find a place to settle and figure out what to do with his life.

Scott headed east into the foothills of the Cascades. Camping and exploring the lower climes, he felt a peace settle over him. As he explored further east, the foothills gave way to high, timbered mountains. Streams provided a steady supply of trout and the surrounding woods held a bounty of deer, elk, wild turkey and a variety of other small game. He learned to recognize prints left by various species in the area and became a proficient tracker in a relatively short time.

Scott was tracking a deer one late summer day when he came to a clearing. The thick forest of pines, fir and Western Hemlocks gave way to a high mountain meadow covered in short grass. On the far side of the clearing, he saw the structure.

It had been a month or more since he’d come across any signs of civilization and he was surprised to see a cabin in such a remote area.

Cautiously, he watched for any sign of occupants. For half a day, he remained hidden just inside the tree line and watched for movement or any activity. After several hours, Scott decided the place was either abandoned or its residents were not home. Slowly, and with an acute awareness of his surroundings, he approached the cabin, staying low as he made his way across the meadow.

With no signs of life, Scott peered through a dusty window into the cabin. A layer of dust covered a table and two chairs. There was a potbelly stove in one corner and an old bed in another. Shelves served as cupboards in the kitchen area. They contained numerous cans and boxes, and a couple of pots and a frying pan lay on the wooden countertop.

It looked as if someone walked out of the place a long time ago and never returned. Scott moved to the door and found it slightly ajar. The rusty hinges squeaked as he pushed the door inward and entered the old place. The sunlight filtered through three dusty windows, providing a dull glow inside. Allowing his eyes to adjust, Scott put his backpack and sleeping bag down and looked for any sign of recent activity.

Satisfied he wasn’t entering anyone’s current residence, he assessed the cabin, touring the one room structure. Someone had lived here, but it had been empty for a long time. It was well stocked with provisions of salt, coffee, flour, sugar, beans and an assortment of other food items. Several metal plates and mugs, as well as mismatched silverware, were tucked under the kitchen counter on a shelf.

The wood stove had a flat top, providing a surface for cooking, and a wood box next to it still contained a few chunks of split wood. Moving to the corner of the structure which served as the sleeping area, Scott noticed an old lever-action rifle propped up against the wall. Blowing the dust off the barrel, he revealed writing stamped into the metal. Winchester Repeating Arms Company, and Model 1894 - .30 Cal. Winchester Center Fire. Several boxes of shells matching the caliber designation were on an up-turned wooden crate, which served as a nightstand next to the bed.

Hanging on the wall was an old fly rod. It was of bamboo construction and looked well used, but in good condition. An assortment of traps were in another wood crate near the table. Scott wondered if this might be the very cabin where Claude Owens had spent time with his grandfather as a child.

Over the next several days, Scott worked cleaning the old cabin and the shed, which most likely served as the trapper’s work area. There were saws, axes, knives and tools of all sorts scattered about the shed. Scott wondered how the supplies would have made it to such a remote place. He imagined buckboards and covered wagons drawn by mules, or maybe oxen, making their way over the rugged mountain passes, long ago.

As days turned to weeks, Scott explored the terrain surrounding the cabin. There was abundant wildlife and plenty of timber for building and for firewood. Two streams converged at the north end of the meadow that were full of Brook and Cutthroat Trout. There was plenty of good soil which may have provided a seasonal garden at one time and the awe-inspiring views of an untouched wilderness.

He’d seen no sign of modern life within the many miles he’d explored around the old place. No logging roads or even old wagon routes were evident. There were no other buildings, fences or trails anywhere to be found. He felt like he’d stepped back in time and the romantic notion of being a young man in an untouched wilderness thrilled him.

As he settled into a simple, solitary life, he felt happier than had ever been. He missed Harley and thought about his poor brother often, but he didn’t miss his old man or the beatings he’d administered on a regular basis.

CHAPTER 2

THE VISITOR

Weeks in the remote wilderness turned into months and then years. Since arriving here, he’d seen no people. He’d heard no rumble of engines from motorized vehicles and, as unlikely as it seemed, had not seen or heard a single plane flying in the skies above.

Scott had settled into his life routine. Breakfast and chores in the morning followed by fishing or hunting when needed and repairs or maintenance to the cabin he now called home. He’d grown into a lean, muscular young man with all the strength and knowledge to not just live off the land, but to thrive in the wild. Where some might be driven crazy by the isolation and lack of interaction with people, he seemed to revel in the solitude.

Sometimes when he slept, Scott would dream of a bustling resort town right here where he’d settled into the nothingness of the mountains. Sometimes he’d see families enjoying picnics and horseback riding. Other times it was young lovers strolling through the woods and dining in a fancy log lodge. There was resort staff and management scurrying to accommodate visitor requests and provide comfort and a relaxing atmosphere.

Dozens of small cabins served as temporary sanctuaries for weekend vacationers and an amphitheater provided a stage for music concerts and shows. Cars came and went and recreational vehicles made their way in and out of the resort, like modern day covered wagons. Electric power, plumbing and all the conveniences of modern living were a sharp contrast to simple 1800’s style of life he’d grown accustomed to.

In these dreams, Scott was always an observer. He never interacted with any of the people he’d dreamt of. The dreams were very vivid and realistic. He could remember what different people were wearing and even the topics of their conversations. He’d wake feeling like he’d actually seen people and it gave him a strange sense of actual human contact.

The first time he had one of his dreams he was twenty. It gave him a sense of uneasiness that first time. He didn’t know why he felt that way and told himself it was just a dream, that there was nothing to warrant fear or anxiety. As time passed, they came more frequently and Scott became accustomed to his role as a watcher in these dreams. He actually looked forward to the feeling of being in the proximity of people.

It had been a few weeks since his last dream and on this, the morning of his twenty-fourth birthday, Scott planned a day without chores. He decided to grab his fly rod and spend a relaxing day fishing the streams near his cabin. Shouldering an old woven creel and heading out the front door, he stopped to listen to a soft monotonous humming sound that seemed to come from everywhere. He could feel a slight vibration in the air and looked around to see if he could detect its source.

The sound continued for several seconds and then stopped, just as suddenly as it had started. Scott studied the meadow and the surrounding tree line, unable to detect anything unusual or out of place. With no logical explanation for the noise, he continued through the meadow toward the first of two streams he intended to fish.

The fish were biting today and that was the best birthday gift he could have hoped for. After just an hour, he had enough fresh trout for tonight’s dinner and for breakfast in the morning. He spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon catching and then releasing the fish he caught until he decided to head back to the cabin.

Stepping out of the wooded tree line and heading across the big meadow towards home, the humming, vibrating noise began again. Scott stopped and listened to the encompassing sound. He thought it was louder than the sound he’d heard earlier in the morning, but couldn’t be sure. Looking around, he noticed something odd in the distance. He detected a blurry patch in his field of view. The patch looked similar to a mirage but covered a small area the shape of a circle. He estimated at this distance it might be twelve or maybe fifteen feet in diameter. It was as if he were looking at the far end of the meadow through a thin, vertical plane of water.

Scott stared, studying the visual mystery until it, and the humming noise, suddenly vanished. Curious and a bit uneasy, Scott headed toward the spot across the meadow where the mirage had been. As he approached the approximate area he thought it had appeared, he noticed a set of footprints in the loose soil and thin grass. They stopped at the point he’d seen the mirage. Backtracking, matching the prints with his own stride, he counted eleven steps before losing the track in higher grass and more solid soil.

An apt tracker, Scott couldn’t detect any further disturbances on the ground. There were no broken blades of grass or any depressions that would indicate the presence of a visitor. It seemed the last track he encountered was where the person had started his short walk towards the mirage, where they again vanished.

Puzzled, and now concerned that there might be a stranger near his home, Scott quickly returned to his cabin. A quick look around revealed nothing out of place, nothing moved, broken or missing. Puzzled, but with no further ideas as to what was happening, he went about preparing dinner for the night.

Scott spent a restless night going over the days events in his head. It was well past midnight before he fell asleep. In his dream, a young man and woman were swimming in one of the larger pools of the stream north of his cabin. As he watched from a distance, they seemed completely unaware of his presence. They laughed and giggled as they kissed and frolicked, splashing and flirting with one another. They had a couple of beach towels laid out on the bank and wine and cheese in a basket. After a short dip, the young couple ate, soaked up some sun and popped the cork on the bottle of wine.

Scott woke to the sound of birds chirping. He remembered his vivid dream and wondered who the couple might have been,