At approximately 3:15 p.m. CST, the seismograph unit located in the University of Minnesota Duluth began to record vibrations echoing from some 46 miles away. The exact location of the activity was officially documented yesterday by scientific authorities from the United States Geological Survey office. Many historians know this point north of Stony Bay as the original shipping port of the area, and is in fact its namesake. Currently it is the private property of New York Times best-selling author Lance Metzger. The seismic activity was centralized around an area just inside the original port area of the bay.
“Earthquake is too strong of a word,” Alan Jarvis, a geophysicist with the USGS, was quoted as saying. “Right now we know that there was some movement deep below the lake’s bed. At this time the data is inconclusive as to whether or not what we are seeing is an undiscovered fault line in the area.” Jarvis went on to say that the area is not currently active and sensors set up within the lake have registered no further vibrations.
But what authorities found after being alerted by several students from UMD was nothing less than astounding.
“The house is completely gone,” said Dennis Johnson, a State Trooper that was one of the first to arrive on the scene after the emergency calls began to stream in. “When I pulled up to the place, there was just a hole in the ground and a few boards floating in the water, nothing else. The entire house had been swallowed by the lake.”
Sources indicate that Metzger was inside his home at the time of the activity with several guests, whose identities have not been disclosed. He and one female that is not being named at this time were able to escape before the house collapsed into the waters of Superior. At least two people were killed after being trapped within the falling wreckage. No bodies have been recovered. Metzger remains in intensive care from injuries incurred during the escape, and at this time no statements have been made by his representatives.
Epilogue
“A man’s character is his fate.”
—Heraclitus
One year later
A gentle but insistent breeze pushed at the browning grass that lined the river’s bank. Several blue jays that hadn’t heeded the nearing fall’s warnings still called out their shrill, pulsing cries across the flowing waters. The winch’s moaning hum overshadowed nature’s accents, along with the sound of the cable attached to it being drawn tight. The steel creaked like an over-tuned guitar string as the two divers who had emerged moments earlier from the muddy water began to pull off their gear on the nearby slope.
All was reflected in the silver lenses of the uniformed man who stood chewing on an unrecognizable toothpick. His brow was pulled nearly below his sunglass frames, and his black baseball hat threw his lean face into shadow.
“Think there’s someone in there, Sheriff?” the young man said as he stepped up to the edge of the riverbank. The deputy’s uniform was rumpled and his hair was an unruly mop that hung lankly over his forehead.
The older man merely shrugged and watched the swirling currents of the deep water where the cable of the tow truck disappeared. The surface closer to the shoreline began to bulge, and then an oblong shape appeared in the cool sunlight of the September afternoon.
It took the sheriff’s aging eyes a moment to discern what he was seeing, but then the red of a taillight and the flicker of chrome became clear.
“Well, I’ll be damned. I guess I didn’t think there’d be a car, but look at that,” the deputy said. The older man walked down to the edge of the river, and after a moment the younger officer shrugged and followed.
Water rushed from the emerging vehicle, and just from a glance, the sheriff could tell it was an early-model Chrysler. None of the paint was visible through the grime and refuse that had collected and eaten into the doors, hood, and trunk of the small car. He searched the rear end for a license plate but could see none, not because of the accumulated grime but because it had been removed.
The winch’s groan stuttered and then fell silent as the tow-truck driver flipped a switch, leaving the valley in a peaceful silence.