Latham's Landing

Published by

Melange Books, LLC

White Bear Lake, MN 55110

www.melange-books.com

Latham's Landing, Copyright 2013 by
Tara Fox Hall

ISBN: 978-1-61235-730-0

Names, characters, and incidents
depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of
this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,
or by any information storage and retrieval system, without
permission in writing from the publisher.

Published in the United States of
America.

Cover Design by Caroline
Andrus

LATHAM'S LANDING

TARA FOX HALL

Table of Contents

All That Remains

Sandra has come to Latham’s Landing seeking
to discover what really happened to her relative who disappeared
there years before, persuading her reluctant friend Tina that a
little paranormal investigation will be fun.

The Origin of Fear

Four college friends mount an expedition to
Latham’s Landing—an abandoned island estate infamous for mysterious
deaths—to gather pictures and inspiration for a thesis on the
origin of fear.

The Fire Within

A bitter
Caroline Stone embarks on a mission to destroy the evil isle estate
that took her fiancé, joining with several others also out for
retribution. Can the combined fire of their hate triumph over the
relentless evil of Latham’s Landing?

About the Author

Previews

To Mom, who first introduced me to "The
Haunting"...and gave me my love of haunted houses.

To my husband Eric, who will never, ever
read this because he doesn't share my love of horror...yet still
loves me all the same.

All That Remains

“
Sandra, why
can’t we go to a nice beach instead?” I said, trying to keep the
whining tone to a minimum. “It’s our last semester. I’d like to get
a tan, maybe have a chance to catch up on my reading—”

“
You can catch up on your reading at
night!” she said enthusiastically. “My God, Tina, you’d think you
had no imagination whatsoever!”

“
Going to a creepy old resort on the
edge of some lake doesn’t sound relaxing. I want to relax, not hunt
ghosts.”

“
You’ll have fun, I promise,” she said,
her eyes sparkling. “Now come on. We’re going to be late getting
there as it is.”

I followed her reluctantly to the waiting
car. She was right. We were already an hour behind schedule.
Besides, I’d already agreed to her idea back last winter when we
planned this trip. When she’d related it to me while sipping cocoa
in front of a warm cheery fire at my parents’ house, the idea had
sounded interesting. Now, I had a feeling it was something I was
going to come to regret.

We arrived a few days later at the town of
Cairn Isle. Originally, I’d thought that was the name of the place,
as that’s what Sandy had called it. However, the real name
according to the welcome sign was Latham’s Landing.

Over lunch at the local diner, Sandy
explained. “Cairn is really only a nickname the locals use.”

“
Go on. You’ve got a captive audience
here. Tell the whole tale.”

“
A local man was very rich. And he was
a good man—”

“
And he was called Latham?”

“
Bear with me, Tina. The locals around
here are close-mouthed about the island. They don’t like to talk
about the disappearances. Even the owner of the bed and breakfast
where we’re staying tried to downplay it. But there’s bound to be
more real life historical info we can find out when we get there.
There’s a small museum there that’s run by the local historical
society.”

“
Okay. Go on.”

“
The man’s name was Hans Latham. He got
rich in the ship business somehow, but as the years passed, he
retired and moved inland, selling his business. But he missed the
water, and so he built a house, Latham’s Landing.”

I took a sip of my coffee. “And that’s where
we’re staying?”

“
No. We’re staying at a bed and
breakfast associated with the local historical society chapter,
like I just told you. Stop interrupting.”

“
Okay, okay. Go on.”

“
The rest can wait until we get there.
Come on.”

“
So why are we going there, again?” I
asked as I grabbed a few dollars from my purse for a
tip.

“
A relative of mine disappeared there
twenty years ago. They never found his body. It’s something like an
old family mystery—”

Sounded like something to avoid to me, but I
didn’t say that.

“—
and I asked my Aunt Red about it, and
she told me the story, as much as she knew. I told her I’d come
here, as no one else from my family ever has.”

I followed her out dubiously.

We arrived at the bed and breakfast later
that evening. It was black as pitch when we arrived, so there
wasn’t much chance to look at anything. We resolved to get a good
night’s sleep, and start out the next morning after breakfast.

About eleven, we wandered outside and then
down to the docks. The informative but brusque woman at the front
desk of the bed and breakfast had tried to dissuade us. But when
Sandra had been adamant about going to the island, she relented and
told us to go and see Fred that he would ‘set us up.’

After a few minutes of calling his name, we
located a grizzled but friendly looking guy with a greasy brown cap
and a day’s growth of grey beard. He was dressed in coveralls with
a nametag that said Fred.

When Sandra asked to rent a boat, Fred was
incredulous, to say the least. “Why you girls wanna go out there to
that old crypt?” he asked, his words threaded with worry. “There’s
nothing out there but ghosts and dust.”

“
Can you tell us anything?” Sandra
asked eagerly, relating the story of her relative.

Two decades ago, her cousin Henry had come
out here with a group of tourists, intending to be the first to
spend the night on Latham’s Landing in the New Year. They had
bunked down in the main hall, and then realized they had no plates
to eat the food they’d brought with them. Henry had gone to the
kitchen, saying he would look for some. After a few minutes of
searching for something else to use, one of the friends had located
some plastic plates, and they began eating. It was halfway through
the meal when one of them realized Henry hadn’t returned.

They went to look for him and found the
kitchen. They found his footprints in the dust, as he’d looked in a
few cabinets, and drawers. They found a small stack of mismatched
plates he’d collected to bring back. Then his footprints abruptly
stopped.

“
Stopped how?” I
interjected.

“
I mean, it looked like he was walking,
and then, he just wasn’t there.”

I already was having second, third, and
fourth thoughts about this, and I hadn’t even gotten to the house
yet. “You think he fell through some kind of trapdoor?”

“
The friends looked in all the nearby
rooms. The house isn’t that big, really. They found nothing. And
the only footprints they saw were the ones they were
making.”

“
Did they stay there that night?” Fuck
me, I couldn’t have.

“
They were the last group that did,”
Fred replied darkly. “I remember that now. The Historical Society
cracked down after that fiasco, saying it was too risky to let
tourists stay there overnight unsupervised. Final report was he
fell into the lake, drowned, and the tide carried his body to the
far side, where wolves carried it off.” He paused. “There are no
documented cases of people dying there since Latham’s time. Don’t
you gals be the first.”

“
There were no wolves here twenty years
ago,” Sandy snorted. “And Henry could swim. They weren’t allowed to
bring alcohol, even then, and none of them were drinkers. They were
here just to have fun.”

“
Having fun usually involves lots of
alcohol, in my book,” Fred said with a grin. “But let’s get you
gals fixed up. If you’re determined to go there, I want you to be
back here in plenty of time before night falls.”

“
We’ve got nine hours,” I said,
checking my watch. “I doubt that we’ll be that long.”

“
Time passes differently over there,”
Fred cautioned. “You just be sure to head back when the sun’s still
overhead, not on the horizon. Got me?”

“
Sure,” I said quickly. “We aren’t
packing a lunch, figuring to have an early dinner. So we’ll be back
early.”

Sandra nodded.

A few minutes later, I was helping to load
the raft and shaking my head. “I can’t believe I agreed to
this.”

“
Come on, it’s an
adventure.”

“
You didn’t tell me before that the
only way to reach the house was by boat. I thought we were renting
the boat to get a scenic view or something. The pictures in the bed
and breakfast showed some kind of bridge. Did it fall
down?”

Sandra narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t seem
worried about this last winter when we planned to come here.
Besides, it’s not as if we have to be a great navigator. The house
is less than a mile away, at the most. The raft is made for ten
people, and it’s got a heavy-duty motor. It’s a navy issue
raft.”

I grimaced at her, even as I nodded that was
a good thing.

We loaded in oars, some life vests, some
water to drink we’d brought with us. As we went to push off, Fred
handed us a large spotlight.

“
You said to be back before dark? Why
would we need this?”

“
Take it,” he said ominously. “Better
to have it and not need it, then need it and not have
it.”

The trip to Latham’s Landing was
exhilarating. The waves on the lake were a little rough because of
the strong wind, but the boat cut through them like nothing. The
strong August sun was out, and the sky was blue and cloudless.
Moreover, looking back at the bed and breakfast from out on the
water, I discovered something compelling.

“
That stonework’s amazing!” I exclaimed
over the roar of the motor.

To reach the dock from the bed and breakfast,
Sandy and I had walked down a paved path leading to a small
boathouse near the water. An uncannily pretty stone fence ran near
the path composed mainly of granite that was almost brick red, with
a few whitish and blacker colored pieces mixed in the topmost
stones. Looking back from this distance, this granite fence was
revealed to be part of a massive stonework. Another fence led up
from the boathouse on the other side, and there was a higher fence
above that, near what would be the bed and breakfast’s cellar. It
looked as if the cellar was open on one side, and that it, too, was
made from that same unusual granite.

Sandy lowered the throttle to make her reply
heard. “There was a bigger boathouse there once, back when Latham
lived here. Over time, it weathered, as it wasn’t made of stone,
and a bad storm eventually washed it away. So Latham built another
boathouse completely out of stone, saying at least he could make
that one last. It burned about forty years ago, and most of the
stonework was ruined. New owners bought it with the plan to make a
bed and breakfast, but they couldn’t afford to use stone, much less
granite. They rebuilt a new house out of wood, but used the remains
of the house he built as a basement.”

Weird. “The granite is pretty.”

“
No one knows where he got that.
Several geologists theorized that he somehow dyed or painted the
granite to make it that red color. But no one’s ever found out how
he managed it.”

“
Granite comes in colors, doesn’t
it?”

“
I don’t know,” Sandy said, laughing.
“I’m not rich enough to have granite countertops in my kitchen. I’d
say he had a rich friend who sold him a load of it for a song, and
so that’s where it came from.” She pointed suddenly. “Look! You can
see the house.”