Previous installment: The Wheel: Part 9, A Way Forward
Start at the beginning: The Wheel: Part 1, Jack Colby
Where we left off: With Justin happily playing at the Iverson’s house, Jack returned to work. It didn’t go well and culminated with Jack punching a bank client who, having marital problems, said he was jealous of Jack’s opportunity to start over. Jack’s boss, Ryan, told him to take more time off and insisted that he and Justin utilize his cabin in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.
Voiceover narration: Andrew Thomas
Art: Jenelle Thomas https://alovelygiraffe.com
The Upper Peninsula
Jack took a deep breath and pulled in the smell of knotted pine mixed with a weirdly comfortable tinge of mildew. He slid open the window above the sink, and the fragrance of dead leaves wafted in to join them, bringing with it the rapturous chorus of woodland bird-life. He was making a cup of coffee with a rustic pour-over contraption when he heard a noise from his left and looked to see Justin shuffling into the kitchen with a yawn.
“Good morning, buddy, you’re up early,” Jack said as Justin hugged his torso from the side. Jack squeezed him back with his free arm and held him tight. He was glad they were here together—a good old-fashioned boys trip—and at any other point in life, that would have been where the thought started and ended. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop himself from wading into the dangerous territory of Sheila would have liked it here, or Justin and Megan would have had so much fun in the woods together. He attempted to blink these thoughts away and, in the process, noticed the antique-looking cuckoo clock with its dangling pinecones on the wall above the small dining table. It was almost nine.
“Huh, I guess it’s not as early as I thought. Did you sleep good?”
“Yeah, the bed is really comfy.”
“Good.” Jack set down the coffee and smiled as he turned and knelt to give his son a proper hug. “It’s pretty cool here, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
Ryan’s cabin turned out to be nothing short of idyllic. It was nestled within the woods at the end of a winding half-mile two-track that wove between it and M-94. Once inside, the only sign of civilization was the occasional whoosh of a car going too fast down the seldom patrolled road when the birds were quiet enough to let the abrasive sound into their grotto. About one hundred and fifty feet from the front door lay a body of water which certainly couldn’t be called a pond but couldn’t honestly be called a lake either.
“Do you want to go swimming today?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know.”
“I think we should give it a shot.”
“It looked like there was a lot of seaweed.”
“You know that seaweed is just plants in the water, right?”
“But it’s slimy and probably has leeches in it.”
“Nah, it’s a spring-fed lake, so it’s pretty cool and clean. I’m betting there aren’t many leeches. Besides, they’re easy to wipe off with a towel.”
Jack ruffled Justin’s hair as he trundled away to grab the box of Froot Loops off the counter and find a bowl. Jack took the half gallon of milk from the fridge and topped off Justin’s cereal before making himself a bowl. They had only grabbed the bare essentials for one dinner and breakfast from a gas station on their way in.
“Alright, let’s eat and take it easy for a bit, but then we need to find a grocery store and stock up for the week. We can’t live on hot dogs and Froot Loops.”
Through a mouthful of cereal, Justin said, “I could.”
Jack laughed and agreed that, yeah, he probably could too.
Cell signal was iffy, but Jack found that if he went out by the lake, he could get enough juice if he found the right spot and stuck to it. They had passed a grocery store in Manistique—having come up the south route from U.S. 2—but that was further than he wanted to drive, so he began to look for something closer. He was happy to find that a small town called Shingleton was only about fifteen minutes north.
The short drive was about as boring as it could be; there was nothing but dense forest, and the road itself was nearly as straight as James Bond. Jack had to laugh when they hit the US-28 intersection that formed the town of Shingleton. He had used the phrase ‘if you blink you’ll miss it’ before, but this time it was actually true. Justin asked him why that was funny and remained unimpressed by the explanation. Small or not, though, it had what they needed, which was food. They wouldn’t eat like kings, but eat they would.
The small grocery store was empty except for an older woman, likely the owner, who was working the register. She made small talk and rang up their items entirely too slowly. Jack had a feeling this was intentional; her way of keeping company around. If she had grandkids, Jack was sure they had a heck of a time getting out of her house on a Sunday afternoon.
With the artificially lengthened process finally complete and pleasantries shared, Jack handed a few lighter bags to Justin and wrangled the rest himself. As he waited for Justin to open the glass door, he quickly scanned the community tack board next to it. A woman was looking for her cat named Sparkles. By the dry, slightly yellowed look of the paper, Jack was willing to bet that Sparkles had made friends with the stomach of a wildcat some time ago and was in no condition to return home. Another man, Sven, was looking to take your scrap metal off your hands. Three of the ten phone number strips at the bottom were torn off. Just as Jack began to turn away, he did a double-take. In the top right corner was a picture of Bigfoot. It was the same one you see everywhere: the famous—albeit fake—shot of Sasquatch as he loped along and turned to look at the camera mid-stride. Below the picture, in large bold letters, it said, “Have you seen something you can’t explain? Call Ned Cordy” followed by a phone number. Only two phone number strips still clung to the bottom, equally spread and looking like fangs. Jack snorted and followed Justin out.
Jack swam that afternoon, and Justin watched. While he did not encounter any leeches, his son remained skeptical. They walked around the lake afterward and were excited to find a little creek leading out of it and into the woods. They spent some time attempting to dam it but eventually gave up (for now) and headed back to make bologna sandwiches. Jack found a battered deck of cards to play War with and joked that they kinda smelled like Grandpa Colby.
Later that day, as the sun began to go down beyond the trees, they started a fire in the large pit about halfway between the cabin and the lake. The roasting sticks they had found while making lunch were first put to use for hot dogs and second for marshmallows. A competition to roast the perfect golden brown marshmallow ensued, and Justin’s caught fire. He claimed he liked it that way, and Jack had to chuckle at the shit-eating grin and bouncing eyebrows his son displayed while chewing it.
Justin finally got to bed at eleven and conked out in less than ten minutes. Jack took this opportunity to pour himself a glass of bourbon and spend some time alone by the fire. One glass turned into two, and he found himself dwelling on the details of his wife and daughter’s deaths again. He tried to focus on the fire, on the deep sounds of nature around him, but it was no use. It may have been the alcohol, but the images of Sheila and Megan’s deaths seemed to hit much harder this night, as if to contrast the calm stillness around him. Feeling the need for a more tangible distraction, he went inside to grab his Kindle and poured another finger of bourbon while he was at it. It didn’t even take five minutes for it to become clear that reading wasn’t going to work. He rose from his chair again, and this time had to grab the back of it to catch his balance. He wove an almost straight line to the cabin and fumbled with the screen door, which slammed with a crash behind him. Startled, he wavered silently in the doorway, listening closely for any stirring from Justin’s room. Satisfied that the beast had not been woken, he crossed the room and set his Kindle on the kitchen counter. Holding his still untouched third pour of bourbon, he stared into the sink and told it that the second glass had hit him harder than he thought.
The sink didn’t respond.
Seconds passed, and a slow, familiar thump began to press on the edges of his consciousness. The wheel continued to roll through his mind on an endless track, thumping grotesquely each time a gondola smashed into the ground. Jack looked side-eye at his glass and decided more booze was likely his only shot at an unburdened night of sleep. He threw it back and headed toward his bedroom at the end of the hall. On the way, he peeked through the last bedroom door on the right to check in on Justin. It appeared he was out like a light; half of his body wrapped and tangled in a vine-like sheet, the other splayed out spread-eagled. Jack pushed the door open to get a better look at this comical display. The hinges complained about being woken so rudely, and when the dull light fell across Justin’s face, his wide-open mouth began to move as if trying to say something, but instead only produced aimless wet smacks and squelches.
Jack smirked, but then, for a ghost of a moment, the lumps of unused blankets next to Justin congealed and coagulated to form the small frame of Megan. Jack took a halting breath and turned his head slowly to the left, urging his eyes to the uttermost edges of his vision, hoping that through this vague, distorted view, he would see Sheila sound asleep and waiting for him in his own bed.
The made bed stood there silently, waiting to receive him, and when he turned back to Justin, the unused blankets were just that and nothing more.
Sometime between three and four in the morning, Jack woke needing to pee and with a mouth as dry as a jar of cotton balls. After relieving himself, he stumbled half-naked into the kitchen, chugged a glass of water, and refilled it to take back to his room. As he was about to enter, he heard something that stopped him cold in his tracks. It was a soft scratching sound—almost a scrape—coming from Justin’s room. He cracked the door slightly and peered in, but the only light was the small, soft glow from the bulb in the stove hood behind him at the other end of the house. His shadow fell across the bed, so he stepped to the side to let the light pass and craned his neck into the doorway to see if Justin was moving. He could swear the scratching came from the wall right next to the bed, but Justin seemed perfectly still. The sound continued, and he kept watching.
Eventually, his curiosity got the best of him. He pushed the door open further despite its squeaks and inched closer to the bed. The sound continued. He reached out and just as he was about to lightly jostle Justin, the sound ceased. He quickly but softly laid his hand on Justin’s still frame. Heart pounding, he retreated and squeaked the door three-quarters closed, this time wincing at the sound. He paused for long seconds, peering through the small opening he had left, but the scratching sound didn’t return.
Once back in bed, he realized he was shivering with the cool of the night. Despite this and his agitation, sleep came quickly. With it came the wheel.
Something was different. Jack stood in a white, wide-open space. The wheel loomed in the distance before him. No screams, no visions of Megan and Sheila falling, no gondolas smashing. He simply watched as the wheel spun round and round. Then he realized that he was on it, or rather, another version of himself was, along with his family. Jack wished it would stop; wished it would let his small, distant self and family off, wished he could tear his own gaze away. This went on for what seemed like hours until suddenly he zoomed forward from his far vantage point and into his own other head. As soon as he slammed into this familiar perspective on the wheel, his wife and daughter’s gondola tilted crazily to the right. He watched with fresh horror as Sheila tumbled out. Megan, still out of sight, screamed and screamed and screamed. The wheel kept turning, and her wails encircled him repeatedly. This went on and on until Jack thought one more scream would drive him insane. Then, with a final clang, the gondola broke loose, taking Megan with it.
The wheel kept turning.
I’m sad this is ending soon. I will miss the adventures of Jack and Justin. I’m sensing much of their adventures in the UP is autobiographical.
This cabin has the best vibes. The story's heavy, but I still want to take a vacation there!