Uncovering Sumac

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.

As April rolls into May, some might argue that we're on the opposite end of the year from Halloween and the appropriate time for telling ghost stories. If you have someone like that in your life, I'm so sorry. Obviously, ghost stories belong in every season. But either way, as the weather warms, you'll find yourself beside a campfire before you know it. And you'll need a good story to tell. Lucky for you, I happen to know a few.

1: The Manitou Road Demon

This fanged, flying beastie has terrified generations of Rochester-area residents to the northeast of us, and if the elders of Sumac are to be believed, it gets around. The creature's favorite pastime is flying around at night beating against cars and windows, scaring visitors and locals alike. Here in Sumac, Bill and Janet Carver have preserved a bedroom in their farmhouse for years which they swear was visited by the demon on Halloween in 1974. Most residents who grew up here can also trace a story about the demon to their grandmother, great-uncle, or second cousin twice removed. The monster seems to have visited here at least as often as its better-known home. Could it be another creature of the same species? Or maybe he just owns a timeshare.

2: Terrors of the Haudenosaunee

If anyone knows how to tell a good story, it's the original and rightful inhabitants of this land, who passed down their ancient knowledge through oral tradition. Many Haudenosaunee tribes share legends of the Oniare, the horned serpent of the Great Lakes known to capsize canoes and eat people. Not to be confused with the similarly-spelled Oniate, a disembodied withered hand which attacks the poorly behaved, or Onatah, the corn spirit of the Three Sisters. No one tells it like the original storytellers, so I'm linking a page dedicated to the preservation of indigenous language and stories. There are some seriously cool stories to explore there- I haven't even mentioned the giant flying head yet. For Oniare, I recommend "The Girl Who Was Not Satisfied With Simple Things." http://www.native-languages.org/cayuga-legends.htm

3: The Ghost of Hiram Woodford

Western NY has a lot of fascinating spiritual history: the Public Universal Friend, the Fox Sisters, and Joseph Smith are some of the best-known figures in a tradition of mysticism and exploration. And, well, they weren't all hits. During the Spiritualist movement of the 19th century, mediums could get a sizable following behind pretty much any idea, no matter how far-fetched. Money digging was an especially flashy scam where diggers gathered in fields at night, guided by spirits to supposed gold and jewels. They dug in complete silence, believing that if a single word was spoken, the treasure would vanish. If the problem with this idea is already occurring it to you, congrats: you've made it farther than Hiram Woodford or any of his friends, none of whom thought to come up with a nonverbal signal for "watch out" or "rock." It's said that his devoted friends stayed silent as they picked him up and treated his head wound, then went on with their search in an open field north of Sumac's downtown. When they returned emptyhanded to the corner of the field where Hiram rested, he had passed away. Today Hiram is thought to haunt the field where he died, spooking visitors with a frightening apparition or chill touch- but never saying a word, of course.

4: The Angola Pigman

The town of Angola, a few hours west of Sumac, is infamous for the train wreck which changed rail safety laws forever. Known as the Angola Horror, it's hard to imagine a town legend topping it in grisliness or cool title, but the Angola Pigman is determined to try. There are several versions of the Pigman legend floating around, one of which involves the Horror as the origin of a cursed bloodline. In this version, two brothers steal a couple of railroad ties, causing the accident, and one brother grows up to have a son with a severe facial deformity which the locals believed was a divine punishment. This Pigman was a recluse whose life was defined by neglect, ostracism, and violence, leaving dead animals around his property to deter trespassers. Alternate tales of the Pigman describe a bloodthirsty butcher who put the heads of pigs- and rowdy teenagers- on stakes along Holland Road. The road is said to be haunted to this day, though whether by human spirits or those of poverty and mental illness is up for debate. If you're traveling through the region, whether by car or train, take a moment to appreciate how the past informs the safety and comfort we live in today.

5: Candor Lake Drownings

CLAUDIA MARY VIRGINIA ELIZABETH ABIGAIL CHARLOTTE LYDIA JANE GERTRUDE CHARITY MINERVA HETTY

CLAUDIA MARY VIRGINIA ELIZABETH ABIGAIL CHARLOTTE LYDIA JANE GERTRUDE CHARITY MINERVA HETTY

CLAUDIA MARY VIRGINIA ELIZABETH ABIGAIL CHARLOTTE LYDIA JANE GERTRUDE CHARITY MINERVA HETTY

CLAUDIA MARY VIRGINIA ELIZABETH ABIGAIL CHARLOTTE LYDIA JANE GERTRUDE CHARITY MINERVA HETTY

CLAUDIA MARY VIRGINIA ELIZABETH ABIGAIL CHARLOTTE LYDIA JANE GERTRUDE CHARITY MINERVA HETTY

CLAUDIA MARY VIRGINIA ELIZABETH ABIGAIL CHARLOTTE LYDIA JANE GERTRUDE CHARITY MINERVA HETTY

CLAUDIA MARY VIRGINIA ELIZABETH ABIGAIL CHARLOTTE LYDIA JANE GERTRUDE CHARITY MINERVA HETTY

CLAUDIA MARY VIRGINIA ELIZABETH ABIGAIL CHARLOTTE LYDIA JANE GERTRUDE CHARITY MINERVA HETTY

CLAUDIA MARY VIRGINIA ELIZABETH ABIGAIL CHARLOTTE LYDIA JANE GERTRUDE CHARITY MINERVA HETTY

CLAUDIA MARY VIRGINIA ELIZABETH ABIGAIL CHARLOTTE LYDIA JANE GERTRUDE CHARITY MINERVA HETTY

CLAUDIA MARY VIRGINIA ELIZABETH ABIGAIL CHARLOTTE LYDIA JANE GERTRUDE CHARITY MINERVA HETTY

Amy doesn't think I should go after Katie for trying to drown me. She's worried for my safety, but she feels bad for her ex's current wife too. Amy says her time with the mayor changed her, made her feel like she wasn't herself. She did things for him that she never would have done on her own. She was hesitant to talk about it, but from what I can tell she's the one who buried and censored the records of Candor's drowning victims. I don't know what else she's done and she certainly didn't want to say.

I want to incorporate this situation into my next article if I can. It's a stretch, but it might be the only way I can spread the word about what's going on. The article's going to be about local legends. Just for you, my loyal readers, here's a sneak peek, free of context. Enjoy!

Credit: kennyh3026 on DeviantArt

Credit: Mythology & Cultures Amino

Credit: William G Pomeroy Foundation

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,

Why do you not write? I long to hear from you. Your subtle wit and gentle words are a balm to my dry, stinging mind. My nightmares are worsening. My throat rasps for the distant water which it cannot drink. My mind races constantly. I know not what to do.

My condition worsens each day and my fever shows no sign of breaking. From inside and out, I burn. In my dreams I reach cool water and collapse into it only to drown. When I wake I drag myself home to burn again all day.

When I am well again, we shall laugh over this. Please do write soon, Mary. Only you can comfort me.

I remain, as always,

Dearest Mary,

Of course you may have one of my paintings! I would be more honored to hang it in your parlor than in the finest gallery. You may choose any one you wish. They are all of Candor Lake.

Your new walking routine sounds perfectly blissful. I shall have to try it for myself! I have been walking great distances of late as my health continues to improve. When I awoke on Friday morning, I had come all the way to the banks of the Ohio. A regular walk with Ava may be good for her health as well as my own. She has recently become enamored with learning the calls of songbirds.

I tried the throat remedy you suggested this morning. Sadly it did not work. However, my faith in your healing powers remains; perhaps you simply must make it for me yourself!

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.

Dearest Mary,

Confounded storm! I am greatly relieved to hear that you both are safe. While the repairs continue, you always have a home with me, Ava, and Albert. Do continue to write as your situation improves, so that I may not lose my mind. Yes, my insomnia continues; and when I fall into uneasy sleep my dreams continue. But do not worry, for I hardly miss it. I am now so energized that I scarcely feel the difference. My mind leaps with ease from one thought to another at a pace which it has not done in years. I feel that I can conquer any task with this new strength of spirit. I will be a great help in cleaning and redecorating once you are able to return back home. I count the moments until I can return to your side by the lake, to which my thoughts turn constantly. My dear, promise me you will keep safe, and you will run to me at the next sign of disaster.

As always, I remain,

Dearest Mary,

Has your tincture arrived yet? How is Greta? Ava adores her new dress! Many thanks for it as well as the kind note which accompanied it. I treasure it and carry it in my breast pocket as I go about my day.

I am overjoyed to tell you that I sat at the easel today for the first time in months. Against the tide of dread which sweeps over me every time I pass that room, this morning I collected my sketches from the summer and I began to paint. I began to paint! I cannot describe what a thrill, what deep satisfaction I felt at returning to my old passion. I had feared that this part of me may be gone. My dear, it is not.

By the time you are well enough to visit, it will be ready. A sunrise over the sylvan shores of Candor, on that perfect morning we shared back in July when we glowed with hope and healing. My brush moved so easily over the canvas, I might have closed my eyes and yet continued to replicate the scene perfectly.

I feel more energetic than ever, with my art bonding me gently and sweetly to reality. If only you could see me now!

Write soon! I remain-

Dearest Mary,

How delightful to hear of the improvement in Greta's health! Your knee will surely follow. I wish I were still there to provide a shoulder to lean on during strolls through the garden and around the lake. I worry, in my quiet moments and when I lie down at night, about how you are getting on up there. Two ailing sisters living alone, and with winter approaching- when I think on it, I can hardly restrain myself from running up there! But you would tell me not to worry, and you would be right, as always. Do keep writing to me, do tell me you are both well, so that I may keep my sanity.

Now to your questions: First, Ava continues to improve. She speaks more and has made a new friend in the neighbor's daughter. They have conspired to steal a number of my perfumes in order to mix elixirs in a teapot in our garden. I can hardly punish the little imp when I see the improvement in her demeanor.

Second, the house is in better shape than it was in years. I will admit to feeling a great pride in completing a project of this magnitude. The rooms are now clean and bright, all dust has vanished. When you are fit to travel, my dear, you must come and visit.

Third, my nightmares about the lake have not abated.

Friend, I will await your next letter as eagerly as Greta's old cat awaits her next dish of cream. I think of you often and miss you ardently. I will look for that tincture you requested when I next visit the druggist.

Until then, I remain,