“Not Chanel though.” Nefertiti opened the door. “I wish a motherfucker would come near her.”
I headed in.
Nefertiti didn’t come in. Instead, she closed the door.
Chanel had a very masculine office. It was thick with leather, tobacco, sports, and liquor. The very essence of what typically impressed men. Ebony walls bordered Chanel’s large office.
I spotted the bar near a dark red leather couch. Two bottles of expensive Scotch were opened. A glass cigar box full of gold tipped Mayan Sicars sat next to the liquor. Several framed Paradise Pirate football jerseys hung on the wall, complete with signatures of top players.
I never knew if Chanel loved all of this stuff or was simply trying her best to fit in with us.
Where are you?
I checked the right. The balcony door was open. Sheer red curtains lifted up and then fell back with the wind. Smiling, I headed that way, knowing Chanel would be outside gazing at Dream Lake.
You and your ghosts.
Most Paradise residents stayed away from Dream Lake due to its spooky and menacing reputation. Meanwhile, the Killer Crows built elegant lakefront mansions all around it.
I stepped onto the balcony.
Chanel wore a long red sun dress and held a glass full of scotch and ice. Gold and ruby earrings dangled from her ears. Chanel had her long black hair down. It fell around her face.
She looked as beautiful today as always. However her eyes were a little red as if she been crying all morning. And there was a sad weariness around the corner of her eyes. Not only had she not slept, but she also hadn’t experienced much peace.
Maybe, it’s good that Pedro is dead.
Without turning around, she took a sip from her glass and swallowed. “Thank you for coming, Dima.”
“You always know when I’m near you, even when I try to hide it.”
“Your big feet are loud as fuck.”
Smiling, I walked over to her and stared at the lake. “Seen any ghosts today?”
“Not yet.” She took another sip of the scotch. “But that’s only because it’s light outside. They like the moon and stars.”
Beneath Dream Lake lay a small village called Crownsville. Long ago, it had been a thriving town of over 6,000 people and completely Black-owned. Many of Chanel’s ancestors had helped build the town. They had their own banks, schools, theater, restaurants, and municipal buildings. And all of the residents of Crownsville stayed within their community, never venturing out to deal with the racist folk surrounding them.
Unfortunately, the rest of Paradise city wasn’t as successful. A depression poured over America and hit other parts of Paradise the most. Whites from the North and South of Paradise began looking to Crownsville as the problem. Rumors began that Black people were doing well because they were stealing from the rest.
Even though there’d been no reports of burglaries or thefts, a group of white men organized and began creeping into Crownsville at night and tormenting the residents.
This went on for months.
Then, a South Paradise white woman made a dangerous claim. She’d been attacked from behind, blindfolded, beaten, and raped. Never did she see the men’s faces or hear their voices, but she was certain that they were black.
That night, many South Paradise men went to Crownsville. They burned the village’s churches, schools, and businesses. They broke into homes, shot the husbands, raped the wives, and hung the kids.
Killer Crows called this the Week of Blood.
The massacre went on for several days. Less than half of the Crownsville residents were saved and that was due to many of Chanel’s ancestors, wielding guns and fighting back.
In order to survive, they fled Paradise and hid.
A year later, the surviving Crownsville residents returned. They’d spent that time getting weapons, money, and connections in the criminal world. They came back to rebuild their homes and discovered man-made Dream Lake in place of their village.
Paradise officials ordered the area to be flooded to cover up the horror of the city’s past.
But the story didn’t end there.
Paradise deaths increased, and more than half were associated with the lake.
Anytime Paradise whites swam or fished at Dream Lake, they died or came close to tragic injury. Some of the best swimmers drowned. The few survivors described the sensation of being pulled under by unseen hands. The majority of boats’ engines always burned out and then sink into the lake, never to be heard of again.
Anytime contractors tried to build houses around the lake, the construction crew went ill with no reason for the sickness. Many of the developers died from mysterious causes.
More frightening stories arose. A few times police were called to the lake by unknown sources. When the cops arrived, they only heard shrieks and screams within the darkness. Never did they find out who made the noises as they raced away.
Everyone believed Dream Lake to be haunted.
After a while, the lake and surrounding area went wild and empty for a long time. The property costs dropped to almost nothing.