“So what if a bunch of sailors were killed at some far away territory. Since when is that my problem?” Warren mumbled to himself as he hauled his steamer trunk along his side. “The government thinks that pulling my draft card means they own me? To hell with that. Getting shot because we feel the need to get revenge on some backwater islands? No sir. I’m no gunsel for Uncle Sam.”

It had been a long trip eastward for Warren Paulson. Long and cold as it was the first week of February and while there hadn’t been much snow, the cold was still there in force. Didn’t matter though. The young wood duck had gotten the draft notice only a few days ago and he had no intention of going to war. By walking and getting rides from strangers he had been able to move from Newark all the way to the outskirts of the county of Handcock Maine. Normally not a place for a man about town such as himself, but brother, he had a plan.
Pausing to catch his breath for a moment, Warren heard the telltale sound of an engine approaching from behind him. Quickly the duck adjusted his winter coat and porkpie hat so that he looked as presentable as possible before sticking out his thumb to try and hitch a ride. Warren flashed his best winning smile as he knew first impressions were everything when it came to getting someone to pull to the side.

Around the bend trundled an old AA Ford. The driver didn’t even slow for a second to give Warren a glance of curiosity. “Well ain’t that just a swell time.” Spat Warren as he stuck his hitching hand in his coat pocket to warm it back up. “Thanks friend, I hope when you’re in a spot, you get what’s coming to you.” Slowly he began to move again.
After a good hour of travel on foot, the young wood duck could see the coast. He had been smelling the salt air for a bit now but to actually see the blue vastness itself, now that was something sweeter than taffy. The plan was simple. He had a second cousin who lived on one of those islands just off the coast and lived as a lobsterman. A bigger chunk of rock called Durr’gan Island. Warren would just borrow a boat and row himself there. With any luck, he could lay low till this whole phony war blew over. Worse come to worse, he could hide in wooded part of the island. His cousin said no one ever went there, not even for firewood.

Yes sir, he was going to be set!

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February 4th 1942. The northern part of Rockside is woken by the sound of gunfire. As the towns folk dressed and collected their own firearms to see what the commotion was, a young man came sprinting out of the North Woods. Waving his arms and smelling of gun powder, he was raving about a man who had tried to kill him back in the thicket. This man was Warren Paulson, college student and draft dodger. After one of the men had been able to settle him down, they brought Warren to the town hall to try to get the whole story out of him.

Warren explained that he was out visiting family (which wasn’t exactly a lie) and that he had been exploring around in the woods when suddenly a disheveled man or as he put it. “No, not a man. A beast!” rushed him. When asked about the gun shots, Warren had gotten a little dodgy on why he had a gun with him. Warren might have not wanted to be in the army but had brought along his .22 colt pistol in case something went wrong on his travels. Kept it right in his right coat pocket all the way to Maine. He explained that he was had dropped it when he fled the woods.

The townsfolk found Warren’s story suspicious. A search was done in the area of the North Woods where he had come from and while they had been able to find his gun where he dropped it, there was no blood or sign that whatever he had shot at had been hit. The head of the search party surmised that the young man had simply jumped at some shadows and it was all well and good that he hadn’t killed anyone while firing wildly at nothing.

Later that day he was handed over to the Sheriff of Handcock County who in turn handed him over the federal authorities.
Two days later over seven inches of snow hit the area. While this might not seem relevant, to the people of Durr’gan Island it lead to conversations. What if that young man had hidden in the woods and frozen to death due to him not knowing how to survive a nor’easter. Worse, what if he had gotten up to no good on the island and they were unable to get to the police due to the storm. These thoughts led to the island petitioning the county to station at least one deputy on the island, a position that exists to this day.

Will the current deputy of Durr’gan Island be able to help shed light on the many people who have gone missing? Who was the man that Warren Paulsen met in the woods? Could they have been responsible for at least the earlier missing people? Only time will tell dear listener.

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Drawn by  sammfeatblueheart

The Durr'gan Island setting is mine.