Tales of Horror Excerpt: The Serpent

Hey, everyone.

Continuing with the idea of posting excerpts from my book Tales of Horror: Macabre Monsters of Michigan, here's another one, this time from The Serpent. Unfortunately, you can't download if for free anymore, but it's still only $.99 for Kindle and $4.99 for the paperback. Get it here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07435BPQR.

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Alright, here's the excerpt. It's from my short story The Serpent. It's about a research team looking for a lake monster. They find it, but what it's not something of our world.

The village of Ontonagon settled on either side of the river that bore its namesake. Its inhabitants were only beginning to wake up and carry out the mundane tasks of small town living while an expedition was getting underway at the local docks.

A group of men, six strong, were preparing a boat on the shimmering waters of Lake Superior for a three-day search of the fathomless depths for a rare and unique phenomenon. To search for this phenomenon, they loaded some unique equipment including scuba gear, a sonar, various cameras including an underwater camera, a couple of long, short wooden chests, and a hydrophone.

At that time, a seventh man approached the dock from Ontonagon holding a cheap, gas station coffee and wearing sunglasses to hide the disappointment in his new surroundings.

“Ah! Dr. Dorian, I presume!”

“Mr. Burke?” replied Dorian to a bearded and slightly overweight middle-aged man.

“Correct, sir!” he said, shaking Dorian’s hand. “When did you get in?”

“Last night. Geez, that’s a small airport.”

“Ontonagon is a small town,” said a third man with a slender and scrappy build. “We’re lucky to have an airport.”

“Dr. Dorian,” said Burke, “this upstanding fellow here is Michael Hicks, our historian.”

“Welcome to the expedition,” said Hicks.

“Pleasure,” said Dorian, sipping his coffee.

“Let me introduce you to the rest of our crew,” said Burke.

Dorian followed Burke aboard a well-worn fishing boat called the Ripley. Despite its appearance, the hull, sole, and deck all seemed to be structurally intact. The cockpit was a little larger than necessary and the flying bridge had been redone and updated at some point. It’s clean, plastic renovations didn’t match the wooden frame of the Ripley.

“These are our two technicians,” said Burke. “This is William Gorman, our sonar man, and Bill Hudson who’ll be handling the underwater camera and hydrophone.”

Gorman was a slender man with a no-nonsense air and short hair. Hudson however was a little pasty and unimpressive with a round face.

“Tell me, something, Mr. Gorman,” began Dorian, “do you know how to work a sonar?”

“Do you think four years of active duty in the Navy is enough?”

“Oh? Yeah, that’s impressive. And Mr. Hudson—”

“Hudson’s fine, Dorian.”

“Doctor Dorian, if you please. I didn’t get a Ph.D. for fun, you know.”

“Then why did you get it, Doctor Dorian?”

“Because I like fish and junk.”

“You a marine biologist or something?”

“Close. I’m actually a marine zoologist. Marine biology covers both plants and animals, whereas I specialize in animals only.”

“Oh, good. We could use a man like you on this team.”

“So I’ve heard. Anyway, Hudson, do you have a lot of experience handling underwater cameras and hydrophones?”

“I did an internship at NOAA.”

Dorian raised his eyebrows. “The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration? Damn. This crew is a little more technical than I thought it would be. I just expected a bunch of Michigan bumpkins.”

“Present,” said a man from the corner of the cockpit. He looked to be in his sixties and wore a fishing vest and hat. He was slicing up fish and dropping the parts into a giant barrel before him.

“What?”

“I’m a Michigan bumpkin.”

“This is Lance Fox,” explained Burke. “He’s our Lake Superior expert and a local fisherman.”

“Mr. Fox,” said Dorian, regarding him.

“Lance is fine.”

“Why are you slicing up fish, Lance? Will we be chumming the waters?”

“You never know.”

Dorian frowned.

“And finally,” began Burke, “the skipper of our ship is Bobby Quint.”

“Robert,” corrected a man from atop the flying bridge. He appeared to be in his fifties with bushy mutton chops and a mustache. He had a hard face and wore a fishing jacket similar to Lance’s vest. “And don’t call me skipper. Or Robert. Just Quint. But if you call me Quinty, I’ll be throwing you overboard. And there’s no need to call me ‘Captain’ unless you intend on permanently joining my crew.”

“I think I’ll stick with Quint,” said Dorian.

“Good man. And who are you?”

“Gentlemen,” said Burke, “this is the renowned marine zoologist, Dr. Christopher Dorian.”

The others were quiet.

“Never heard of him,” said Quint.

“Well, if you lived in Miami, you would,” replied Dorian.

“Don’t get snarky with me, Dorian. I don’t care who you were in the world. You slip up out here and you’ll be tossed overboard. This ain’t Miami.”

“Obviously...”

“What’s a ‘renowned’ marine zoologist doing in Michigan?” asked Hicks.

“I asked him to join us,” said Burke. “It took some convincing, but I’m sure he’ll be perfect!”

“Burke assured me this would be the crowning achievement of my career,” said Dorian.

Hicks laughed.

“I know how you feel.”

But then Burke said, “Oh, come, come, gentlemen. This is an extraordinary adventure. As far as we all know, we are the first ones to ever launch a scientific expedition in search of the elusive Superior Serpent!”

“Basically, Lake Superior’s Loch Ness monster,” quipped Quint.

“In a matter of speaking.”

“Oh, geez,” mumbled Dorian. He looked at his coffee. “I wish this was scotch.”

“And that’s why you’re here?” said Hicks. “You really believe that this will be the crowning achievement of your career?”

Dorian shrugged. “It could be. What are you doing here?”

“I’m a historian. I know the shores of Lake Superior, its history, and its legends like the back of my ass.”

“As for me,” began Hudson, “this ain’t my first sea monster hunt, man.”

“Let’s hope it’s not your last,” said Burke cheerfully.

“What about you, Gorman?”

“You see all sorts of crazy shit in the military. There are plenty of things out there that the top brass never perfectly explains. I’m going because I want to be closer to the truth of this world.”

“Lance?”

“I grew up with stories about the Superior Serpent. I don’t think it exists personally, but what an incredible find it would be if it did exist. Plus, I’d like to know who my competition is.” Lance chuckled.

“Quint?”

“I don’t give an ass rat’s about monsters. I’m just here to steer the boat.”

“What’s your interest in all this, Burke?”

“My dear fellow, I am a cryptozoologist! It is my business to look for weird and wacky creatures that may be unknown to science. Why, I spent an entire year in Puerto Rico looking for el chupacabra. And then there was my brief sojourn in Virginia digging up clues about the lizardman. My passion is to search the world over and look for monsters!”

“You ever find any?”

Burke chuckled. “If I told you, I may have to kill you.”

“That sounds familiar,” said Gorman. “Except none of the higher-ups ever joked about it.”

Hicks eyed Dorian.

“What?”

 “Are you really just here for the career boost? I mean, if you’re so renowned, why take the gamble on such a shitty little backwater investigation like this? And why are you ‘renowned?’ No one here has ever heard of you.”

“Dr. Dorian is renowned,” began Burke, “because he is slated to be one of only a handful of people who will be working at the South Pacific Research Facility.”

Some eyebrows rose.

“Isn’t that part of the Deep Sea Research Program?” said Lance. “The one where they’re building research facilities on the ocean floor?”

“That’s right,” said Dorian. “The South Pacific facility will be just off the coast of South America.”

“But they’re not supposed to be finished until 2065.”

Dorian shrugged. “That’s only five years away.”

“How’d you get that distinction?” asked Gorman.

“About a year or two ago, I was part of a paleontological research team in Chile that was looking for extinct marine reptiles. During a dig, we came across a full fossilized skeleton of an unknown marine reptile.”

“Wait a second,” said Hudson. “I think I heard about this in the news. There was something strange about the skeleton, wasn’t there? Like, someone said it looked like the Biblical Leviathan?”

“Yes…” sighed Dorian. “One of the grad students said that. Anyway, it was an unusual find because it didn’t look like anything we’ve seen before. Dr. Cope said he thought it could be an early ancestor to the Tylosaurus. But the reason it shook the paleontology community was because of its dragon-like skull. It wasn’t long and narrow like a regular marine reptile’s head. It was shorter and almost ended in an overbite like a crocodile’s. And it had several horns sticking out the back of its head.”

“I thought dragons were reptiles,” said Quint.

“Depends on who you ask,” replied Burke. “Some people consider them to be a type of ‘serpent’ which can be a vague term for anything long and snake-like.”

“And so finding this dragon-like marine reptile is how you secured your position at the deep research facility?” asked Hicks.

“More or less. The investors were interested in seeing if there’s anything alive today in that same area that has gone undiscovered. Thinking me an expert, they supported my nomination.”

“But that’s not all!” said Burke. “You were also quoted in an interesting article in an issue of Marine Life magazine.”

“Yeah…” said Dorian, sighing again. “In Miami, we were testing claims that dolphins are psychic. We left children that couldn’t swim in a tank of water. They had life jackets, and we were nearby, so they weren’t in any real danger. But they were still in distress. It was our hope that the dolphins would save the children by pushing them to the edge of the tank where we could grab them.

“We developed other tests—I can’t really tell you about them as I wasn’t in charge of the experiments. Hell, I barely understood the pseudoscience mumbo-jumbo that the head researcher was throwing around. But the other tests included testing the psychic prowess of other marine animals including whales, certain kinds of fish, and even sharks. In some of the tests, both the whales’ and sharks’ results were better than random.

“So, I said that in theory it’s possible that sharks are psychic. Marine Life grabbed onto that quote and used it to headline the article. So…”

“So, you’re no stranger then to marine paranormal phenomenon?” said Gorman.

“Indeed!” said Burke. “And that’s one of the reasons why I asked him to come with us.”

“Look,” said Dorian, “it was just a theory, and I barely believe that dolphins are psychic. Hell, I don’t even believe in human psychics. And I don’t believe in sea monsters.”

“But you must have some interest in the subject,” concluded Hicks.

“How so?”

“Look where you are. And by your own free will.”

Burke suddenly looked excited.

Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “Like I said, it’s for my career.”

“Uh-huh…”

“Burke!” called Quint. “Do we intend to find this super snake or what?”

“You’re so right, Quint. We must hurry.”

“Then finish packing the gear and let’s get on with it!”

Everyone except for Dorian ran around and finished loading up the boat. When they were done, Quint started the boat’s engine and took off heading west along the shoreline of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.

As they went, a mountain ridge raised out of the ground back on the mainland. There looked like there as something covering the mountains.

“What is that?” Dorian asked. “Looks like a burnt out forest.”

“It’s a burnt out forest,” said Hicks.

“Okay… Why is it burnt out?”

Hicks looked at Lance, and they both shook their heads.

“Well?”

“It used to be the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park. It caught fire and burned down about six years ago.”

“Bummer. Shame to lose a whole state park like that.”

“You’re telling me,” said Lance. “I grew up with the Porkies. Hiking, camping, fishing, skiing, boating. There wasn’t anything you couldn’t do in the Porkies.”

“Had to watch out for the black bear though,” said Hicks.

“Yeah. They could be a problem. My father always carried a gun.” Lance looked back at the forest longingly. “I’ll never forgive that bastard.”

“Your father?” said Dorian.

“No, the asshole who burned it down.”

Dorian lifted his eyebrows. “It wasn’t a natural disaster?”

“No. It was man-made.”

“I hate people.”

“Join the club,” said Hicks.

Dorian turned back to the cockpit. “So, Burke, what the hell are we looking for?”

“The Superior Serpent!”

“No shit. But what exactly is it? What does it look like?”

“Oh! Well, there are quite a few interesting tales. About a year ago, a woman and her daughter said they saw a big black snake-like creature floating on top of the water. The woman estimated it to be twelve feet long.”

“Sounds like a log to me.”

“Not so! They watched it for nearly ten minutes before it submerged itself. In another tale, a local of Ontonagon says he saw it while bowfishing. He said that a long, black serpent swam up to the surface, chomped down on his catch as he was reeling it in and took it away, bow, arrow, and all! He estimated it to be fifteen feet long and a foot wide!” said Burke with a squeak.

“That’s… pretty big. Had he been drinking?”

“No,” said Lance. “That was Clark Lewis. He never touches the stuff.”

“The last report—”

“Is mine,” finished Hicks. “I was doing some research near the Presque Isle River. We’re coming up on it now,” said Hicks, pointing to an open waterway. “When suddenly, myself, a ranger, and two state officials saw this big, black serpent swimming around the mouth of the river. We walked to the beach for a closer look and the thing surfaced. We didn’t get a very clear look at it, but I swear to you…”

Dorian leaned in.

“It had burning red eyes.”

Dorian looked disappointed. He looked down at his coffee wishing once again it was scotch.

“You don’t believe me.”

“Why would I? I mean, burning red eyes? On a sea creature? Have you been watching too many movies?”

“Hardly. What’s really interesting is that the creature has its origin in Native American myth. The Ojibwe called it the ‘misiginebig.’ It translates to ‘great serpent,’ and was said to have horns on its head and eat humans. It was a natural enemy of the Thunderbirds.”

“Naturally!” said Dorian. “You know those Thunderbirds. They hate serpents swimming around the lakes and pissing in the rivers. The Thunderbirds drink that water.”

Hicks shook his head.

As they neared the Presque Isle River mouth, Quint slowed the boat. “Burke! We’re here.”

“Good. Hudson! Drop the hydrophone and let’s see what we can pick up.”

Dorian furrowed his brow. “What’re we listening for? Fish don’t typically make any noise.”

“There’s a theory,” explained Burke, “that some sea monsters use echolocation. There’s a recording from Lake Champlain where a sophisticated creature of some kind was definitely using echolocation.”

“Is that right?” Dorian laughed. “The stories say it’s a serpent, which means it’s likely an eel, but damn echolocation! That would imply we’re chasing a mammal. What the hell?”

“If you don’t like the adventure so far, you can jump out,” said Hicks.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Hudson!” said Burke.

“Hydrophone is in the water,” he replied, lowering a black cable over the side. “Now, we just have to hook it up to the computer.” Hudson stepped down into the cabin. He opened his laptop and started clacking at the keyboard.

“The rest of you,” said Burke, “keep your eyes peeled.”

Quint took out a newspaper and started reading it.

A few hours passed and they bobbed up and down on the Superior.

“Hudson?” said Burke. “Anything?”

“So far zippo.”

“Perhaps we should try a different location.”

“Maybe, boss.”

Burke was about to tell Quint to move the boat when Lance came into the cabin. “Hey, Burke. I don’t like the look of the sky. It’s starting to get a little sketchy. I think a storm is moving in.”

“How much time do we have?”

Lance shrugged. “Two hours or less.”

“That’s plenty of time.”

“I don’t think—”

“Burke! Burke!”

“What is it, Hudson?!”

“Holy shit! Listen to this!”

Burke took the headphones from Hudson, and as he listened, he was torn between a smile and perplexity.