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Early <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> lake season, before Memorial Day, <strong>the</strong>re was usually a rash of break-<strong>in</strong>s, <strong>the</strong>n ano<strong>the</strong>r flurry<br />
late, after Labor Day. O<strong>the</strong>rwise it was always midweek, particularly on a ra<strong>in</strong>y night. None of <strong>the</strong> full-time<br />
residents ever seemed to be victimized, and he didn’t steal food items that had already been opened. One<br />
family had a runn<strong>in</strong>g joke—“He won’t date <strong>the</strong> sk<strong>in</strong>ny girl”—because no matter how many times <strong>the</strong>ir<br />
liquor cab<strong>in</strong>et was raided, he never touched <strong>the</strong> Sk<strong>in</strong>nygirl margarita dr<strong>in</strong>k.<br />
Ten years passed. It was <strong>the</strong> same story: almost no one could stop him, and <strong>the</strong> police couldn’t catch him.<br />
He seemed to haunt <strong>the</strong> forest. Families returned from a quick trip <strong>in</strong>to town wonder<strong>in</strong>g if <strong>the</strong>y were go<strong>in</strong>g<br />
to encounter a burglar. <strong>The</strong>y feared he was wait<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> woods, watch<strong>in</strong>g. He searched your cupboards and<br />
rummaged through your drawers. Every walk to <strong>the</strong> woodpile provoked a goose-bumpy feel<strong>in</strong>g that<br />
someone was lurk<strong>in</strong>g beh<strong>in</strong>d a tree. All <strong>the</strong> normal night sounds became <strong>the</strong> noises of an <strong>in</strong>truder. A few<br />
friends quietly discussed putt<strong>in</strong>g rat poison <strong>in</strong> food and leav<strong>in</strong>g bear traps <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> leaves, though <strong>the</strong>y never<br />
went through with <strong>the</strong>se ideas.<br />
O<strong>the</strong>rs said it was obvious that <strong>the</strong> hermit was harmless—just let him have your spatula and milk crates.<br />
He was hardly more trouble than <strong>the</strong> seasonal houseflies. Ma<strong>in</strong>e has always been a quirky place, stocked<br />
with odd characters, and now North Pond had its own folklore of a mysterious hermit. At least two kids<br />
wrote school papers about <strong>the</strong> legend.<br />
But <strong>the</strong>n <strong>the</strong> crimes became more brazen. One family loaded frozen chickens <strong>in</strong> a freezer for a party and<br />
lost <strong>the</strong>m all at once. At a North Pond home owners’ meet<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> 2004, nearly fifteen years <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong> mystery,<br />
<strong>the</strong> hundred people present were asked who had suffered break-<strong>in</strong>s. At least seventy-five raised <strong>the</strong>ir hands.<br />
<strong>The</strong>n, at last, <strong>the</strong>re was seem<strong>in</strong>gly a breakthrough. As <strong>the</strong> price and size of motion-sens<strong>in</strong>g security<br />
cameras decreased, several families <strong>in</strong>stalled <strong>the</strong>m. At one cab<strong>in</strong>, where <strong>the</strong> camera was hidden <strong>in</strong> a smoke<br />
detector, <strong>the</strong>re was success: <strong>the</strong> hermit was captured on film, peer<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong>to a refrigerator. <strong>The</strong> images were<br />
confus<strong>in</strong>g. <strong>The</strong> thief’s face wasn’t <strong>in</strong> focus, but <strong>the</strong>y appeared to show a clean, well-dressed man who was<br />
nei<strong>the</strong>r emaciated nor bearded—highly unlikely to have been rough<strong>in</strong>g it <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> woods. He didn’t appear<br />
nimble, or strong, or even outdoorsy. “Mr. Ord<strong>in</strong>ary,” one person called him. It was probable, people<br />
deduced, that this so-called hermit had been a neighbor all along.<br />
No matter. With <strong>the</strong>se first photos, and <strong>the</strong>n o<strong>the</strong>rs, <strong>the</strong> police were confident that capture was imm<strong>in</strong>ent.<br />
<strong>The</strong> images were hung <strong>in</strong> shops, post offices, town halls. A couple of officers went from cab<strong>in</strong> to cab<strong>in</strong>.<br />
Madden<strong>in</strong>gly, nobody could identify <strong>the</strong> man pictured, and <strong>the</strong> burglaries cont<strong>in</strong>ued.<br />
Ano<strong>the</strong>r decade elapsed. <strong>The</strong> break-<strong>in</strong>s at P<strong>in</strong>e Tree <strong>in</strong>creased <strong>in</strong> both frequency and quantity of goods<br />
stolen. By this po<strong>in</strong>t, a quarter century <strong>in</strong>, <strong>the</strong> whole th<strong>in</strong>g was absurd. <strong>The</strong>re was <strong>the</strong> Loch Ness monster,<br />
<strong>the</strong> Himalayan yeti, and <strong>the</strong> North Pond hermit. One man, desperate for an answer, spent fourteen nights<br />
over <strong>the</strong> course of two summers hid<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> his cab<strong>in</strong>, <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> dark, hold<strong>in</strong>g a .357 Magnum and wait<strong>in</strong>g for <strong>the</strong><br />
hermit to break <strong>in</strong>. No luck.<br />
<strong>The</strong> general consensus was that <strong>the</strong> orig<strong>in</strong>al thief must be retired or dead and <strong>the</strong> latest break-<strong>in</strong>s were<br />
copycat crimes. Maybe <strong>the</strong>re was a second generation of that teenage gang, or a third. Kids who’d grown up<br />
with <strong>the</strong> hermit now had kids of <strong>the</strong>ir own. Most people resigned <strong>the</strong>mselves to <strong>the</strong> idea that this was <strong>the</strong> way<br />
it would be; you’d just replace your boat battery and propane tank each summer, and go about your life.<br />
<strong>The</strong> couple who’d lost <strong>the</strong> backpack and mattress was now miss<strong>in</strong>g a new pair of Lands’ End blue jeans—<br />
thirty-eight-<strong>in</strong>ch waist, with a brown lea<strong>the</strong>r belt.<br />
F<strong>in</strong>ally, <strong>the</strong> most unexpected th<strong>in</strong>g of all happened. <strong>The</strong> Loch Ness monster didn’t emerge from <strong>the</strong> lake;<br />
<strong>the</strong> yeti wasn’t caught stroll<strong>in</strong>g around Mount Everest. <strong>The</strong>re are no little green men from Mars. But <strong>the</strong>