#sumac ny

Hey loyal readers! This is the last time you'll hear from me for at least a little while. Sumac's tourism board is taking a break while we sort a few things out. We're not an official newspaper and we could get in trouble for running our mouths (and pens), so here are a few things we WON'T be making a statement on:

The hip fragment found in Candor Lake. Pulled from the waters by my very own upstairs neighbor during a midnight constitutional-slash-communion-with-the-spirits-of-the-departed, the fragment was confirmed to belong to former tourism writer Pat Davies. The tourism board has no official stance on the rumors that the wife of our town's mayor was seen with him the night he disappeared, or on her own recent disappearance. Rest in peace Pat.

The mayor's sudden collapse and death last night. Listen, it's called "unexplainable" for a reason. Why would I (or the ghost who's been gone from my apartment since my last post) know anything about that?

The shutdown of the lakefront. We know as much as you do: no drinking or bathing until further notice.

And here are a few things I WILL be commenting on!

Acacia. A few nights ago she followed Aiden home and refused to leave. We guess he has a cat now. Even fully dosed on Benadryl it's a little hard to spend quality time with her, but she likes being read to. So that's a start.

My new job. I never thought I would end up using my econ degree, but Bryn told me they could use an office manager up at the ranger station. To keep the park's books, schedule some programming, and write copy for educational materials. It's so far from where I saw myself at 18, it could be another planet. But I'm excited. And I'm happy to keep writing.

My neighbor's muffin recipe. When I came home to find a handwritten note tied up in a lock of blond hair and stuck to the door with a pin I swore I've seen the mayor's wife wear, my heart dropped. But when I unrolled it, I recognized the directions to make the muffins my upstairs neighbor gave me on my first day here.

~Darla's muffin recipe~

2 cups flour, 2 tsp baking powder, 1 cup milk, 3/4 cup sugar, 1/4 cup oil, 1 egg, 1 1/2 cup mulberries, 1 tsp tears shed for a lost loved one.

Preheat oven to 350F. Line a muffin tin with muffin papers. Carve the name of your loved one into a candle and light it.

Whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt while chanting the Litany of Grief. Continue to chant while mixing milk, sugar, egg, and oil. Pour wet ingredients into dry and whisk together.

Gently fold in the mulberries.

Scream at the moon.

Transfer the batter to the prepared tin. Sprinkle each muffin with brown sugar and a few extra berries.

They pulled the mayor out of the lake a little after midnight. He's in the hospital, but they say she should survive.

The waterfront is closed until further notice.

...

Claudia, if you're reading this, I'm sorry.

I've been tiptoeing around you all this time, whispering your name like I didn't believe you were there. But I knew. Ever since that night after Lily's when that cold water hit my skin, I knew. I should have spoken up for you. I was a coward. I was afraid people would laugh at me, think I was crazy. I was afraid of feeling alone, foolish, powerless. Just the way you felt, so long ago, before fear gave you some of that power back.

Something bad happened. I'm scared it will happen again, and again, like it did 200 years ago.

I left work and headed straight for the mayor's house. It's a big beige McMansion with giant windows overlooking the lake. Nobody answered when I knocked. Or when I rang the bell, or even when I hopped the hedge to look in the windows (I'm desperate, ok?). Eventually I had no choice but to leave, angrily kicking rocks into the lake as I followed the shore towards home.

I almost didn't see who pushed me in.

The water was freezing cold and much deeper than it looked. I fought up to the surface and caught a glimpse of familiar blond highlights before I was pulled back down. It was the mayor's wife.

My body felt like it weighed a ton, and my head quickly went under. I swear it was like dozens of desperate hands were pulling me down. That lake wanted to keep me.

But then another set of hands pulled me upwards. I choked and puked up lake water while Aiden thumped my back. I'm so glad I texted him right before I came out there.

When we found the letters Aiden and I stayed up all night trying to figure out what to do. My coworkers on the tourism board are split about publishing them- Lisa likes the idea, but Janet thinks they're "horrible and inappropriate," and the two have been in a stalemate ever since. We've tried submitting the story to the Sumac Post several times, but they don't believe us. I don't know what else to do.

Here's what I do know: those letters were in my desk until last night. When I came home from work, my apartment was trashed. And not in a fun ghost way. Someone took those letters. And I think I know who.

Mary,

I write in the most desperate of hopes that you may have seen Claudia. She has been gone for three days. I cannot fathom what happened to her. Until the moment of her disappearance she has been perfectly energetic, productive, and good natured. We cannot find her in any corner of the city.

She writes to you often. Please say you know something of her whereabouts. Ava is frightened.

Dearest Mary,

What a relief to hear of your return home! I am delighted to know you are once again below a sturdy and familiar roof beside our beloved lake. I yearn to return there again. Were your presence not sweet enough, I miss the lake more each day. The city air sours on my tongue. My throat aches at the distance between us, and no amount of water can slake the thirst.

Still, I think, you would be proud of me. I am painting at a rate which I have never before accomplished. I have already completed five! Not a grain of dust remains in our kitchen. Not a nick in Ava's clothing goes unmended. I no longer tire at night, not even after walking all day long. The neighbors marvel at my transformation, and I am eager to explain the source of my cure. Would that we all could experience such a change! The world might be a happier, more efficient place.

Write soon, my dear.