Latham's Landing (9 page)

Light suddenly shone from within the house,
then steadily grew brighter. Daryl began to scream, pounding on the
door.

“
You’ll fit right in here,” the
handsome man said with a wink. He smiled widely, then bared long
white teeth. He held out his hand. “Come.”

Marie took a deep breath, and fired the gun.
The blast knocked her backward into the house, even as the menacing
ghost rippled, its wail of frustration loud as the gunshot. She
landed on the floor, even as the gun slipped from her hands.

Daryl scrambled toward her on all fours,
grasped the gun, and fired several times at the looming woman in
green. She gave an angry snarl, and disappeared.

The gun clicked on empty. Daryl threw it
down. “Grab your stuff!” he shouted. “Hurry!”

Marie grabbed her bag and lantern, then ran
after Daryl. They slogged through the retreating water, then up a
sharp incline, their feet finally finding steps. Gasping, they
climbed, finally emerging on a small granite landing. A small
garage stood there.

Daryl tried the door. It was padlocked.
Grabbing a loose piece of granite, he smashed the padlock off.
Quickly, then stumbled inside and shut the door. Exhausted, they
sank down to the concrete floor.

“
We should be safe here,” Daryl said.
“That woman is the dangerous one, and I think she’s confined to the
house.”

“
But she’s not the only one,” Marie
whispered. She pulled paper out of her pocket, and handed it to
him.

Daryl opened up the soggy paper carefully. On
it was a drawing of a riderless horse standing on the long stone
bridge to the Sea Room, broken reins dangling, its bright saddle
askew. Rain pooled at its feet, lightning in the sky around a full
moon illuminating the wet stones where a crumpled figure lay in a
riding outfit, his limbs twisted and broken.

“
I saw him outside,” Marie whispered.
“I thought I’d drawn him from my imagination. But he was real. And
there was a girl playing a flute on the shore—”

“
There was another one I saw on the
shore, too,” Daryl said, putting several large plastic boxes in
front of the door. He went deeper into the shadowed interior. There
came the sound of creaking metal. “This boathouse is relatively
new, compared to the rest of Cairn Isle. There are no windows, just
this back door and the overhead one. There’s no electric opener.
It’s manual, and locked just like the other door was. If there is
one non-haunted safe place here, this should be it.”

Marie managed a smile. “So what’s the new
plan?”

“
Stay here tonight, and then light the
place on fire in the morning,” Daryl said. “They’ll see it for
miles. We’ll also see if that small inflatable raft is any good.
Either way, someone is bound to pick us up. We just have to make it
to dawn.” He reached out and touched her hand. “Thanks for coming
back for me.”

Marie cast her eyes down. “I was an ass for
leaving. I’m sorry.”

“
It doesn’t matter,” Daryl said,
yawning. “Do you want some food? I can take the first watch, if
you’re tired.” He offered her some bread. “This and peanut butter
was all I had time to grab.”

“
Thanks,” Marie said
gratefully.

They divided up the food, then wolfed it
down.

“
Sleep,” Daryl said, leaning back
against the side of the shed. “I’ll watch.”

Marie sank down on the cold floor. “I’m sorry
again, Daryl.”

“
It’s okay,” he said tiredly. “Get some
sleep.”

Marie opened her eyes. The propane lantern
was lit, casting shadows. Daryl wasn’t there.

Fear crashed into her. She sat up, then put
her back to the wall.

A soft noise broke the quiet. Then came the
steady pattering of feet, light, almost like a cat. It paused, then
began stealthily to creep toward her.

Marie stood, grabbing up the lantern. She
shoved the boxes aside, then dashed outside, slamming the door
behind her.

The darkness was lessening. It had to be
close to dawn. Marie could see the water had receded to where it
had been before the storm, the granite landing and walls again
revealed. To her relief there was no sign of Nikki’s body or
Sam’s.

“
Daryl?” she called.

“
He’s in the house,” a familiar voice
said gently. “That part’s over.”

Marie whirled. The horseman stood there, his
expression solemn.

“
Stay back,” she whispered, backing
away.

“
Come,” he said, offering his
hand.

“
No,” she cried. She turned into empty
air, her feet losing purchase on the slippery rock. She teetered,
then fell.

Strong arms grabbed her. “No,” the horseman
whispered. “Don’t die again. You don’t need to.”

Marie let out a scream, fighting frantically.
The horseman held her tightly. She fought for a few moments, then
went limp in his arms, sobbing.

“
You were the strongest,” the horseman
whispered lovingly. “The others died that first night—”

Fear overcame Marie’s mind. She twitched,
shaking harder and harder. “No, it was a dream Sam and Daryl
had—”

“
It was not,” the horseman corrected.
“Nor was your drowning. Your spirit made it back when called.” He
pointed down to the water near the stone bridge. “Your flesh lies
there.”

On the shoreline a figure stood, long hair
blowing in the wind. Familiar notes of melancholy recorder music
floated on the damp breeze. Marie’s eyes moved out from the figure,
taking in the bodies in the water. Nikki floated there, along with
Daryl and Sam, their chests bloody. Farther off, alone in the
gently lapping waves, was her own body.

“
No!” she screamed. “No! Daryl was
alive! We were all alive! We used the gun on you—”

The horseman shook his head. “No. You could
not face seeing their bodies, nor could their spirits accept what
happened. ” He embraced her. “All that can be imagined here is
real. You all saw what you wanted to see, even as ghosts.” He
kissed her cheek. “But you must wake now from your fantasy,
Marie.”

Marie went limp, her eyes sightless, a soft
keening issuing from her parted lips.

The horseman gathered her in his arms.
“Come,” he said lovingly. “I’ve been waiting for you.” He carried
her up the remaining steps carefully, then onto the stone bridge,
his shape blurring, becoming a composition of shadows. His horse
followed him, reins dragging, as slowly both figures were swallowed
by rising mist.

“
Damn, this is a fine boat,
Gunner.”

Gunner turned to his cousin Leo. “You’ve been
wanting a boat, too, I know. But what if someone comes looking for
this?”

“
This tore loose in the storm,” Leo
replied. “There’s no motor, and it’s been pretty banged up on the
rocks. If we leave it here, it’s going to sink with that hole in
it. I can fix that with some sheet metal and rivets.
Afterwards…well, I’ll post a sign down at the convenience store
about finding it. If no one shows up in a month, I’ll consider it a
gift from God.”

Gunner laughed. “I guess that’s fair enough.
Come on, let’s get it strapped to the top.”

Ten minutes later, boat secured, they headed
out.

“
No fish, but that’s expected after all
that rain,” Gunner said. “That storm was the biggest to hit in a
long time.”

“
Twelve inches of rain,” Leo nodded.
“You see all the trees down here. Their roots gave way in the
wind.”

“
Pity, there’s good firewood,” Gunner
replied. “No way to get it out until next spring. This whole
stretch turns to swamp with a few drops. Now with the lake flooded,
it’ll freeze up high. ” He cast a loathing gaze toward Latham’s
Landing. “Pity that damned house didn’t get destroyed.”

Leo shivered. “Nothing can destroy that evil
place.” He wacked Gunner on the arm. “Let’s get out of here and
celebrate. Buy you a beer?”

Gunner nodded, then turned onto the main
road. They talked excitedly, never noticing the flattened vehicles
and trailer sunken in mud under the tumble of large fallen spruce
trees, their roofs just visible over the standing water. A
chickadee perched on the truck’s side mirror, sang once, then flew
off into the woods.

The Fire Within

Carolyn Stone
walked quickly out of the large looming brick square that was
Thornfield Christian High School. Shading her eyes with a delicate
hand, she scanned the parking lot for her bus.

Today had already been what Carolyn referred
to as ‘a day and a half’. Where was her bus? All around her was
mass confusion, students jostling each other, passing last notes,
and attempting fond embraces of farewell hidden from teachers’
watchful eyes. Carolyn scoffed, remembering the announcement only
this morning about how physical displays such as handholding or
hugging were not permitted. There was as much chance of teen
couples keeping their distance as Satan himself appearing to drive
her home.

The sunlight reflected off an approaching bus
bumper into her eyes, momentarily blinding her. When the light
ebbed, her bus idled before her, its long yellow length blocking
the school entrance from her sight.

She hurried to it, her squat-heeled shoes
slipping and sliding on the gravel surface. Slinging back her purse
strap onto her shoulder, she climbed aboard, then made her way to
the back past the double row of stained green vinyl seats.

“
Hi, hi, hi!” chorused the
kindergarteners as she walked by. Favoring them with an aloof
glance, she moved to her seat and sat down.

As more students boarded, the noise level
increased from annoying to deafening. Carolyn glared from her seat.
Kids! She couldn’t stand them. Their constant craving of attention,
their noise, their inability to sit still…

The doors closed, and the bus’s rumble became
a throaty growl as the driver left the parking lot for the road.
“Settle down!” the driver yelled. At once, the noise lowered
slightly.

Carolyn adjusted herself on the seat, bracing
for the long bumpy ride home. This bus had the worst shocks this
side of Hell. At least it let her avoid the catty clique who called
themselves her friends. Yes, they were her social group here, and
had been since kindergarden. But she despised them, their need to
control others, and their cruelty to those they found wanting in
spite of all their professed love of Christian values. She’d never
been able to be herself with them, unwilling to let them get too
close.

Only another month until school was over, she
reminded herself. Then college awaited, a bastion of open minds and
no more dress codes. She would finally be free to be herself.
Better yet, her boyfriend Rob would finally be with her.

She relaxed, letting her thoughts linger, his
handsome face forming in her mind. His blond hair, effortlessly
styled in natural curls, a hand of luck he’d been dealt at birth.
His eyes were blue, cut from the sky of a perfect clear day. But
best of all, he was head over heels for her, the same way she was
for him. Though they hadn’t talked of marriage, they’d already
arranged to live together during college. Rob was sure to propose
before the semester was out…

Carolyn smirked. Her parents weren’t too
happy about that, and neither were his, especially his pastor
father. But it was past time they stopped letting other people tell
them what to do. Bad enough she’d had Jesus crammed down her throat
for eleven long years in this place…

The bus lurched to a stop. “Miss Stone,” the
driver called sarcastically. “Would you care to get off?”

Blushing, Carolyn got to her feet. As regally
as she could muster, she walked past the giggling children, and off
the bus.

That was odd. Her parents were home. She
strode up her front stairs, then went inside, dropping her purse
and books on the hall table. “Dad?”

“
In here, Caro. Please come
in.”

Worried at the tone in her father’s voice,
she hurried into the living room. Her parents were there, along
with her priest. Rob’s parents were there, too.

Was this an intervention? Had they found out
about the marijuana she’d smoked with Rob last fall? “What is
this?”

“
There’s been a boating accident,
Caro,” her stepmother said hesitantly. “Rob was up looking at
Latham College with some friends. You know, the one you were
thinking of attending—”

“
What happened?” Caroline said loudly,
looking from person to person. “Boating accident? Did he get hurt?
What happened?”

“
I’m sorry, child,” her priest said,
standing and coming toward her. “Rob’s dead.”

An unwavering scream of denial and fury burst
from Carolyn’s throat. She flailed as they surrounded her, fighting
and screaming as they tried to console her.

Sirens pierced the calm night air, ringing
shrilly through the streets of Cedar. A few residents sleepily
looked out their windows as the police cars flashed past. Then they
went back to bed, stifling yawns. The cars were headed out of town,
so it was none of their concern. Besides, it was close to midnight,
when decent people should be asleep.

Officer James Bowman was anything but sleepy.
As the police cruiser picked up speed, he went over the scant
details in his mind. The young female voice on the phone, pleading
with him to hurry, her fear and anguish evident. Steven Stone was
hurt, maybe dead. So was his wife.

A burning pain jolted him, making him curse
as he swerved, the coffee spilling over him again in an arc.