Chapter 1: The Island Beckons
No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it is not the same river and he is not the same man.” — Heraclitus
“You really don’t have to do this.”
“A bet’s a bet,” Tommy replied as he dragged his kayak out of the back of a small truck.
“We were joking, man,” said Tommy’s other friend, Kaleb. “We didn’t think you’d actually do it.”
Tommy stopped and took turns glaring at both of his friends. “You guys are welcome to join me, you know.”
They exchanged quick, scared glances and then looked off into nowhere.
Tommy shook his shaven head—“That’s what I thought”—and started pulling his kayak down the riverbank. No one said anything until they reached the shore.
All three teenagers stood in a line. They looked out over the Ohio River at Browns Island, the infamous piece of land between Ohio and West Virginia. It stretched for over two hundred acres in the middle of the river. Old steel structures, remnants of abandoned industry, occupied the bottom part of the island. The land above it transitioned into thick pockets of trees stretching to the top of the island.
A steel swing set sat above a ledge on the adjacent shore. The lone swing blew back and forth and back and forth—presumably from the wind.
Tommy’s friend Dustin broke the silence. “Just look at it, man,” he pointed to the swing set. “No way that island’s not haunted. It reminds me of Chernobyl.”
“What are you talking about?” replied Tommy. “It’s mostly grass, trees, and scrap.”
“You’re honestly telling me you don’t believe any of the stories?” asked Kaleb.
“You’re going to have to be more specific. The one about the ghost ship? The one about the guy who fell into the well never to be seen again? Or is it the shark-sized catfish that patrols the island, making sure you’re stuck there for eternity?”
Kaleb fumbled over which words to choose and finally landed on, “Yes. All of the above.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a book titled Legends of the Ohio Valley. It was earmarked to death and smooth at the edges. He opened it.
“It says right here, and I quote, ‘The Stanley steamboat left Browns Island on the evening of July 4th. Shortly after, a few miles downstream, it tragically collided with another excursion boat—the Starlight Express—that instantly sank, resulting in one of the greatest tragedies of its time.’”
Kaleb closed the book and turned his attention to Tommy. “Yeah, man. Good luck with that. No way this river’s not haunted. It’s all right here.” He tapped the book with his other hand. “Read it tonight. I dare you.” Kaleb tossed the book into the crate at the back of Tommy’s kayak.
“You seriously expect me to be scared of steamboat Stanley?” Tommy burst into laughter. “C’mon, man. You also heard Old Lady Loftiss’s house is haunted. And the salt mines at Gould’s. And the mill. Give it up. You can’t believe everything you hear in a small town.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of yourself, son.” A raspy voice caught their attention.
They just realized someone else was there—a lone fisherman. He sat in a pop-up chair with two fishing poles, each upright between a stick with a taut fishing line leading into the water. The fisherman continued, “I’ve lived here long enough to know one thing—this valley’s not like any other. I can vouch for that.” The fisherman leaned back in his chair and put his hat over his eyes as if he were going back to sleep. “But good luck to you, son. Tell the island I said hello.”
The fisherman nodded to the boys, and even though he couldn’t see them, Kaleb and Dustin nodded back in respect—Tommy just rolled his eyes.
“Sounds like a wino if you ask me,” Tommy mumbled to his friends as he dragged his kayak to the edge of the river. When his sandaled foot touched the water, ripples shot out, spreading through the river towards the island. The water was warm, yet chills ran down his spine.
“Well, it looks like this is goodbye,” said Dustin.
“Did you—,” Tommy started to ask his friends if they had noticed the strange ripples, but stopped. It was probably just a fish. “Yep. Looks like this is it. Here.” He hands Dustin his phone. “Keep this until tomorrow.”
Dustin hesitated but took the phone. “Really? What if you need help? Or your mom needs you?”
“If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right and off the grid. And besides. She hasn’t talked to me since the accident. If she calls, tell her I’m sorry. And I want my car keys back.”
Tommy stowed his backpack underneath the deck. Then, he double-checked the plastic supply crate. Check. It was securely fastened to the back of the kayak.
“I can’t wait to tell everyone on senior trip how loony both of you are. Just make sure you have my hundred dollars waiting for me tomorrow morning, okay?” Tommy smiled at both of them, then hopped into his kayak. “Farewell, my friends. Please pray that I make it out alive.”
Using the oar to push off the shore, Tommy launched himself into the river. His friends watched quietly as he began rowing to the island, a football field away.
Tommy looked for more rippling water but saw nothing. This section of the river was now like a glassy lake. He looked for other kayakers, boats, fishermen, but saw no one. Part of Tommy thought this was strange. Maybe people did avoid this island. But the other part of Tommy diverted to a different outlook—he would have the entire stretch of river to himself. And this was exactly what he needed.
What Tommy didn’t tell them was that he could use a night alone in the wilderness. A night away from the world. From the chaos. A piece of him hoped the island was haunted—he could use a good scare to forget about what happened. To distract himself from the video replaying in his head, over and over and over again, daring his little brother to jump off the utility bridge into the river. Tommy’s done it a hundred times before. How was he supposed to know there was something in the water? He never meant for his brother to get hurt. In time, Tommy had faith his little brother would be okay and prayed he would be able to walk again—but for now, the present moment was a nightmare.
This leisurely drift continued until he was halfway to the island. Then, everything shifted. As he rowed closer, the current changed. The top of the water remained still, as did the wind. But now it felt like Tommy’s kayak was being pulled to the island. For a moment, Tommy thought he felt something swim under the kayak, scraping the plastic beneath him from his torso to the tips of his shoes. He looked at the green water behind him but saw nothing. He looked back at his friends on the distant shoreline, quickly growing smaller and smaller. As he turned to look back at the island, he was nearly thrown out of the kayak.
Skrrrch!
“Ahh,” Tommy cried out, startled to find that he had landed on the rocky shore of Browns Island. He sat idly on his kayak, questioning the water behind him. It was so still that it could have passed as a frozen pond. Then, his line of questioning ended as abruptly as his landing. Any feeling of uneasiness was blown away by the sweet air around him, inviting him to turn around to finally meet the island.
It was much bigger than he thought it would be. It also had a distinct aroma. No longer could Tommy smell the sourness from the river. Here, the air was sugary and welcoming, like a lush field of wheat. Yet, there was no wheat to be found anywhere.
A childlike laugh stole his attention. He turned in the direction of the noise. It came from the swingset he saw when he was on the other shore. It was rusted with one swing still attached—but it wasn’t swinging anymore. It was now wrapped around the top bar. Tommy held out his hand. Absolutely no wind. Odd, to say the least.
Tommy hopped out at the front of the kayak and dragged it onto dry land. Let the exploring begin.
For the next few hours, he explored the island with three objectives: first, to find a good camping spot; second, to find the arrowheads that everyone talks about; and third, to find a ghost. It’s worth mentioning that Tommy never aimed for something that he knew he couldn’t get. He always had a strange knack for ending up in unexplainable places.
The island, so far, was less eventful than he had hoped. More walking than anything. The old plant at the southern part of the island had already been scrapped and scavenged. All that remained of it was a concrete slab, leftover pieces of equipment, and patches of woods. The smell reminded Tommy of when his family would drive over the Veterans Memorial Bridge when he was a kid. A few miles downstream was an operating coke plant that reeked of sulfur. Here, that same strong smell hung in the air. Although no sign of the plant remained on Browns Island, it still smelled like it was running. Tommy could have sworn it even sounded like it was in full operation. He looked around him. Trying to find where the sound of steel clanking, chains rattling, and hissing steam was coming from, but it was a barren wasteland. He resolved that Kaleb had gotten into his head and that it was time to move on to better things, like the office building left behind from the old plant.
His excitement faded the moment he stepped inside the office. Nothing important remained: pay stubs, invoices, cabinets—just the usual boring office stuff, all tossed aside by earlier visitors. The only mildly interesting part was a pack of survival gear: water, blankets, matches, and other essentials. Someone must have been hiding out here. Whoever it was, though, kept a clean camp, leaving nothing of value behind. Tommy had seen enough. But as he started to leave, he heard something buzzing. He turned to see a desk lamp flickering on the other side of the room.
Weird, Tommy thought. So there’s still electricity here.
But when he approached the lamp, he saw that it was unplugged. When he took a closer look at the bulb, it stopped. He watched it, waiting for it to turn on again, hoping it did so he wouldn’t have to doubt that it was on in the first place. But it flickered no more.
Tommy again cursed Kaleb for putting a bug in his ear and moved on to explore the northern part of the island.
Over the next few hours of his trek, he noticed that a seam split the island in half like vertebrae. In some places, the land sank into deep crevices. In other places, rock jutted out as high as his knees. The top layer was sandstone. However, in the highest spots, a strange rock peeked out from underneath. Tommy hit a small chunk of the weird rock with the back of his knife. He could have sworn the rock recoiled after he struck it, but reasoned that his eyes had to be playing tricks on him. As he examined the rock fragment, he couldn’t tell what color it was. Depending on the way the sunlight hit it, the rock was sometimes blue and other times gold. It was a cool souvenir, to say the least. He thought little more of it and shoved the rock into his pocket and pushed on until he was near the top of the island.
This area was freckled with trees, wildflowers, and overgrowth. Kaleb’s book mentioned that there used to be a home and a small lighthouse at the top of the island. It said that people would have weddings and large parties here during the warmer months. So when Tommy stumbled upon a few rows of struggling apple trees, he knew he must be near where the old house used to be. The trees had only a few shriveled apples, but the whole area smelled rotten. It was as if an entire harvest had spoiled. He looked at the ground but saw no apples. Strange. Maybe there was a dead animal carcass nearby, but when he looked around him, he had a realization: he had not seen one sign of life here. There were no traces of animals anywhere on the ground or above. When a flock of birds flew near the island, they split. One group flew on the left side of the river as the others flew around the right side—no bird flew directly over the island. He even spotted a bald eagle on the West Virginia riverbank—but not one bird could be seen on this island.
Strange.
Maybe the island’s contaminated from the mills, Tommy thought. Which means I’ll probably become a mutant after spending a night here.
Deep down inside, he always wished that mutants could exist. What kid wouldn’t want to become like an X-Men? Bending physics and time to fight the forces of evil. Maybe this was his one chance. As fun as the idea seemed, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Kaleb might be right about the eerie island. Tommy had yet to see anything haunting, but this island just felt off. Still, he again suppressed this feeling and settled on the thought that this would be the easiest money he’s ever made. He also settled on the top of the island being the best place to camp. He could see the wide river splitting around the sides of the island. Plus, there was a cozy patch of grass surrounded by trees, providing an open canopy for the stars and cover from passing boats…if there were any.
Objective one complete—cool place to camp.
Next, he set up his simple camp: a small one-person tent and a cooler of hot dogs and pop. And when he was carrying stones from the shore for his fire pit, he crossed off his second objective. Wedged inside a ball full of tree roots at the river’s edge, he spotted a pointed stone.
Objective two complete—he found an arrowhead.
Now, if only he could find that ghost. Maybe the arrowhead would summon a special guest. Tommy could only wish.
Before long, a fire was blazing. The stars began to awaken as the sun dipped farther below the valley hills. When he camped, the forest would always come alive. Weird noises, screeches, caws, and growls would materialize from the darkness—but not here. It felt like a void. Most moments were absent of any sound. But every so often, something would jolt him. Once, he thought he heard something fly over his head, almost like an arrow. Another time, he ducked when it felt and sounded like an aircraft flew overhead. When he looked up, there was nothing there but the stars. Soon after, a strange aroma filled the air. It tasted like pennies. The air felt ionized, charged like it smells right before a lightning storm. Yet, it was a cloudless night. He sat still. Looking, smelling, and listening for more oddities.
And the longer he sat there, the more in tune he became with the area. When he faced upstream, he felt like he could differentiate the left side of the river from the right. The left side made him feel nostalgic, as if looking at an old family photograph. The right side energized him like Christmas Eve. Each side didn’t just sound different; they felt different. It was like soft, barely inaudible frequencies were hitting his innermost eardrum. Still, he wasn’t convinced. His mind, more likely than not, was playing tricks on him. So, instead of stewing in paranoia, Tommy did the best thing he could think of—he ate his branching fears away.
After a feast of three hot dogs and two Cosmic Brownie s’mores, he looked at his watch—10 PM. Still, no ghosts. Considering the land he was on, all of the Native Americans that lived here, the time George Washington visited the island, the settlers who built their homes here, the bootleggers that hid here, the tragedies that took place here, how could there possibly be no ghosts?
Tommy didn’t mind, though. Sure, a ghost would be a cool story, but he came here for solitude. He needed this, a chance to think about life before his brother’s accident, a moment to live without being stuck neck deep in guilt, the opportunity to think about life after high school. Was Toledo the right school for him? Who knows. Was the girl he’s dating destined to be the one? Maybe? Only time would tell.
As these thoughts muddled together, something else was brewing. It wasn’t sudden, though. It was gradual, like when you’re lying in bed at night. Everything is quiet. Then, the faintest sound appears, and you wonder if it’s all in your head. So you lie there, questioning this sound for some time before you finally stand up to investigate.
This was what it felt like for Tommy. By now, he was confident he could differentiate the left river from the right river that split around the island. So when a faint hum emerged from the top of the island, he knew that something was up there.
He grabbed his flashlight and took off to investigate.
The ominous hum felt more like a frequency cutting into his gut than his eardrums. It pulled him through the most vegetated part of the island. As he walked farther, the feeling grew stronger, harmonizing with the sounds from the other sides of the river until they reached a point where they all converged into one note, one sound, one frequency. It was in the middle of a thicket. And Tommy nearly fell to his death as he came upon it.
“Ahh!”
Tommy banged his shin against a stone. His momentum carried him forward, nearly stumbling face-first. But what waited in front of him wasn’t the ground. It was a dark hole sinking deep into the earth.
His shin gushed blood, but he didn’t notice. He was too transfixed. The frequencies were now a beautiful symphony that energized and terrified Tommy. He rushed to clear the brush in front of him, quickly realizing what he had run into—a well.
“Oh my goodness. You actually exist,” he said out loud.
Old stones were piled in a neat circle around a dark hole. He shined his light below. The beam couldn’t reach the bottom.
“Hello, down there,” he yelled. “Anyone hiding below? Any ghosts down there?” To his reprieve—and slight disappointment—no one responded.
His light revealed many initials carved along the top of the well. Most of them were too faint to read. Some looked more like symbols. Only two carvings were legible. On the top read, Forsaken. And on the bottom, Locke.
I wonder if this was the man who got trapped in the well, Tommy thought.
He leaned over the well and reached his flashlight as far down as he could. Still, the light did not touch the bottom—but it did reveal something else. They were nearly invisible and were covered in the same moss as the rest of the well. He grabbed one near the top of the well. It was a stone peg, possibly a railroad spike, wedged in between two stones. He followed them with his light and saw that there was a row of them leading down into the abyss.
His stomach dropped before he even had the thought: it was possible to climb down to the bottom of the well.
I should probably wait until daylight, he thought. Or at least wait until I’m with my friends.
This thought made his stomach drop again. Tommy knew he only had one option. He was here now because his friends were wimps. He had to venture to the bottom of this forsaken well.
He spent no time second-guessing himself and plunged into the depths.
One peg after another, he inched himself lower into the well. Testing each peg with the weight of his foot before lowering himself to the next one.
This is either the dumbest or coolest thing I’ve ever done. Please, God. Make it be the latter.
Before long, he was deep enough that he couldn’t see the top. A type of vertigo set in. Stuck in a tunnel of darkness where he couldn’t see where up or down was anymore. Still, brushing his panic aside, he made it this far. No turning back now.
Around fifteen pegs later, as the frequency hummed louder than ever, his light finally hit the bottom.
His speed increased, and soon enough, he was once again standing. And it was a colossal letdown. All that was down here were wet rocks, some beer cans, and a strange creature. It looked like a salamander or a snake, maybe a mutated version of both. When he shined his light on it, the creature vanished between the rocks.
Tommy let out a long sigh. He had done it. He did something his friends wouldn’t dare to do. And he knew that if they were done here now, they also wouldn’t do this—
CLICK!
He turned his flashlight off. Darkness engulfed him. It might have been thirty seconds or five minutes. His body felt so disoriented that he couldn’t tell. As he went to turn on his flashlight again, he stopped.
A faint blue glow snuck through the cracks of the bottom of the well. The light was so pale that Tommy wasn’t sure if it was real. He reached down and touched the crack, then immediately yanked his hand back. It felt like an electric pulse shot through his fingertip and spread throughout his body. The shock came suddenly and left just as fast, making it easy to doubt anything really happened. He took a closer look but couldn’t find the glow he thought he saw.
Weird, he thought to himself. Maybe that creature glows in the dark.
He stood still in the dark for a few more uneventful minutes. Nothing was happening. No ghosts were appearing. The frequency he thought he heard all along grew quiet. And his adrenaline was tanking. It was time to return.
Peg by peg, he began his ascent. After the tenth peg, he stopped. The frequency returned louder than ever. Though this wasn’t why he stopped. He stopped because the bottom of the well started to rumble. Then, the walls of the well started to shake. He gripped the pegs with his life, hugging close to the wall, climbing up as fast as he could.
But then, the rumbling stopped—and so did Tommy. His heart nearly stopped, too, when he looked back down to the bottom of the well—or, better put, where it used to be.
He didn’t need a flashlight to see what was below him. The bottom had opened up deeper under the island, lit brightly in blue and gold light by a newly formed tunnel.
“Hello? Is anyone down there?”
The only response was the mysterious frequency. This time, it was undeniable. He could feel the weight of it pulling him downward. Tommy took one look at the top of the dark well, shook his head, then began his descent back down to the bottom.
The tunnel didn’t look man-made, but rather like a tectonic place separated for the sake of passage. It was easy to move through. Around the size of a doorway with a gentle slope.
The walls were made of the same translucent rock Tommy had found on the surface. But here, they glowed brilliantly, resembling bulging veins. The right wall’s veins were neon blue and pulsated, never staying in one place but moving as if they were alive. The left wall behaved the same, but with shimmering gold veins. Each wall reminded Tommy of his anatomy class where they studied the brain. The lights looked like synapses firing across various branches.
Tommy’s attention turned to his pocket. It, too, was glowing. He reached into his jeans and took out the rock he had found above. It glowed with both colors in cadence with the movements on the walls. It felt both warm and cold in the palm of his hand.
On the surface, he questioned whether he could hear the different sides of the river. Down here, he was certain. The golden side comforted him. The blue side energized him. And the middle frequency tugged at him, drawing him into the magical tunnel beneath the island.
He stowed the rock back into his pocket and stepped into the abyss. It felt like he was on another planet in the middle of space. Nothing felt like earth. If a black hole was anti-matter, a scar in the universe, devouring light and energy, then this was the opposite. Tim never felt more alive. His brain felt ignited. Blazing with energy as he stepped deeper into the tunnel. Memories flashed before him. They were so vivid he couldn’t tell if he was actually seeing them or imagining them. Memories from his childhood. From his brother’s accident. But then visions he didn’t remember. Visions of him as a grown man. Visions of strangers. Some, in the distant past. Others, in a strange, unknown land. Voices echoed from each side of the wall. He couldn’t make out their words, but he somehow knew exactly what they were asking for—help!
Suddenly, the visions and voices stopped. Tommy had reached the end of the tunnel. The walls continued into a large, cave-like room.
If the tunnel was the spinal cord, then this was the brain. The walls were still split. Half blue and half gold. They curved out and then in to form a translucent, globe-like room. The room burst with neon colors, branching out rapidly in constant motion. The frequencies he heard were now one. The only thing he could compare it to was the call whales made. Somewhat haunting. Somewhat muffled. Changing in pitch. Bouncing between the walls in perfect harmony.
Something along the right wall struck his curiosity. He questioned his eyes for a bit, but he knew he wasn’t imagining it. He was looking at a vintage Volkswagen stuck beyond the glass-like wall.
What in the world?
None of this made sense. He stepped within inches of the wall, squinting as he leaned in, hoping something—anything—would explain this, when—
“Ahh!”
Tommy jumped back, falling to the ground of rock and sand. His heart raced. His eyes widened. His brain spiraled. His focus fixated on the thick whiskers. Then the enormous eyeballs. And finally, the dorsal fin. It was a giant catfish, bigger than the Volkswagen below it.
What a minute. That would mean…
“I’m under the river!”
