The Ghost Lake

At dusk, the fields are still visible as the gray fog in the background begins to rise.
At dusk, the fields are still visible as the gray fog in the background begins to rise.

At dusk, when the sun sets behind the western ridge, and the moon rises to a significant height in the southern sky, the mists rise from the fields and enshroud the creatures that dwell therein. The ghost lake has returned.

That first paragraph is a great start to a ghost story, but let’s take a closer look. After we saw the house and the dense woods surrounding it, we started researching the area. We were still in California pulling up Google Earth and Maps, trying to zoom in on local landmarks to get a perspective. We kept seeing the name of Farghuar (the original name, which I’ll use in place of the modernized spelling to preserve some privacy). There was Farghuar Lake, Farghuar Pond and Farghuar Store, and months within our arrival, a rather good restaurant bearing the name opened nearby.

Google research proved rather inaccurate because the lake was not a lake. We figured out Farghuar Pond, which looks large enough to be a lake, was not the lake. It’s a pond. One local told us that Farghuar Lake was now private and surrounded by lovely large homes. We went to one of those lovely large homes during a moving sale, and the lady of the house told us that the body of water outside her door was another “lake” altogether, and that the hundred or so acres of blueberries between her house and ours had once been the lake we were seeking.

That explained the mysterious whereabouts of the missing lake and the t-shirts and coffee mugs sold inside the Farghuar Store inscribed with “Not seen since 1928.” Local lore indicated that a lake had been drained, and mint, daffodils and other bulbs had been grown on the resulting land at different times. Although I accepted this, I wondered why anyone would plant mint in such quantities, knowing that it would overtake the earth if left unchecked.

One of our friends told us of driving down the road that cuts through the former lake when she was a teenager. After rainstorms, frogs would hop onto the roadway in such vast quantities that one would think a plague had been sent.

I’ve been fascinated with this missing lake since its former location was pointed out to us. We have to drive up and down that road several times a week, and there appears to be an optical illusion. On a summer’s day, when reaching the road from our driveway, there appears to be a body of water beyond a clump of trees. I’ve almost driven off the road trying to see if what I’m seeing is real. When you get past that certain point, reach the stop sign and look back, you can clearly see that what you thought was a lake is actually an unused field.

At dusk, when the autumnal evenings cool the air, the fog rises from that same area as if The Mists of Avalon have gathered to separate the mythical island from an encroaching world. I’ve watched “the lake” on those occasions, as I have driven through the mists when they cross the main road before sunrise. The enclosure feels protective, which is what those creatures living behind the veil must sense. I know there is wildlife, as the deer have seemingly come from nowhere, and one occasionally hears a chorus of coyotes.

Skeptical of mystery, the modern mind seeks to find a logical explanation. Why does this lake, turned into commercial farmland, refuse to behave like farmed land and revert to the moist existence of a lake? Why does this area seemingly turn back to its former reality under certain conditions when some sources indicate that there hasn’t been a lake for almost 90 years?

Research is the best place to begin when seeking comprehension. One website provided just a few basic sentences, but it offered clues worth exploring. Further reading uncovered that the lake was never really a lake, but over 100 acres of wetlands that had been converted into farmland almost a century ago. Terra cotta drain tiles were installed to prevent flooding, but a few years ago ecological projects, solid funding and wetland reclamation efforts have restored native grasses.

For those of us who don’t want any construction coming nearer to our houses, it’s nice to know that the land is too boggy for development. Swampy areas of quicksand prevent the bulldozers, but it’s perfect for wildlife preservation. The drainage tiles in that area behind the farmed land were removed a few years ago, so there is a buildup of moisture to cause the evening fog. The mists are still mysterious in spite of explanation, but what of the optical illusion of a lake’s surface on summer days? There’s a logical explanation, but I want to hold onto the mystery of the Ghost Lake for a while longer.

© 2016 by Patrick Brown

To learn more about my books, visit my author page at

8 Replies to “The Ghost Lake”

  1. I actually got chills when I read this. No. Not “chills” — more like THRILLS. Ghostly lakes play an intriguing part in literature and this weeks entry reads truly like the beginning of a masterful mystery. PLEASE. Please, continue with more Tales of Ghost Lake. You did it on purpose didn’t you, Padraic? With All Hallows Eve so near.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. The timing was coincidental, but I thought appropriate for the season. There are mysteries to be pursued in that lake that once was.


  2. What a wonderful “find.” Scientifically the wetland theory would be near and dear to Don’s heart since for years he was Fish and Game’s “Preserver-in-Chief” of our state’s valuable and ecologically necessary wetlands. But I like the idea of a Ghost Lake, so “Morgaine”, and so Halloween! 👻🎃

    Liked by 1 person

  3. How enticing, the whole thing just makes me even more curious…..optical illusions can be so mysterious. Yes, you have the start of another Patrick Brown book that we all love and adore.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Funny you should mention that. I’m outlining the next novel, a sequel to the novel that was just accepted for publication. I have an idea for the next story in the series, and while I hadn’t considered this piece to be part of the third Maggie Lyon story, you give me an idea to consider. The heroine, on the run from a killer, could end up in the marshes and escape with the help of the mists. Hmmmm.


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