A haunting at Smithville Lake

When he was a living, breathing creature, nobody paid much mind to Fred.

In his 36 years on planet Earth, he’d attended more than a few parties, mostly invitations from well-meaning co-workers at his accounting firm. A few flirtations here and there, sure, but once he started in on 401(k) plans or capital gains, eyes glazed over.

When he first set eyes on her at his favorite barbecue joint, all thoughts of finances were tossed aside as quickly as short ribs gnawed to the bone.

She seemed destined to appear here and there in his life: He was quite certain he’d caught a glimpse of her when he was rushing across Kansas City International Airport to pick up his sister, Jen, and her brood. And he’d spotted his dark-haired beauty at one of his favorite haunts (so to say), Olathe Memorial Cemetery, drifting from one gravestone to the next, pausing with respect at each.

His true passions in life were clearly shared by this Kansas City native, and that would be the rich history of 19th-century Kansas City, and what the city was known for now: barbecue. On this day, she was dining on a platter filled with the very finest — from short ribs to brisket, pickle nestled atop toasted bread.

She grinned up at him, sauce slightly smeared across her chin.

Oddly, she seemed to flicker in and out of his vision. She was there and then, in a blink, she was gone.

Oh, he thought in his final moments, gazing at the last bite of a brisket sandwich. What guts it would take to go say hello.

In the end — and it was — he figured it could have been his fault. Call it a passion for burnt ends and short ribs. Call it the curse of genetics. All 307 pounds of Fred felt a sharp pain in his chest, and the next thing he knew, he was floating above a crowd at his own funeral. Aside from his mother and his sister, who was chasing after her three small children, few seemed to mourn Fred.

It was mid-October, prime barbecue season, when Fred was pulled from his nirvana.

Stuck between Earth and a place he could only imagine would be bliss, he tried to fit in as a quintessential ghost on a quest to find his brown-eyed, sloppy-faced dream girl. The one he now knew was not of the old world he once plodded through.

He had a few strikes against him. First, he was a bit young to be hanging with some of the famous ghosts in Kansas City. To them he was an upstart, and there’s nothing like being snubbed by a ghost to humble a man. Or whatever he was.

Frankly, if Fred were a jack-o’-lantern, he would have been carved by a child’s hand. Standard features, pleasant but bland look (think triangle eyes, turn the triangle upside down for a nose, crooked grin).

This was new territory, and he was ready to finally give that face some character. And find his woman. But how?

I was at Gates Barbecue in my hometown of Kansas City sitting alone as usual, when I saw that girl sitting in the corner. Now, this was the third time I’d spotted that girl. Don’t get me wrong, I was thrilled to finally see her again. She was gorgeous and had long brown hair and a big bright smile that was irresistible.

I kept telling myself I should go talk to her but something else inside of me was telling me that I shouldn’t. When I looked up again, she had already left. I was disappointed that I might have wasted my last chance to see her. And with that I decided I should just go home. I asked for my check and walked out feeling very upset.

I got outside and out of the corner of my eye I could see someone staring at me. I turned and saw the girl standing there. Gradually I could feel my smile getting bigger. She came toward me and introduced herself as Regan. I reached out to shake her hand but she hesitated, as if she didn’t want to do that. But she reached out and when I touched her hand a chill ran through my body. She was ice cold.

I asked if she wanted to go get something warm to drink but she said we could meet the next day at the Smithville Lake. I said I would get back to her on that and we both went our separate ways. When I got home I went and sat on the couch just to think to myself. The problem with her plan was I hadn’t been to the Smithville Lake since I was 15. And to be honest I didn’t ever plan on going back.

Last time I was there it was gray outside and not a lot of people were there. I was with two of my friends, Max and Rachel. Max and I were standing in the shallow end waiting for our parents to come. But like always, Rachel wanted to be the brave and adventurous one. She was running off the dock to do a flip. We told her it was a bad idea, especially without her life jacket on. But she didn’t listen. She ran and went for the flip but as she came down she hit the back of her head on the dock and fell into the water. We rushed to the dock and tried to get Rachel, but we couldn’t see her anywhere. We yelled for our parents, but by the time they had gotten there it was too late. Rachel had already passed.

Just thinking about that experience makes me want to hide out in my house. But I knew if I said no I would always regret it. I called Regan and told her I could meet her there at 7. The next day I was a nervous wreck. I haven’t been on a date in almost two years and I didn’t ever expect my next one to be at my least favorite place. I put on a sweater and jeans and grabbed a picnic basket. When I arrived at the lake I got a horrible feeling, but maybe it was just nervous jitters. I got out of the car and walked down to find Regan. She was sitting at a table looking very pretty.

I said hello and started to pull out all of the food. She apologized because she had already eaten. After that we just started talking about our lives. She said she actually went to the same elementary and middle school as I did but then moved right before high school. She said how she loved the lake, swimming and anything creepy. But the strangest part was how she kept mentioning how she liked to walk through graveyards.

As the night went on, it kept getting darker and colder. She asked if I wanted to go for a walk. After that conversation I wasn’t sure how much longer I wanted to stay with Regan, but I said yes. We walked for what seemed to be a mile until we finally stopped at a graveyard. She said this was her favorite. I had been to this graveyard before with Max and Rachel, and from what I knew, people didn’t like to come back here. She showed me some of the really old graves and kept leading me deeper and deeper into the land stones.

She eventually stopped at one, but this one didn’t seem to be that old. The name was covered up with dirt and nature debris but I got a weird feeling when I saw this one. Regan said it meant something to her. That she once knew the person inside the coffin. She whispered very softly, “Everyone once knew this little girl, even you Fred.”

In my head I was hearing, “Run away — far, far away before something bad happens.” But the rest of me said “stay and listen.”

She said this little girl died a horrible death. She drowned. I backed up a little because I felt as if she was accusing me of something, but just then she started brushing off the dirt. And I saw the name I never expected to see. Rachel. More scared than ever, I asked, “What are you trying to say?”

She slithered up to me and hissed, “You were there the day I died, and you watched me sink further, and further down into the water.”

She grabbed onto my sweater and threw me down into the ground. “This is what you deserve.”

She pushed her foot into my face and the next thing I remember, everything went black. When I woke up I was floating above what looked to be my body, and this time, nobody was around to bring me back to life. I looked over to see my family sitting in the stands. Out of the windows I could see Regan — or Rachel — standing outside. I ran as fast as I could to ask what she had done to me. Her only response: “I did to you exactly what you did to me: left me to die.”

And with that I was all alone wishing I had just listened to my gut.

This story was originally published October 27, 2015 at 1:43 PM with the headline "A haunting at Smithville Lake."