Lure

by Brian Rathbone

  "Was that you?" Sam asked. "Did you guys hear that?"

  "I didn't hear anything," Shells said.

  "I heard something," Greg said. "It sounded like-oh, damn! Aw, man. What the hell is that?"

  Shells giggled.

  "Oh, man," Greg said. "It smells like a falafel crawled up your ass and died!"

  "Falafel doesn't crawl," Shells said.

  "Well something sure as hell did."

  "C'mon," Sam said. "If you make a noise, you have to tag it; otherwise you're just corrupting the audio."

  "Oh she's corrupting more than that," Greg said. "We've now got a serious air quality issue in this joint."

  "This is Maddie's first investigation, and I don't want her to think this is all just a joke. Sorry, Maddie. This really is serious business; it's just that sometimes the rest of the crew has a hard time keeping their immaturity in check."

  "I understand," Maddie said. "Though I think it might not be a bad idea to open a window. It really does smell like someone ate a dog with gas."

  "Seriously, y'all are gonna hurt my feelings," Shells said. "It ain't all that bad. Oh, wait, damn; open a window, y'all, that's pretty foul."

  "OK. We can air the room out, but then it's back to serious investigation," Sam said. "There really is something going on here, and I want to find out what it is. I saw an apparition in this very room, and that's just not something that happens every day."

  "You were drunk," Shells said.

  "Maybe we should have a few drinks," Maddie said.

  "I'm not so sure that's a good idea," Sam said.

  "Sorry," Maddie said. "I was just thinking maybe we should recreate the situation."

  "I'm not so sure that's such a good idea," Shells said. "Even if Greg has had his wheaties today, I'm not so sure I can listen to the O'Greg song again all night."

  Greg didn't say anything, but a moment later Shells said, "Ow. Hey. Watch that!" And then she started giggling uncontrollably.

  Sam flipped on the lights and saw Greg tickling Shells. Maddie shaded her eyes, "A little warning would've been nice."

  "Sorry," Sam said as she opened the window and set the thermostat to high fan. A glance at the clock showed that it was approaching 1am. "What time was last call at the bar?"

  "One," Shells said.

  "Alright," Sam said. "We haven't found anything the old fashioned way, so maybe we should see if this apparition only appears to those who are slightly inebriated."

  "You have to admit," Shells said, "that story would be a lot more fun to tell, and Mikey'll make a fortune at the bar."

  "You know he really doesn't like to be called that, right?" Maddie asked.

  "Yeah, I know," Shells said. "That's why I do it. It keeps him off balance. He's easier to manipulate that way. Don't you know anything about men?"

  "A thing or two," Maddie said. "But I see your point. If you are mean to them most of the time, it makes them giddy whenever you're nice to them."

  "You ladies realize I'm sitting here, right?" Greg asked.

  "No worries," Shells said. "Knowing won't help you. It works anyway. If Maddie were to show you her goodies right now, you'd still start panting like a lap dog."

  Maddie just nodded knowingly.

  "Prove it," Greg said.

  Obliging, Maddie lifted her shirt, and Greg's eyes opened wide.

  "Told you," Shells said.

  Greg just smiled. "Think what you will. I may have lost that argument, but I'm pretty sure I still won."

  Shells ignored him. "If we're gonna get a good buzz on, then we'd better get to the bar. And try not to make any sudden turns there, O'Greg, you're liable to take out the good china."

  "Yeah," Maddie said. "And if that thing lasts more than four hours, call a doctor."

  "If that thing lasts more than four hours," Sam said. "Call me a doctor."

  Only a few intrepid souls still sat at the bar, and the bartender saw them coming. "Only fifteen minutes until last call," he said.

  "In that case," Shells said. "Make it a quadruple. I'm hunting a ghost that only appears to drunk people, and I'm aiming to catch that sucker."

  "It doesn't look like a pink elephant does it?" a man at the bar asked. "I'm pretty sure I've seen that one."

  "No," Sam said. "This one is more tall, dark, and gruesome."

  "I'll stick with the pink elephants," the man said, though he did buy the next round.

  "And I'm pretty sure this one can only be seen when laying down and panting," Shells added.

  "That doesn't sound quite as bad," the man admitted.

  "Here's to voyeur apparitions that like drunk people!" Maddie said. "Far be it from us to disappoint."

  "Hmm. Perhaps you and I should investigate from my room," Shells said as she slid a little closer to Maddie.

  "Hmm. Perhaps we should."

  "Aw, yeah. That's right," Shells said, doing a little dance and sliding even closer to Maddie. "Maybe I'll have to get my O'Shells on."

  Sam didn't say anything, though she was amazed by exactly how much alcohol the group was able to put away before last call; they had ordered more than most would drink in a night. If this ghost did require a blood alcohol level of 1.0, they were sure to meet the requirement.

  * * *

  "So did the ghost perv make an appearance last night?" Shells asked when the group gathered near the reception desk in the late morning.

  "No," Sam said, wishing her shades were darker as the bright sunlight streamed through nearby windows.

  "He must've been watching quietly," Shells said.

  "Hey," Greg said. "If I were stuck here as a ghost, I can think of worse ways to spend my time."

  "I'm surprised you could sleep at all up there," Michael said from behind the reception desk. "From all the noise complaints I got from the second floor, and people saying it sounded like the ceiling was going to cave in, I thought y'all were having to wrestle the ghosts during your investigation last night."

  "Don't look at me. I'm smooth like creamery butter," Shells said. "That's right; once you've had butta you don't want no otha! You might want to check with the hammer over there; I'm pretty sure he was testing the build quality of your headboards last night."

  "They are indeed of fine quality," Greg said.

  "Well. I'm glad we have that mystery cleared up," Michael said, trying to keep from smiling, but Sam could see the mirth in his eyes.

  "OK, Mikey. We need a different option for food today. I don't think fatback and livermush are going to do the trick this time. We need some heavy-duty hangover cure. What do you suggest?"

  "Barbecue."

  "You mean like barbecue chicken?" Shells asked. Michael just looked back with one eyebrow raised. "Or maybe you mean like Sloppy Joes, like barbecue beef or something? Burgers on the grill? What you talkin' 'bout, Willis? You know I'm a strict vegan, right?"

  "Strict might not be the term I would use," Greg said under his breath. Sam and Maddie both snickered but Shells pretended not to hear them.

  "Just go back into Chimney Rock and look for a place called Duncan's. If you're looking for a vegetarian option, maybe you could try the hushpuppies."

  "Hushpuppies, eh?" Shells said. "Sounds like they're made of meat and the tears of little kids. That ain't cool. Do they have a salad bar?"

  "I think so," Michael said.

  "Alright," Shells said. "Y'all can get some hot dogs off the barbecue and I'll get some of those non-vegan sounding hushpuppies. Let's go."

  Michael shook his head but didn't say anything else.

  After piling into Sam's car, the group made their way into Chimney Rock. Looking up, Sam recalled their flight from the park and reconsidered the wisdom of coming in her car. As they passed Arrowheads, she had to wonder again about the man who worked there. She assumed he was the owner, but she really had no evidence to back up her hunch. Too many of the things going on here could not be corroborated, and there was no real evidence that anything unusual was going on. Her training as a c
op told her that she had nothing, but there was a feeling in her gut that wouldn't be denied. And though a lot of cops acted on feelings in their guts, it was a practice that was often frowned upon and rarely did anyone admit to it. For Sam, too much had changed in her life to rely on her old training, but it felt strange to keep acting on feelings alone. It was like walking in the dark and somehow knowing she was about to stub her toe. It wasn't just the hangover that left a sour feeling in her stomach.

  An eclectic collection of tourists crowded the narrow valley floor that was lined with shops, cafes and restaurants. Bikers walked alongside yuppies and rednecks, and Sam thought this might be one of the strangest places she'd ever visited. It was a friendly place, no doubt, but its identity seemed to shift and change like the fluffy clouds that hung overhead. Like some strange cross between a beach town, ski resort, and Sturgis, Chimney Rock and Lake Lure were destinations like nowhere else Sam had ever been. The place was really starting to grow on her. The thought of returning to the flatlands of New Jersey was sounding less and less appealing, despite the fact that she would kill for a good cheesesteak, calzone, or sausage sandwich—things she had yet to find. The thoughts of food made her stomach growl.

  "Easy girl," Shells said. "We'll get you some food right quick. Maybe I'll even let you have some of my silenced canines. I wonder how they shut 'em up?"

  Duncan's turned out to be an earthy sort of joint that was just Sam's kind of place. With firewood piled alongside the building and wood smoke pouring from a chimney, it smelled better than it looked and seemed not to think too much of itself.

  "Can I get y'all some sweet tea and hushpuppies?"

  "Sounds good," Shells said. "Say, how do you shut them puppies up, anyway?" The waitress cast her a puzzled glance, and Shells waved her off. "Never mind," she said. "Forget I asked."

  Sam flipped through the menu and quickly honed in on shredded pork with red sauce. Unsure what other kind of sauce there could be, she put down the menu; her decision already made.

  When the waitress returned, she brought oversized glasses filled with the high-octane stuff the southerners called sweet tea. Sam had to admit that the stuff did have a way of jumpstarting the day.

  "What'll y'all have?"

  "What do you recommend?" Sam asked.

  "Barbecue, ribs, and chicken are all good. And the cole slaw."

  "How about bringing us a some of each of those and we can all share?"

  The rest nodded in agreement.

  "Y'all oughta go sit out back," the waitress said. "I'll bring your food out in a few minutes."

  "I have a rule in life," Greg said. "Whenever a waitress tells me I ought to do something. I do it."

  "Maybe she should tell you to leave a big fat tip," Shells said. Greg ignored her and moved toward the back door. The scene that waited outside proved that Greg and the waitress were right. Towering walls of granite soared toward the heights of Chimney Rock, and at their base was a murmuring river filled with giant stones the size of elephants. On many of these stones were girls in bikinis and shirtless young men trying to get the attention of the aforementioned young women. The dark water swirled around the stones forming eddies and waves that sparkled in the noontime light. Birds sang from the trees, and it seemed that nothing could possibly be wrong in the world. The scene was so idyllic that Sam wondered why anyone would ever leave such a place.

  "You know," Shells said after they settled around an aging but nonetheless comfortable picnic table. "They say water can be a source for paranormal activity, and this place has an abundance of it. Do you think that's part of why there seems to be many strange things going on around here?"

  "It certainly doesn't hurt," Sam said. "And there does seem to be a lot of history here as well. Early Europeans and Native Americans alike seem to have recognized the natural beauty and resources of this place, and surely this place has been considered sacred for as long as humans have known about it. I can think of no better place to find paranormal activity. There certainly seems to be a lot of stories and legends about this area, and historians will tell you that even the most fantastic oral traditions usually have some grain of truth to them. With so much energy funneled into a single area and trapped here by the very rock itself, I have to admit that I can almost feel the power of this place. It's like its calling to me and trying to tell me something, but I don't have a clue as to what it's trying to say."

  "Me either," Shells said.

  Sam's ruminations were cut short when the waitress arrived with plates piled high with food. The smell alone was enough to drive any other thoughts from her mind, and her stomach grumbled again. Sam found herself reaching for food before the plates ever hit the table. She probably would have been embarrassed if she had been the only one, but the others couldn't seem to wait either. By the look on the waitresses face, she feared she might lose an appendage.

  "Y'all like the view?" she asked.

  The answers she received were grunts and mumbles of approval from the people who were already stuffing their faces.

  "I'll take that as a yes," she said. "Can I get y'all anything else?"

  "S'more mapkins," Shells said, her mouth full. The waitress interpreted it properly and returned moments later with more napkins and a pitcher of sweet tea to refill their glasses. The thumping of a helicopter cut through the stillness and disturbed the otherwise pristine day; it also reminded Sam that she could not be fooled by the beauty of this place, and she could not let the serenity of it lull her into a false sense of security. Strange things were afoot, and she needed to find out what they were; partly for Michael, but mostly for herself.

  For much of her life she had been rooted in the down to earth absolutes of life. Her job had been to deal in facts and that which could be proven; but all that had changed the day she saw the spirit of that little girl who'd just lost her life. From that moment on, she'd had to accept that there were things in life that she could not prove. In truth, she hadn't accepted it. She'd fought that realization with every fiber of her being, but more and more life proved to her that there was more than met the eye. There were things the scientists didn't know; things the doctors and the priests didn't know; things the police and the military didn't know. Though, given the current circumstances, she wondered just how much the military actually did know. Just how many of the conspiracy theories and stories of cover-ups she had once considered fairy tales actually contained some grain of truth? Were they truly any different from the oral traditions the historians talked about?

  "You OK?" Shells asked after a long silence. The others had been quiet while consuming large amounts of food, but Sam realized that she had just been sitting there, lost in her thoughts. The food she had piled onto her plate was getting cold.

  "I'm OK," she said. "I just have a lot on my mind."

  Maddie just nodded, a look of understanding on her face.

  "What's good?" Sam asked, trying to decide where to start, but one look at the plates should have answered that question; everything.

  "Michelle seems to be enjoying the vegan spare ribs," Greg said with a grin. "What kind of tree do those things grow on anyway?"

  "Shut up, Greg," Shells said, while licking her fingers with a most guilty look on her face. "It's just wrong that those things taste that friggen' good. And how the hell was I supposed to sit here and eat coleslaw and hushpuppies while y'all stuff your faces on ribs and chicken? It ain't even fair I tell you. If God didn't want us to eat the fuzzies, why'd he have to make 'em taste so damn good?"

  "If God didn't want us to eat the animals," Greg said, "he wouldn't have made them out of meat."

  "Shut up, Greg. You're an asshole."

  "Well, you know what they say about assholes don't ya?"

  "No. What?"

  "Everyone needs at least one."

  "Yeah. That may be true and all, but I'm betting if I sewed your mouth shut, I could prove that you're not the one I need."

  Chapter 14

  As Sam made the rig
ht-hand turn into the parking lot at the Lake Lure Inn, she was greeted with an odd sight. To the left of the main building stood what might have once been a carriage house but now looked more like an oversized garage. With his head poking out of the side door of this building was Michael, and he was waving at her to come to him. His manner conveyed a sense of urgency and secrecy, and Sam drove toward the garage with increasing anxiety; this was definitely not what she had been expecting. When she was within ten feet of one of the larger garage doors, Michael raised the door and waved her inside.

  "What the hell is going on?" Shells asked before they were even inside.

  "Beats me," Sam said. "But I'm betting we're about to find out."

  As soon as the back bumper of Sam's Camaro cleared the threshold, Michael pulled the door down. To Sam's surprise, they were not alone in the garage. Toward the back wall waited a group of people, some of whom Sam recognized; including the Woods Woman Psychic, the strawberry blonde screamer, and a few other faces she'd encountered in their travels around the area.

  "What's this all about?" Sam asked as she stepped from her car. Michael just waved her to the back of the garage where the rest waited.

  "I'm sorry to have kept you all waiting," Michael said, "but now that most of you are here, there are some things I need to tell you.

  "This had better be good, Mikey," Shells said. "You're starting to freak me out." A number of others gathered there nodded in agreement but no one else chose to speak.

  "That's fair," Michael said. "But you're going to have to bear with me. There's a lot going on here, and this will not be easily explained. I'll start by asking how many of you here feel that you've been drawn to the lake in recent days?"

  Many of those assembled raised their hands, and Sam was surprised to see Greg raise his hand, though Maddie came as no shock at all. Shells didn't raise her hand and looked extremely confused.

  "Now, how many of you consider yourselves to be psychic?"

  A smaller group raised their hands this time. Sam and Greg both kept their hands down, and Michael laughed.

  "For those of you who raised your hands the first time and not the second, I hate to break it to you, but you've just been outed. Whether you know it or not, or whether you choose to believe it or not, chances are that you have some psychic abilities."