lake george + perry ray

127005281301The Ray family lived on the unfortunate side of Lake George Trail, an unkempt road that followed a ridge that separated Lake George from Spider Lake.

Lake George itself was one-tenth the size of Spider Lake, and half of that was swamp, anyway. Cattails and other aquatic plants rose from the shallow north end of the lake. There was a turtle the size of a table, and an ancient old catfish, long as the Ray’s own dock, that slithered lazily through the shallow water, occasionally sneaking to the surface to to tragically alter the life of an insect whose only crime was taking a quick dip in the water to snag a drink. These creatures ran the joint, and made sure you knew it too—moving around you completely unfazed as you sat in your rowboat with the line from your fishing pole resting on the surface.

It wasn’t the type of lake, though, where you could spread your wings and zip over the surface with one of those new Caille motors from downstate. Perry Ray would hear them from his family home, a small but tidy house which sat at the south end of the lake.

Zzzzzzzzzz…

The buzz was similar to a stalking fly, scoping you out from a distance. When Perry Ray heard this, he’d dart across Lake George Trail to his favorite vantage point: a felled tree that juts out into the part of Spider Lake where all its various arms and legs join together.

The body of the lake.

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