Today's word count: 1,710 words
Running total: 27,214 words
Summary: The club gets a new sponsor/supervisor (totally predictable!) and Ashley outlines the next adventure. Which I totally produced from no where at the last second.
Also, I made an announcement about 100 posts a while back but realized that Blogger was also counting drafts which I never posted and never will post because they were blank. But now that that's taken care of, I know that this is the official 100th blog post. Yay!
But at the same time? I’m a little bit worried. Chase and Brian have been getting badgered by Dean. It wasn’t too much at first—just a little snide comment here and there, more often than Dean used to make snide comments. Then Chase showed up late to club one day with a whole bunch of nasty bruises. A few days Brian came in with no visible marks but a story about how Dean tried to stop him and interrogate him in the hallway. He doesn’t like the attention we’re getting at all. It’s really eating at him. Normally I’d revel in his anguish, but Dean is different from Patricia. He’s got a bad temper and is prone to using violence, even when such actions are completely unnecessary.
I asked Kenneth one day why he thought that Dean bothered Brian and Chase but never him. He asked me if I remembered what he told me about that day when he attacked Dean. When he mentioned it I certainly did remember it, and I simultaneously realized why Dean doesn’t bother Kenneth: he’s downright terrified of him. As well he should be.
Brian brings it up today at club. “So, do you think we should be worrying about Dean at all over the summer?”
“Nope!” Chase responds quickly, not even looking at Brian.
Brian gives an evil eye to Chase. But, you know, as much as I hate Chase, I kind of agree with him here. Why the hell would Dean go out of his way to meet with us over summer to sabotage us? He’s a grade-a asshole, but he also has a life. Unlike anyone in the club except myself and Kenneth.
But still Brian continues. “He just lives a few houses down from me. It wouldn’t be hard for him to follow us around or anything like that. And come on—ever since Kenny came back he’s been hounding us like mad. He obviously has nothing better to do than stalk us.”
Okay. Maybe—just maybe—he has a point. But I don’t have an answer for him. I find the best way I can tactfully dodge the question.
“Well—we shouldn’t worry too much. It’s not that big a deal. What’s the worst he can do if he follows us?”
“He could punch me,” mumbles Chase. I ignore him. He deserves every single punch he gets. There are a lot of days when I want to punch him.
“But besides that…”
Kenneth butts in here. “It’s like Scarlett says, there’s not much to worry about. Dean mostly doesn’t believe ghosts exist. Seeing one of our expeditions could be good for him.” Kenneth, I think I love you a little more with everything you say. It wouldn't matter to me if you had tentacles growing out of your head. And compared to that, what’s a little shell-like skin and claws? Even the tail is cute. It’s like an extra arm for cuddling. He never looks at me like that… I wish he did, but I don’t think he cares about me like I care about him. It’s times like these that I wish I had a girl-friend to discuss these sorts of issues like this…
I’m suddenly brought back to reality when Brian shakes my shoulder lightly. “Hey, Scarlett, your head in the clouds?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, just… what were we talking about again?”
“We all thought Kenny made a good point about Dean, so we’re all going to not worry about it!” After a pause, he sees that I have no reaction, so he does a double fist pump and lets out a little “Woo hoo!”
I look at him with an expression that displays my disgust as clearly as possible.
It is then that Mr. Williams walks in. I had him in my freshman and sophomore years, and it looks like I’ll have him in my senior year again (he teaches a lot of history classes), but I never really got to know him. I tend to distance myself from teachers; nothing good ever comes from close relationships to superiors. But ever since our ghost hunting expedition, he’s been nothing but kind and helpful to our group. I’ve seen a new side to him, and it’s a good side.
“Hey, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” he asks cautiously.
“No, no, not at all,” I smile. “There’s nothing really left to do this late in the year. Come in.”
He does so and sits down in one of the empty computer lab chairs. Taking a deep breath, he begins. “Well! Mr. Harris finally admitted to abandoning the news casting club. Don’t know why he waited so long.”
“Maybe he was pressured by someone. A… jealous student, maybe. A jealous student with connections.” You know, Chase, that actually makes a tiny bit of sense. Dean has an amazing amount of sway with a lot of teachers. He’s a born manipulator. It would make sense for him to mold his teachers to help him out in a situation like this.
Mr. Williams, though, just looks confused. “How could a student do that?”
Chase sighs, then finally turns from him computer monitor to look at Mr. Williams. “Look, you know Dean Briscoe?”
“Dean… is he the one… kinda tallish, a bit lanky, blond hair, girls all over him even though he treats them terribly?”
Chase nods. “Pretty much. You forgot “Son of Dean of Students and newspaper staff.”
Mr. Williams nods slowly. “Okay… so he’s your rival… and he has power.”
“Yeah.”
“And if you can’t—oh, that makes sense.” He waits a few moments, then changes the subject. “Well, regardless of why Harris admitted to abandoning the club, you guys were left without a sponsor. And without a sponsor, the club can’t continue.”
My heart sank. This club was my pride, my joy, my everything—my life. I’ll admit it. I had dedicated everything I had to running this little club. Some people might find that silly or stupid, but it helped me prove I had an identity. I couldn’t let it break up over something—
Mr. Williams holds up a finger and announces, “But! I agreed to be your sponsor. So… hello there. You all know me, but I’ll be your sponsor from now on. I’ll look forward to seeing you all and supervising you next year.”
I grin. I can’t help myself. In a low tone, I say, “Thank you so much, Mr. Williams.”
Brian punches him in the arm. “You’re cool with me, man.”
Mr. Williams looks a little disturbed by Brian’s actions—who wouldn’t be?—but still manages a smile. “It’s my pleasure,” he says. “After all, you’ve all put such hard work into this project of yours. I’d hate to see it go to waste.”
And with that, I rub my hands together. “All right, Mr. Williams, do you want to come with us on our expeditions?”
“Do I need any special equipment?”
I raise an eyebrow. “No…” Why would we use special equipment? I don’t…
He pats my shoulder. “I’m just kidding around. Don’t take everything so seriously, Scarlett. You need to lighten up sometimes.” He then leans back. “I’d be happy to come on the expeditions you’re holding, but I don’t know what they are. Anyone—?“
Ashley steps forward, holding a big binder that she made that contains all our plans. “May I?”
“Go ahead,” I say. Ashley drops the binder on a table with a loud thud and begins flipping through it to the appropriate page. Mr. Williams steps forward to get a closer look as Ashley begins explaining the situation to him.
“This is Grindstone Lake. It’s about three hours out of the twin cities. It’s a nice place, isn’t it?”
Truly, the pictures were beautiful. It was a quaint little camp with large fields, rustic housing, and very green uses of energy. Apparently Ashley had spent a fall there once and really enjoyed it; despite how cute it all was, it was comfortable, too.
“Well, not all is well. You see, a long time ago, Grindstone Lake was called Wing Lake. If you look at it from an aerial perspective, it looks like a pair of outstretched wings. Well, anyway, a long time ago, back before it was bought by the Audubon Society, people tried to settle here and gather its resources. There was one man in particular—his name was Jeremiah Tate. He lived deep in the woods, and his official job was to keep all the tools sharp. No one knew he had a life outside of this—he never married and never seemed to leave his shack. He was a bit odd. And so they all called him ‘Grindstone.’
“One winter was really bad, but Grindstone waited it out in his cabin. No one could get to him to provide him food. Many tried to reach him but they all failed. Once the winter was over, they went to the cabin to see if he was all right, but they found no one. He was gone without a trace.
“Years went by. The tools rusted, but they never found someone to replace Jeremiah. Whenever one tool broke, they’d grab another from his cabin. Someone was going to do just that one day… but he didn’t come back quickly to the job. After a while the guys at the job started to get worried, so they sent another guy to the shed to check it out. When he got there, he found an axe in the first man’s head—and although it was still partially rusted, the tip was just as good as new, as if it had just been sharpened on a grindstone.”
Ashley flips through a few more pages. “Now, you can be a bit skeptical about that. I understand. But look—“ She points at this page. “This is a photocopy of a newspaper clipping from the time. It details the murder. And this wasn’t the last time…” she keeps flipping through. “It’s happened again and again. Even after the Audubon Society bought it. People over almost a century all die in the exact same way, each time stumping the police.
“The workers there who believe in ghosts are afraid of the property now. After about the third murder, they started calling it ‘Grindstone’s Lake.’ The name eventually stuck. And now, they say, if you listen carefully at night, you can
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