David Nickle - The 'Geisters

“No please no!”

Ann squealed, as she felt something squirm under her arm. She reached in and pulled out Barbie, still soaking wet in her tennis outfit. She looked the doll in the face—and then turned her away, to face the dark—and (hating herself), she shouted to the dark hold: “Here she is!”

The boat pitched again, and Ann slipped in the water puddling in the bottom of the boat, and when she righted herself, she was empty-handed.

Something whistled—maybe the kettle they had for making tea….

Maybe Barbie, in the clutches of the bad men…

Screaming.

Whichever it was, whistle or scream—the noise cut short with a great crack! sound, and a sudden listing, as the Bounty II struck rock, and the spinning stopped for good.

Philip had scraped his hand raw on a rope. The Bounty II would need a new mast, a new propeller, and all or part of a rudder, and someone would have to come by to look at the hull just to be sure. But with those exceptions, no one was hurt, and dad’s precious boat had survived.

Later, that night, their mom would call it that: your precious boat , as a way to contrast the preciousness of his daughter, his son, his wife… himself.

When Ann opened up the hatch and climbed onto the deck, there were no harsh words. The boat had tangled in some water-rounded rocks that peeked out of the lake near a stand of pine trees on the shore. It was listing heavily to port, so the whole family was as much leaning against the deck as they were sitting on it. The whole deck was in shadow. The sky was brilliant blue directly overhead; to the east, towering thunder-headed clouds sped away. Her mom was there by the hatch, prying it up.

“My God, baby, you’re cold as ice!” she said as she drew Ann into her arms. “It’s like a freezer in there!”

Ann held on to her mom tightly as she pulled her into the sunlight. Their dad scrambled around them, and reached into the hatch. He unstrapped the first aid kit and hauled it to the wheel, where Philip hunched over his injured hand.

Her mom chided her for shutting the hatch, but gently. “It might seem safe to lock yourself in there, but it just traps you, honey. If the boat had turned over…”

“I didn’t shut myself in there.”

“It’s okay if you did this time. It was pretty scary up here.”

“But I didn’t.”

“Just remember not to do it again.”

“It wasn’t me,” she said.

There was pizza back at the boathouse. Dad bought enough for the family and the contractors too, and some beer besides—“to drink to our good fortune,” he said, which sounded like a funny thing to say, at first. But Ann didn’t have to think long to realize that it had been a lucky day all around, and as the sun set on it, they all sat around a fire pit on the beach, going over just how lucky.

Cal, one of the drywallers, had been taking a smoke break on the lawn when the storm came in and he’d seen the twister come.

“Never seen anything like it,” he said as he reached for another bottle. “I go out, and it’s clear and hot. Couple clouds in the west, but nothing to write home about. Not even a breeze when I’m lighting up. You were out pretty far by then, but I could still see you fine. I remember thinking you were going pretty good for how calm it was on shore.”

“Calm, and fuckin’—sorry—and hot,” said Luc, a carpenter in from Montreal.

“Yeah, until then. I’m not even half finished my smoke, and suddenly it gets dark, and cold. The wind’s picked up, and there’s a cloud—a black cloud—right overhead. Blacking out everything. Thing snuck right up.”

“Forecast didn’t say anything about it,” said Dad, nodding.

“Forecasters don’t know their ass,” said Luc.

“Not today,” said Cal, and clinked the bottom of his beer bottle with Dad’s.

“Did you spot the funnel cloud?” asked Dad, and Cal nodded.

“Didn’t know what it was at first. Never seen one of those before. But yeah. It was sort of dipping down toward the lake… and screw it, I thought. I pinched off my smoke and headed back inside. Figured we’d get hit. It was that close.”

“Fuck.”

“Luc!”

“Ah. Sorry. Hey kid! Sorry!”

Ann looked where Luc was waving. Philip had gotten up and was heading toward the boathouse.

“It’s okay,” Philip called back. “I’m just taking a walk.”

Ann had another slice of pizza and chewed on it as the workmen continued their tale: how they’d shut off the generator and headed to the basement, occasionally glimpsing the rising swirl of water from the lake. Cal insisted he’d said a prayer for the LeSages, and another workman who Ann didn’t know said he tried to get to his truck to radio for help. But the wind was too strong.

They started to talk about how best to fix the boat, then. It was still tangled in the rocks—tomorrow, their dad would hire another boat from the marina across the lake, to come out and haul it back—so the conversation was pretty theoretical. As it dragged on, Ann asked if she might be excused and her mother sent her on. “Go find your brother,” she called after her and Ann said she would.

It was, after all, what she’d been intending all along.

Philip was inside the boathouse.

Not the second floor, where they were living, but the bottom—a garage, basically, where you might actually house a boat or two, if you bought the right size of boat. He wasn’t hard to spot; he’d turned the light on, and was sitting inside, along the dock and in a torn old canvas chair that had been left by the last owners. The light reflected up off the lake and made everything seem underwater.

“I peed in the lake,” he said when she came in. “So don’t go swimming.”

“Ew.” Ann sat down on the edge of the dock beside him and peered into the water. It was black. It wasn’t quite still enough to see her reflection. Philip tapped his heel on the dock. “How’s your hand?” she asked.

“Good. Better.”

Tap-tap-tap, went his foot. Ann looked out the front of the boathouse, which was open. The sun was pretty much down, but she could see the distant line of trees at the lake’s far side against the slightly lighter horizon. Soon there would be all kinds of stars out; since the storm, the clouds were all gone.

“Were you talking to me?” she asked. “Right before the storm hit?”

He was silent.

“And after? When the hatch closed? Were you talking to me then?”

“No,” he said.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

“Because I thought you were,” she said. “I heard you talking. While I was playing. With my Barbie.”

“I was kind of distracted,” he said. “Big storm. Remember?”

Tap-tap.

She nodded. “I remember,” said Ann. “And…”

Tap.

“What?”

She leaned back and put her hand on his foot.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I think it was my fault.”

Philip pulled his foot back and kicked a little. She let go.

“Fuck off.”

It was the worst thing you could say to someone, but Philip said it in a way just then that made her want to hug him.

He drew his feet underneath the chair and he looked at her.

“It’s not your fault,” he said. “It’s Dad’s.”

“What?”

“This never would’ve happened if we’d just stayed at home. If he didn’t buy that boat. And make us go out in it.”

Ann turned around so her back was to the water, and she could face him directly.

“Tell me the truth,” she said. “Swear. You didn’t say anything to me when I was down below? You weren’t, like, fooling around?”

“ Fuck .” He held up his bandaged hand like he was taking an oath. “ Piss. Shit. Goddammit. That good enough swearing?”