Shadow Lover (Siren Publishing Allure) (7 page)

Mrs. O’Hanlan’s eyes suddenly narrowed, then she frowned while cocking her head suspiciously. "Are ye tellin’ me the truth? I don't trust a woman who can write the kind of books you do."

"If I’m not telling the truth, may
Vampire’s Kiss
be devoid of blood and sex.”

Mrs. O’Hanlan snickered. “God forbid.”

“And don't worry about me, I’m not going near a computer. Besides, you must have things at home you need to do. We'll both take a little time off to regroup." She shrugged. "Who knows? I may not lose my mind after all."

After Mrs. O’Hanlan gathered up her things and left, Chyna wandered out on the porch. Settling down on the swing, she held the coffee cup up to her lips and gazed thoughtfully at the little road that led into the dark, overgrown, bizarre little world. The name she read on the tattered little sign kept digging into her mind, reminding her she’d heard it before—somewhere. She could hear the words, even see the lips moving. If she hadn’t heard it from the men in front of Cheney’s Market, where—

All at once she thrust herself forward, abruptly sitting up in the wobbly swing. It came to her. She knew.
He
had said it. The man in her dream. They were out on the ridge and even now she could hear the shriek of the wind, feel the sea spray on her face, and the warmth of his cape as he enfolded her inside. She closed her eyes, hearing the echoing voices whirl in her mind.

Where am I…am I…am I…

You're on Cat's Paw…Cat’s Paw…Cat’s Paw…

Slowly her eyes opened, and she looked back at the tattered little sign asking herself,
What did Cat’s Paw and her dream man have in common?
The porch swing gave off an eerie squeak as she stood, her eyes narrowing on the little sign.

“Cat’s Paw,” she murmured. Of course. The words must have come to her in her dream because she’d read them on the sign. After all, she saw the little sign every time she stepped out of her house. Why wouldn’t she dream it? While in the shade of her porch, she saw the fuzzy, early morning sun coming up, its blurred brightness laying a carpet of gold along the road, and tipping the trees and bushes with its incredible beauty. As usual, it seemed to purposely skip the little road, leaving it in its eternal shade.

Looking at the road that taunted her, she wondered why she felt so determined to kill this dragon. She was itching to see what was up there all right, but she didn’t know why. Maybe it was because of all the rumors she’d heard, a new plot for a book, or maybe it was just plain old curiosity. So what if she did go up there? What would she find?

At the most—a boneyard and an old hermit.

At the least—nothing but a winding old road.

One thing she kept asking herself was, if no one ever came back, how could anyone know what was up there? Like they say, a dead man can’t tell tales. That alone seemed to prove that it was only rumor. If there was something up there, whatever or whoever it was wasn’t bothering her, so why would she want to bother them? Just because a few snuff-sucking old men threw down a challenge? They didn’t know what they were doing.

They didn’t know her.

Time’s a-wastin’,
she finally thought, and quickly turned, slammed through the front door, ran upstairs, and threw on her jogging suit.

A short time later she stepped out on the porch, her writer’s curiosity pumping through her veins. Was she being foolish? Would any sane person do what she was about to do after the stories she had heard? Maybe not, but nothing would make her turn back now.

No gossip—no rumors—no horror stories—nothing.

In a way, she was excited and couldn't wait, but as she hesitantly walked toward it, apprehension reared its ugly head, giving her nerves a workout. Determined not to let it stop her, she kept walking—away from her cozy little world—and into another.

Stepping over what seemed to be an imaginary boundary line between the normal world and this strange little road was like stepping over into the Twilight Zone. As she looked around at the dim wilderness, she felt the little road’s chilling welcome, and knew she would not be forgiven for intruding on this evil little patch of obscurity. If she was smart, she would turn back before she ever took a step, but instead she looked up into the wild mass of tangled trees and found herself surrounded by a heavy gloom that strangely embraced her like an eerie dream.

The little road seemed narrow because of tree limbs that hung heavily over the path, forming a rustic passage into the unknown. As she began the long-awaited trek, she looked up the trail as far as she could see and noticed that it wound crazily up through the jungle of trees. The deeper she went, the darker it got. The strange looking trunks leaned in every direction with hanging vines, and some kind of plant that looked like severely misshapen palms. Short trees, and tall ones, skinny or round seemed to be so crowded in places they were pushing against each other—growing together in deformed shapes.

That piece of land belongs to the devil!

She shivered as she heard the cicadas and the screeching birds in the trees nearby, but she gathered up her courage and plodded on ahead. She stumbled over deep ruts, and in the distance she could hear owls hooting. In among the shadowy trees and the mist that lingered, the eerie inflection was a haunting, funereal sound. When she finally came to a turn in the road, she stopped and looked back. She could no longer see her house but made herself keep walking. When she got to a certain point she heard an unusual flopping in the trees that slowly became louder and more frenzied. She looked, but couldn’t see anything.

It’s only a bird,
she thought, trying to bring logic into this bizarre experience so she wouldn’t turn and run. The sound stopped after a while, and when she had walked a while longer she noticed something up ahead lying on the side of the road. When she saw what it was, her hand flew up to her mouth and she whirled around quickly, a flood of fear surging through her.

It’s a death trap—a death trap—a death trap!

She stood there for a moment, trying to stay calm. Finally, she slowly turned and angled her eyes down at the collection of human bones when her eyes caught movement. "Oh, my God!" she cried as she looked ahead and saw a small tarpaper shack with human bones scattered around it.

They’s a man up there who eats people!

Trying to be as careful as possible, she continued walking on the uneven ground, even though everything inside her told her to turn back. Before long, she began to smell something horrible. She looked around for a dead animal, but couldn’t find one. While she peered under bushes and into ravines, she stumbled across a clearing and bumped into a tall post. She stopped, looked up, and what she saw almost made her faint.

And they's a graveyard with bones spread all over creation
.

On a crude, unpolished wooden board, being held up between two tall posts, she saw the word
boneyard
written in white dripping paint. The letters were small and crude, looking strangely childlike. The lettering was fading, and the sign was cracked and old, having been exposed to the elements for years. It creaked as it swayed in the eerie mist and wind, guarding the entrance to a piece of land that had jagged, makeshift tombstones jutting out of the ground.

She saw bones everywhere, looking as if they had been thrown haphazardly on the mound, littering the graves. Even though the sight was chilling, curiosity had her in its grip, and she felt she had to find out if the things she’d heard were true. As she crept closer and closer, her eyes darted around to make sure she wasn't being watched. Her heart was pounding as she slowly made her way through the graves, and saw something engraved on large, oddly-shaped stones. They leaned precariously, the angle and the crude markings making them difficult to read. Her gaze narrowed, and her lips formed the words,
Aaron Reeves
—
to strangy.
She stared at the odd wording, not understanding what it meant, until suddenly the truth dawned upon her. Repelled, she suddenly
clamped her hand over her mouth and reeled away from the horrible sight to keep from screaming, but the next one came into view as quickly as the first—
Sylvia Stone—to tuf
.

She wanted to deny what she saw, but the roughly hewn words were there, before her eyes, even though her mind could hardly comprehend the insane things she saw. Suddenly she was staring at a chipped, misshapen stone that stuck up out of the ground like the rotted tooth of a giant monster. The name shouted out to her—
Margaret West—to fat
. For one mad moment, she saw a picture in her mind of an old man hovering over a stone and crudely carving out name after name with a wrinkled. trembling hand. She had to get out and looked around, but deep in this jungle of bones came one more stone that must have been older than the rest. The elements had almost destroyed it, and she could just barely make out—
Buster May—not enuf meet on his po’ ol’ bones.
The words caused an insane kind of laughter bubbling up out of her throat. All of this—this decay, this human carnage would have been almost funny if it were simply words on a page, but looking at it, she felt her stomach roiling.

“Oh, God,” she muttered, pressing her hand to her mouth. As she turned to quickly make her way out of the graveyard, she saw Andy Walker—Wynn Keaton—Bessie Philpot—all with reasons why they couldn't be eaten. A surge of shock and horror flooded her.
This is too much,
she thought.
I’ve got to get out of here.
In
her haste to leave
s
he tripped and fell down, her eyes looking into an old, dried out wallet of someone by the name of Willie Dunbar.
God,
she thought.
That’s where he got the names, why he got them so exact when his own spelling was typical backwoods.

She frantically pushed herself up and began stumbling out, holding her mouth and her stomach as if she was going to be sick. Finally making it back to the road, she dropped to her knees heaving. Although the smell of rotting flesh from the graveyard was overwhelming, she knew her sickness came not only from the smell, but from the sheer horror of what she’d seen. As she knelt there, trying to settle her stomach, the wind blew harder, the gloom became deeper, and the screeching of the birds and cicadas seemed to swirl around her.

She was about to turn back when she lifted her eyes and saw a turn—a bend in the road. She couldn’t help wondering what was beyond it. She looked again toward the graveyard, remembering her decision to turn back, but couldn’t resist the tug she felt inside to go just a little further. She got to her feet and continued walking. After taking several floundering steps, her breathing had become heavy, but she kept her eyes on the bend, strangely excited, obsessed. Her stomach, and what had upset it, was forgotten.

She walked—stumbled—fell—but kept going. taking one anxious step at a time.

Finally something appeared slowly as she continued down the path.

She couldn’t be sure, but it looked like water.

She winced, pain shooting through one leg, but stood, weaving and trudging along the rutted, uneven dirt road.

She kept her eyes riveted to the bend as it came closer and closer.

She was tired.

Her feet were burning.

And then she was there.

Rounding the bend.

She watched as a heavy mist parted, and she stopped.

“Oh, my God,” Chyna murmured, feeling as if she had just stepped back in time. She fought her way through the haze, catching a nightmarish view of a towering old mansion looming up out of obscurity. The shape was dark, almost in silhouette against the moving ocean, and was surrounded by weeping willows, giving it a sinister look in the gloom. There were four very large columns in front, being devoured, it seemed, by climbing vines. The mansion was ash-colored in the murky fog, and the coiling mist that stretched across it was distorted, the ghost-like shapes, making it look abandoned.

In the distance she saw a small rise.

"I've been here before," she whispered as her eyes traveled all the way up the rise to the summit. Suddenly a picture flashed through her mind. She saw herself standing up there being buffeted by the wind, and someone coming up behind her, putting his cape around her arms.

It can’t be,
she told herself as she slowly climbed. As she neared the top, somehow she knew what she would see and looked down at the familiar sight of the choppy ocean, and the lighthouse with the pulsating flame in the window. Then without warning she saw a familiar dark figure walking along the sandy strip of beach.

She gasped when the man stopped and looked up, meeting her eyes. The strength of that look was overwhelming, and as the blue fire in his eyes leaped out at hers, the gloomy landscape began swimming before her. She shook her head, trying to dispel it, but it swirled faster and faster, pulling her down into a whirlpool. Slowly the beach, the ocean, and the man faded into oblivion as she fell—her body dangling dangerously on the edge of Cat's Paw.

* * * *

When she awoke she was alone on a couch in front of a blazing fire. She slowly sat up and looked around, but saw no one.

She recognized the cavernous room immediately.