Sam slowed her pace as she drew closer, glancing between the dock and the cabin. It was hard to see through the mist, but both seemed deserted. Sam was too close to exhaustion to give the situation as much caution as she knew it deserved, and she only paused to glance through the cabin’s window and check the room was empty before pushing inside.
The difference in temperature was amazing, and Sam sucked a deep breath of warm air into her lungs. She knew she couldn’t stay long, but she dared to take a moment to hold her icy fingers over the embers.
As she warmed her hands, Sam took a quick assessment of the cabin. The paintings were exactly where she’d left them, facing the walls. The axe was missing from beside the fireplace, though, and Sam didn’t like the way that made her feel.
The cabin seemed still and quiet. As soon as feeling returned to her fingers, Sam went to the kitchen sink and took one of the small paring knives out of the drawer then moved to the cupboard to get the radio.
“What…”
The radio was also gone. Sam glanced around the room, hoping she’d forgotten to put it away, but it was missing. No, not missing. Taken. He wanted me to be completely stranded. No car, no phone, no radio…
“The walkie-talkie!”
Sam crossed to the table. Its surface was covered with papers and art supplies, and Sam dug through them until she found the black box hidden near the back, where she’d tossed it after the less-than-helpful talk with the female ranger. Sam tried to guess the time; judging by the light that was bleeding across the outside sky, it had to be after six but before seven. What time do the rangers come in?
She pressed the button and said, “Hello?”
A prolonged crackle answered her, then a click and a man’s voice, sounding half-asleep, replied, “Yeah, hello, this is the ranger’s office. How can I be of assistance?”
Sam closed her eyes and drew in a relieved breath. The voice was familiar. She pressed the button again and tried to keep her hands from shaking. “Hi, this is Sam. I’m staying at the cabin by the lake. A strange man’s stalking me, and I think he might be responsible for the missing hikers.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Sam!” a sharp note filled the voice, cutting through its tiredness. “This is Brandon. We met the other day. Tell me exactly what happened.”
Sam did, in stumbling and confused fragments. The panicky, sleepless night was catching up to her. She knew she wasn’t making as much sense as she should have, but Brandon interrupted only twice, to clarify the order of events. She told him about her car cables being cut, seeing a figure inside her cabin, and discovering the shanty in the woods. She expected him to laugh at the part where she’d found the fingers preserved in jars, but he didn’t. The only part of the story Sam didn’t share was seeing the figure at the end of the dock. That’s too fantastical for anyone to believe.
When Sam finished, she held her breath and waited for Brandon’s response. He didn’t say anything for a moment, and she tried to imagine his face. Is he laughing at me? Does he think it’s a prank, maybe, or that I’m delusional?
But then he spoke, and her fears melted away. He sounded anxious, but maintained a well-practiced note of authority in his voice. “Sam, are you somewhere safe?”
“Uh… I think so.” Sam glanced around the cabin. She hadn’t searched the upstairs room, but it had been completely silent since her arrival. “I’m in the cabin.”
“Have you locked the door?”
Sam crossed the room and pulled the bolt. “I have now.”
“Do you have a weapon?”
“I’ve got a small knife.”
“That’s better than nothing,” Brandon said. “Sam, the first thing I want you to do is ensure you’re safe. Search the cabin. I’m going to drive down there to pick you up. It’ll take a bit over an hour, so the priority right now is to make sure you’re not in danger.”
Sam was already moving through the cabin, searching in any and every crevice a human could possibly fit. She opened each of the downstairs cupboards then moved upstairs, walkie-talkie in one hand and knife in the other, to search the bedroom. It was empty.
“Okay, I’m definitely alone.”
“Good. Keep the door locked, and make sure you’ve got the knife and walkie-talkie with you at all times. I’m on my way, but if you see or hear anything, let me know immediately.”
“Will do.”
“See you soon, Sam.”
The line went quiet, and Sam released a long breath. She approached the doors overlooking the balcony, and gazed through the glass windows.
The sun had finally breached the top of the mountains and begun to spread its glow across the lake. The mist was still dense, but seemed to be clearing.
Sam weighed her options. Brandon seemed to think she should stay in the cabin. On one hand, it was at least somewhat defensible. On the other, it would be easy for the grey-eyed man to find her there.
She took the stairs back to the ground floor and gazed at the paintings propped against the furniture and walls.
There was so much she didn’t understand. Why had she been painting the images? How had she known the man’s face before ever seeing it? She knew there were clues somewhere, possibly even hidden in the images, but she was just being too obtuse to notice them.
She didn’t want to look at the paintings again, but a desperate need to understand compelled her to turn them around one at a time.
First was the painting of the man standing on the crop of rocks overlooking the lake. It was a replica of what she’d seen while on the lake, though she didn’t know how her asleep-self had guessed his face. The second painting was of water, swirling and frantic—another echo of her canoeing experience. At least, I think it is. I fell into weedy, muddy water, but the painting is clear and blue.
She turned over the third image and grimaced at the sight of the man crouched over his victim, blood dripping down his chin from the knife he’d clasped between his teeth. The one after that depicted a single bloodied finger lying amongst the leaves. Almost like I’d known what he did to his victims. But that should be impossible.
Next was a glimpse of the man between dense trees then one of him running towards the viewer, a long, serrated knife gripped in his fist, a vicious smile spread across his face.
Following that, she turned the painting of the grey-eyed man striding down the path leading to his home. Again, Sam had to face the idea that her mind had been showing her images before they’d happened. The appearance of the gnarled, sickened trees lining the path, the axe clasped in his hand, and even the way he looked—only faintly visible amongst the shadows—were true to Sam’s experience just hours before.
Then she turned another painting, one she hadn’t looked at the day before, and saw a bottle of clear liquid with a woman’s finger floating in it. Sam’s stomach flipped, and she looked away.
After that came the first image she’d created: the close-up of the man’s face. The salt-and-pepper hair, the stubble, the grey eyes, and the red scar on his cheek were all so familiar. She’d thought when she’d first seen it that it was a face she’d known before—but she was no closer to remembering from where.
The final painting showed the man standing on the edge of the dock, watching the water intently. Sam found herself transfixed by it. She felt that if she could only see what the grey-eyed man was seeing, she would have answers.
There’s something in the water he can’t stay away from. He’s been coming back to the cabin almost every day since I’ve been here, just to look into the lake.
Sam remembered the way he’d crawled over the edge of the dock, moving to hide underneath it like a giant insect, and couldn’t stop shudders from creeping down her spine. That wasn’t human. No way, no how. Does that mean Uncle Earnest was right? Is he some sort of vengeful spirit? A poltergeist?
She thought back to the cabin, with its bottles of water, jars of food, vegetable garden, and poultry—all things a human needed.
And
yet… I couldn’t have imagined seeing him crawl under the dock, could I? I’d not long woken up from a concussion, but even so, it was too clear and too real to be a hallucination. If only I could look over the edge… if only I could see…
Sam had walked towards the front door without realising it, and she stopped herself with one hand on the bolt. She shook her head, trying to dispel the tiredness that was fogging her mind.
Nope. No. Definitely not. We’re not going outside. We’re not setting so much as a toe on that dock. It would be insanity.
Sam turned back to the room. The paintings surrounded her, smothering her in their portent. Her eyes fell on the image of the man leaning over the dock and watching the water. He looked so focussed—obsessed, even.
It’s too cold to stay outdoors for long, so the man probably won’t come back until later today, if at all. And Brandon will be here in an hour. This could be my only chance to see what he sees. To understand.
“What the hell,” Sam said, and unbolted the door. “It’s hardly the craziest thing I’ve done this week.”
She paused on the threshold and gazed up and down the length of the shore. The canoe, empty, still rested on the dirt, one end barely dipped into the water. The mountain’s trees rippled as a breeze tugged at their branches. The mist was gone. Dark clouds clustered over the sky, threatening rain. The cold air bit at Sam’s nose and cheeks, but it no longer had the cruel edge she’d felt when walking home.
Sam closed the door behind herself and moved towards the dock. Its supports, still damp from the mist, stood out against the crystalline water. Hyper-aware, she approached the lake. Every birdcall and rustle of the tree branches seemed to hold potential danger, and Sam kept her eyes roving over her surroundings. Instead of stepping onto the dock, she followed the ground’s gentle slope until the edge of the lake lapped at her sneakers, then knelt to look under the pier.
There were no dark, hulking shapes lurking underneath or glowing red eyes watching her. Sam let her breath out, swallowed the lump in her throat, and moved back until she could climb onto the dock. The first slat creaked under her feet, and she hesitated.
Don’t chicken out now. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?
Sam narrowed her eyes, squared her shoulders, and began to move down the dock, testing each step before she dared place her weight on it. Her breath caught every time the wood groaned.
Her limbs were trembling by the time she reached the dock’s end, and she lowered herself to her knees, one hand on the support. She couldn’t stop herself from imagining how she must look from the shore; crouched over the end of the dock, she would be an almost perfect replica of the man who’d haunted her stay at the lake.
Shaking fingers gripped the edge of the wood as Sam leant forward, extending her torso over the lip of the dock, to look into the water below.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
At first, she saw only her own reflection, her anxiety-widened eyes set in pale skin. Then she looked past the water’s surface and saw what had captivated the man so much.
“Oh,” Sam said simply, as revulsion and horror rose through her chest and threatened to choke her.
Suspended in the water, only a foot below the surface, floated a man’s body. The white face was turned towards her, its empty eye sockets staring blindly. Sam could see into the open mouth: the tongue was gone—devoured—and white teeth poked out of shrunken gums. The corpse’s skin was frayed and pocked with holes where decay and water creatures had eaten through the flesh. Shoulder-length bronze hair washed around the head, making a gently swaying halo.
Sam felt frozen in place, unable to release her grip on the edge of the dock and incapable of looking away. The body’s limbs were intact; its limp arms were spread out and had become tangled in the thick weeds. Her eyes turned to the figure’s right hand, which was missing a finger.
A strangled, horrified noise escaped Sam’s throat. She wrenched herself backwards, away from the body in the water, and stumbled upright. Her chest had constricted, and panic set her fingers shaking. She turned and began running towards the shore.
One of the dock’s beams splintered under her feet, and Sam threw herself forward to avoid falling through the hole. She hit the dock hard, knocking the wind out of her lungs, and her vision swam.
She rolled onto her back, trying to smother the groans of fear and pain that escaped between her clenched teeth, and looked towards the end of the dock.
A pale hand stretched up, over the lip of the pier, and slapped onto the wooden edge, sending a spray of water ahead of it. Sam opened her mouth to scream, but the sound died as a gurgle in her throat. A second hand emerged from the water, reaching forward and smacking onto the wood in front of the first, and then the muscles in the arms flexed as they began pulling the body out of the lake.
The head emerged, raining water, its empty eye sockets focussed on Sam, its mouth open to expose the rotting gums and white teeth.
Sam turned and threw herself down the dock, no longer caring if the wood gave out under her feet. She could hear the cadaver dragging itself onto the dock. Its nails scratched at the wood. The water that dripped from it made quiet tapping noises. Then the being exhaled, expelling the liquid from its lungs, and drew a raspy, laborious breath.
Sam reached the end of the dock and turned towards the cabin, adrenaline powering her aching legs, her lungs fighting to bring in enough oxygen to support the exertion. She didn’t stop moving until her hands had fixed around the cabin’s metal doorhandle and wrenched it open.
She turned on the cabin’s threshold, prepared to slam the door if the horror had followed her, but the dock was empty.
“What… what on earth…”
Sam clung to the wooden doorframe, her eyes scanning the shore, the trees, the dock, and the lake. Struggling to draw breath, she felt dizzy and nauseated, and her head throbbed. She didn’t think her legs would hold her weight for much longer. No shapes appeared out of the water, so she closed and bolted the door.
There are two men, Sam realised with sickening horror. I’ve been trying to hide from a single person, but there are actually two of them. The grey-eyed man, and… that.
It was mercifully quiet inside the cabin. Sam cast a glance at the paintings spaced around the room, then she grabbed the walkie-talkie from the table and stumbled towards the stairs. The bedroom’s balcony has the best view out of anywhere in the cabin.
Sam’s body felt leaden as she climbed the stairs. When she reached the bedroom, she opened the balcony doors and settled on the edge of the bed, which was close enough to the balcony to allow her to watch the dock.
How long until Brandon gets here? Forty minutes? Half an hour?
Sam rubbed at her aching eyes. Everything hurt, from her pounding head to her dry mouth to her shaking legs. At least it’s warmer in the cabin’s upper level. Sam scooted farther back onto the bed and pulled the quilt around herself. It was soft, familiar, and safe, and she sighed as she nestled into it.
The minutes ticked by slowly as she stared out over the balcony, her eyes fixed on the dark pier, and the tension gradually left her limbs. As the immediate edge of panic faded, exhaustion set in; she’d barely slept the previous night, and she was drained both physically and emotionally. She felt dazed and dull. The bird calls filtering through the open balcony doors were pleasantly repetitive and comforting. She watched as the last shreds of mist dissipated, leaving the lake clear and smooth. The sky was starting to darken with heavy clouds, though. We might be in for some rain later today.
Sam didn’t even realise her eyes were closing until she found herself falling backwards onto the bed, and by then it was too late to fight.
* * *
Her dream was rushed and indistinct. She saw herself painting. She was frantic with stress as she held a jar in one hand and copied its contents onto the canvas. Inside the jar was a finger… no, not just anyone’s finger—my finger. The grey-eyed man owned it, and she had to paint it quickly, before he took i
t back, so she would never forget what it looked like. She couldn’t get it right, though, and the people behind her were becoming agitated. They begged her to hurry. She was supposed to paint their fingers next, and they’d already been waiting such a long time. Denzel will never forgive me if I don’t deliver the fingers to the Heritage in time…
Sam snapped awake, and her body revolted against the abruptly interrupted sleep cycle. She couldn’t immediately tell what had disturbed her. She was still on the bed, wrapped in the doona. The sky was clogged with dark clouds, and the balcony doors stood open, letting the chilled air in, though she didn’t feel cold.
Then she became aware of the body behind her. It seemed so natural, lying beside her on the bed, its chest pressed to her back and its arm draped over her waist like a lover’s.
But he wasn’t alive. Not anymore.
He felt familiar, Sam realised, because she’d already met in. They’d been companions for days. He was the mind that had guided her hand while she slept, funnelling his memories into the paintings she’d so skilfully created. He’d taught her to recognise the grey-eyed man’s face and shown her the deaths. He’d led her to set up the mugs as a crude countdown. And his was the figure she’d seen knelt on the edge of the dock, staring into the water day after day, as he watched over his final resting place.
Sam didn’t dare move. He felt so human, and yet so cold, as he lay behind her, embracing her. It almost felt normal. Slowly, cautiously, Sam turned her head to look over her shoulder.
The two empty eyesockets stared back. His brow, where white bone peeked through the gaps in the flesh, was creased in concern for her. His lips opened then, and his voice was dry, raspy, and urgent.
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