For PrepTober, seeting description
|He loved the lake, Rainham Lake. Whether it was the clean, clear mountain air or the aroma of wet bark in the morning dew, it was a calming place. With older and younger sisters, being the only son, and the middle child, he needed the serenity the New York state campgrounds gave him. The early morning chirping of birds would be his alarm clock, even if it was before 6 AM. Charlemagne would roll out of his sleeping bag and get out of the tent, begin his day by washing up in the lake in his “special spot.”
It was the previous summer that he lost his favorite Great-Aunt, Genevieve Fiszer, his Confirmation sponsor. She married young but unfortunately, she and Great-Uncle Stanislaw could not have children, nor were they deemed financially well to adopt. Fortune did smile upon them, however, when both became successful in business, Uncle Stosz as an investor in American Locomotive, Aunt Gen at General Electric. The two planned on having a large summer home, big enough for their many nieces and nephews to come for days.
Just before Thanksgiving, he was given notice that he was bequeathed the house, along with equal amount of stocks, bonds, and cash with his sisters and their cousins. What made him feel good: no one complained that he was awarded the house, since he was the only one to visit Aunt Gen while she was there the last summer in which she was alive.
The property was well tended, inside and aunt, ready to move in and live in year-round, thanks to the extension of sewer, gas, and electric with the town of Rainham the previous spring. Charlemagne, in need of a change, moved in and made it his place, turned the third-floor library into his office, his writing office. If he needed to meet with clients or operatives, he would use the first floor.
The morning sun always entered his bedroom, the eastern facing room was bathed in the warming and living giving light. Like when a teen, he usually used the birds as an alarm clock. He looked at his clock, 25 minutes before the time set. With a quick strength, he began his day.
Being separated from the Campgrounds by a grove of pines and birches, plus hidden fence, Charlemagne never needed to be modest. After a shower, he headed up to the third floor with his breakfast and a book. When he sat, he undid the towel and let the air and sun hit his body.
Being nude was a calming effect. It took away the pressures of both his writing and private detecting.
He looked out at the water and saw no chop. Before taking up his book, he gazed towards the line and closed his eyes. On the light southerly breeze, he smelled campfires and brewing coffee, and immediately remembered this would be what his father would have going on when he returned from his early morning walks. All that was missing was the scent of frying smoked bacon. He sighed and tried to not think of his times at the grounds.
He picked up the glass of orange juice and quickly downed the slightly sour and sweet drink, the rush of natural sugars woke him quicker than any of the coffee being brewed in campsites near him. Charlemagne left the book on the table and walked to the railing and thought to himself, “What ghost stories will I write today?”