Ah, the heads. The medical examiner learned that, in fact, the bodies had been decapitated. Each mummy contained a body and a head that didn’t match. The dad’s body was embalmed with the mom’s head and so on. And the organ jar next to each mummy belonged to yet a third family member.
It wasn’t long before evidence of cult involvement in various crimes over the previous dozen years began to turn up. Soon the whole group was arrested. A few confessed to murder or robbery. All said, proudly, that they had been ordered to do these things by Scatter. To them, that meant they’d been directed by God.
In 1994, Scatter was given life in prison for his role in the crimes, even though there was no proof he’d committed any of them with his own hands. A year later he died in prison and, I know now, was frozen in Bridgewater.
The authorities, as well as some amateur treasure hunters, searched the cult compound for years, but no money was ever found.
I knew that Vincent would be back before long. He had acted as if he thought I could help Jake and his family. And for whatever reason, he seemed to want me to try. If not for the DVD, I would have called the police. Even with the DVD, that’s what a sensible person would have done. But the problem was that, since Jake was gone, I wasn’t sensible. I wanted to believe Vincent, even though he gave me the creeps and his story was ridiculous. Resurrected corpses kidnapping human beings and transporting them to “another world”? Yeah, that sounds totally legit.
Suppose for a minute I swallowed Vincent’s story. Suppose Vincent, who had already sent Jake into a place where he was lost, wanted me to follow him. In my mind, I tried to list the pros and cons.
Con:
1. If I went into this, I could be in serious danger. This come-back-to-life dead guy was a criminal.
2. I could get stuck in never-never land like Jake and never come back.
3. What about Mom and Dad? Did I just disappear and leave a note like, “I’m going to Scatter’s world to rescue Jake and his parents. It might be a few weeks. Luv ya!”?
4. Who was Vincent, anyway? Maybe he was some weirdo who had killed Jake and his family and now was toying with me.
Pro:
1. If Jake and his parents were with Scatter now, they were in danger. Jake might need me.
Four cons, one pro. Okay. I was going.
6
The next day was Thursday. I was the lifeguard on duty at the Bridgewater Country Club pool. That day the duty was light, though. A cold front had moved through overnight. The day was windy and around sixty degrees, despite the sunlight. While the pool was officially open, there was no one in the water. I was perched in the lifeguard chair, wearing a track suit over my swimsuit to stay warm. I was writing a paper on my laptop. School would start in a few weeks, and my journal on the summer reading list would be due on day one.
My attention was split. Writing my paper? Check. No one on the verge of jumping into the pool and drowning? Check. And every few minutes I’d look up to see if Vincent was around. Now that I’d decided to look for Jake, I was impatient to get started.
“Dani!”
I looked up, hopeful, but it was only Trey Little. Blond, conceited, annoying Trey Little. Trey—Charles Winston Little, III—was a member of what people in Bridgewater called “the Nobility.” That meant his family was related to the oldest, richest clan in the town, the Nobles.
Trey wasn’t a bad guy, really. I just didn’t share his high opinion of himself. He considered himself a “chick magnet.” And it was true. He was great looking, played on the football team. A lot of girls bought into his act. Trouble was, Trey only wanted what he couldn’t have, and that included me.
“Hey, beautiful! Isn’t it cold up there?”
“Whatever, Trey. I’m working on a paper.”
“Lunch break in ten minutes. Wanna grab a burger? I’ve got the Audi.”
“I’m expecting someone.” I tried to look busy.
“Hey, sometimes the best company is the unexpected kind. C’mon!”
“Look, Trey, I’m . . .”
“Danielle! It’s Vincent.” The voice hissed from the shrubs just outside the pool gate.
Trey’s eyes got wide. “You seeing homeless guys now?”
I jumped down from the chair. “I told you, Trey, I’m expecting someone. See you around.”
But Trey had gone over to the gate. “This is members only,” he said to Vincent. “Are you going to leave, or do I need to call security?”
Vincent said something to him that I couldn’t hear. But when Trey turned around, his face was white. He looked at me for a moment, then he scurried off.
I told Vincent to wait a minute, ran down to the locker room, and put my stuff away. When I got back I said, “Trey probably will call security. I’m going on break. Let’s go across the road.”
We walked across the club driveway and down to Folly Park, several acres of lawn and trees with paved pathways winding through. With the cold weather, the place was almost deserted. Just a couple of bundled-up moms with jogging strollers roamed around.
“Vincent, what did you say to Trey back there?”
“I told him something about himself that he thought no one knew.”
I wasn’t curious. It was Trey.
We found a bench near some trees and sat down. “Okay,” I said. “Do you think I can help Jake?”
Vincent shook his head. “I can only help you to enter Scatter’s world. Finding your friend, bringing him back—you’ll have to figure that out on your own. I told Jake the same thing when he went after his parents.”
“Suppose I find him. How will I get back here?”
“It should be just like going in. That’s what I explained to Jake. But something must have gone wrong, because the paw came back to me.”
“The paw?”
Vincent reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out something black and dried-up looking. It was bigger than a rabbit’s foot and not at all fuzzy, but it was part of a leg with a paw at the end. A cat’s paw.
“This is the key to Scatter’s world,” Vincent said as he handed the paw to me. No sooner had I taken it than it started to move. It got warm in my hand, and the toes stretched apart and the claws came out, just like the paw of a live cat.
I screamed, and the paw fell softly to the ground. “Why is it doing that?!”
“The paw is a relic,” Vincent said. “It’s thousands of years old. It moves in your hand because it senses your heart is light. It did the same thing for Jake.”
A light heart? Not lately. What was he talking about?
Vincent calmly picked up the paw and put it back in my hand. The paw continued to squirm, but I managed not to drop it.
“Look around you,” Vincent said. “Do you see anything unusual?”
The park looked the same as always, lush and green. But then, in the trees right behind us . . . . I rubbed my eyes and looked again. Part of the greenery had become liquid, shimmery, as if I were seeing it through tears.
“That’s an entryway,” Vincent said. “Give me the paw.” I handed it back to him, and immediately it became stiff and dry, like an old stick. “Look at the entryway again,” Vincent said.
It was gone. I shot a questioning glance at Vincent.
“There’s one problem with the paw,” he said. “It can lead you to Scatter, but it can also lead Scatter to you. When you hold it, he will sense your presence. If you lose it, it will return to me.”
“And Jake lost it,” I said.
“I fear so.” He handed the paw back to me.
“Why are you helping me? Why did you try to help Jake?”
Vincent paused for a moment. “I believe in innocence,” he said. “Scatter uses innocence. I want to stop that.”
“Why don’t you go after him?”
“There are reasons. My heart is heavy, I’m afraid.” He seemed distracted by his thoughts for a moment. Then he spoke again. “Danielle, this will be a journey full of dangers. Scatter will test you. I guar
antee there will be times you want to turn back. Those are the times to remember your love for your friend. Scatter can manipulate appearances. But he can’t manipulate your heart.”
Squeezing the paw, I walked toward the gateway among the trees. I looked back one last time as I went into the shimmering place. Vincent was waving his arms. He seemed to be shouting “No!” but I couldn’t hear him. At the same time, a hand gripped my arm, and darkness surrounded me.
7
I was standing at the edge of a huge lake in the middle of a dead forest. I could have been in the hilly woods that surrounded Bridgewater, except that the trees were gray and bare and broken. The brush was scarce, and fine dust covered the ground. It was nighttime. The air was mild, and moonlight made the water look like silver. The only sound was the lake lapping at the shore.
And someone breathing. Someone right next to me. Trey Little.
“What the hell, Trey!” I yelled at him. “What did you think you were doing?!”
“What did you think you were doing?” he answered. It turned out that Trey had sneaked across the road and into the trees to spy on my meeting with Vincent. When he saw me starting to disappear, he dived in.
We stared each other down for a moment, and finally I just started to laugh. The paw was still in my hand.
“Trey, let’s talk.” There was a fallen tree trunk nearby that worked as a bench. “I really don’t know how to explain all this, Trey, but it doesn’t involve you. Look. Let’s just go back to the park. I’ll drop you off.”
“Dani, don’t. I don’t know what’s going on, but I can help.”
“How?” No answer. “Okay, fine. I’m looking for Jake Sawyer. He’s my best friend, and he hasn’t been heard from for weeks. That’s all I’m here for. If you’re going to tag along, you need to understand that. And we’re going to be in serious danger. We’re not on some kind of adventure date here, okay?”
He nodded eagerly. So I sighed and gave him the short version of what had happened since the storm. When I finished, he shook his head. Trey, of all people, actually seemed a little sad.
“Wow,” he said. “Sawyer’s lucky to have a friend like you.”
“So you see, Trey,” I tried once more, “you really don’t need to get involved in this.” I reached into my pocket and held the paw. Immediately the air just a few yards away turned watery. “Here, just walk right this way and you’ll be back at the country club before you can blink.”
He looked at me solemnly. “Let me stay, Dani. Seriously. I’m cool with you and Jake. Maybe I can help.”
I wasn’t convinced. But at that point the wind began to kick up and the lake started churning. Big waves broke among the pieces of driftwood on the shore. And in the distance we could see some kind of craft approaching. It was a raft with a triangular sail. A white, glowing figure stood by a rudder, steering it toward us. Before long the raft was on the beach, and a figure in a white, hooded robe beckoned us to come closer.
All I could see of its face were dark holes where eyes and nose and a mouth would be. Whether the face itself was bone or dead flesh I couldn’t be sure. The beckoning hand was wrapped, each finger individually, in dirty cloth. When Trey and I were close, the figure stretched out its hand toward me and flexed its fingers repeatedly. The way the cat’s paw did when I held it. I reached in and showed the paw. The figure nodded and motioned for us to board the raft.
Soon we were in the middle of the lake, tossing on the waves. Trey put an arm around my shoulder to keep us steady. I wondered if Scatter already knew we were here.
The lake featured a large expanse of open water, with countless bays and tiny islands in all directions. From the air, I thought, it would have looked like an amoeba. After an hour or so, our boatman steered into a narrow channel that opened onto a bay. It was surrounded, like the rest of the lake, with the white, splintered bones of trees. In the distance I could see two bright lights. They reminded me of the spotlights you see fixed on poles in farmyards.
Silhouetted in the moonlight nearer the shore was an old diving platform. One edge sank lower than the other, and a couple of dirty buoys bumped against it. It was as if they had broken loose and drifted there in the current.
“It looks like some kind of summer camp,” Trey said as the boatman brought the raft around and tied it to a rickety dock.
“A long time ago,” I said. “But no one’s taken care of it in a while.”
The hooded figure stayed on the raft but gestured for us to get off. As soon as Trey and I were on the dock, the boatman shoved off, sailing back the way we had come.
“What now?” Trey asked.
I took out the paw, and it stretched straight ahead, in the direction of the lights. I could see now that they were on top of a ridge several hundred yards away. “That way,” I said, and Trey followed.
It was just as we set foot on the shore that we noticed the smell.
8
It was like we’d smacked into a wall of decaying flesh. We both started to gag and jumped back on the dock.
“Oh, man!” Trey gasped. “What is that?”
As if in answer, several dozen small figures emerged from the darkness and began running toward us. They were children, dripping wet and covered in green slime. They didn’t make a sound, but their mouths opened and closed, like the mouths of fish out of water. Their eyes seemed to be pleading with us. As they got closer, I saw that their bodies and faces were bloated and beginning to rot. In some places the skin was coming off their bones.
When they got to the dock, they stopped. For what seemed like an eternity, they stared at us. At first they seemed hopeful, like pets expecting to be fed, then desperate.
“What do you want?!” I cried.
But they only gazed at us through dead eyes until, finally, their shoulders slumped. They turned away and retreated back into the shadows.
“This place is messed up.” Trey looked shaken. “It was like they were saying, ‘Help us!’” he said.
“But they looked . . .” I didn’t know quite how to say it. “. . . beyond help.”
Trey and I stepped off the dock again and headed for the lights. With only moonlight to guide us, we picked our way among rocks and dead branches.
About halfway to our goal, we saw an old sign nailed to a tree. It read: “John 3:16.” Fifty yards farther was another sign, yellow and diamond shaped. In black letters it said, “Jesus at Work.”
By then we could see several buildings surrounded by a wire fence. The camp looked a little like a minimum-security prison. Then there was another sign, very worn and hard to read in the shadows: “Rock of Ages Bible Camp.” Trey and I let out the same swear word at once. Everyone in Bridgewater knew the story of Rock of Ages, even though the tragedy was decades old.
It was sometime in the seventies. Rock of Ages was a big operation. Hundreds of kids attended every summer. They came to fish, swim, enjoy “fellowship,” and, of course, sing hymns and study the Bible. A lot of kids my age had parents who’d summered there as campers or counselors.
One August afternoon, almost the entire camp set out on a couple of pontoons for a picnic on the far side of the lake. The weather was hot and still, and the sky was an odd color. On the TV and radio, there were warnings about the chance of severe storms, but TV and radio were banned in the camp.
About the time the campers hit open water on the big lake, hail and lightning and high winds came ripping through the woods. That was followed by a tornado that knocked down most of the trees in a path a mile wide. The boats never had a chance. They capsized, and forty-three people, mostly children, drowned.
The aftermath was bad: failed rescue attempts, funerals for bodies never recovered, government safety investigations, and lawsuits. The harsh spotlight fell on the camp director. He had not been at the picnic. It turned out that he had embezzled thousands from the camp, then disappeared on the day of the tragedy. He’d been heard to say early that morning, “This should be a day of rejoicing! Forty-t
hree souls in heaven today!”
Two of the forty-three souls, it was found out later, were camp administrators who had been preparing a list of accusations against the director. The charges included reports that he had molested several of the campers, also now deceased.
The minister and his wife who founded the camp and owned it were retired. When the news about the director broke, the minister shot his wife then blew his own brains out.
Those were the facts, but the tragedy lived on in the stories passed down and told around fires at other camps ever since. Everyone said the camp was haunted. I’d never believed those stories, until now.
9
Vincent said we were coming into Scatter’s world,” I said to Trey. “Why would he pick a place like this?”
We continued up the hill to the fence. Then we followed it to our left, looking for an entry. Inside were several buildings with fake log siding. The largest, in the center of the compound, was a sort of lodge, three stories high. On one side was a smaller building with a cross over the door. On the other was a rectangular structure made of brick. In front was an empty swimming pool with showers off to one side and a long, one-story building shaped like the letter E.
Where was a gate? It seemed like we had practically circled the camp, and there was no way in. I consulted the paw, and it pointed back at me. Somehow we’d missed the entrance. So we went back the way we had come until suddenly the paw was pointing straight down and pulling my hand to the ground. I didn’t resist. I knelt down and watched the paw in my hand trace a symbol in the sandy ground. And the soil began to give way.
Thaw (Night Fall ™) Page 2
