“But you felt bad when you shot the squirrel. It was mean of your dad to make you kill another.”
“No! It would have been mean of my dad to not make me kill another. By making me go on, my dad taught me the importance of sticking with something, of not giving up until I had it conquered.”
Garrett continued to blink at Stephen, the logic of Stephen’s argument still eluding him. From the gleam in Stephen’s eye, Garrett could not help but think that Stephen had made up the story just to punish him for how halfhearted he had been in his attempt to learn billiards. But he did not know. He only knew that Stephen’s little story had left him more uncomfortable than he had been before.
After they finished dinner and were watching television on a portable set Stephen set up for them in the drawing room, Garrett’s mood took a turn for the worse. At first Lauren was mystified, but when it came time for them to go to bed and his uneasiness peaked, she finally understood why.
“Garrett, are you afraid to go to bed because you think you’re going to have another bad dream?” she asked as Stephen turned the television set off.
Garrett looked at her with wide, cautious eyes. “Maybe it wasn’t a dream,” he mumbled meekly.
“Well, whatever it was, is that why you’re being so funny about going to bed?”
He looked down sheepishly at the floor and nodded.
Under other circumstances his stubborn insistence in the matter might have angered her, but given everything that had transpired during the day she found herself somewhat disconcerted.
She looked across the room at Stephen. “Well, maybe if it’s all right with Stephen you can sleep in our room tonight.”
“Honeeey,” Stephen objected.
“Stephen, come on. It’s scary being alone in this big house.”
“But Garrett is almost a grown man now. Right, old buddy?”
Garrett merely gritted his teeth in silence. He particularly hated it when Stephen called him “old buddy.” He certainly did not want Stephen to know that he was too scared to sleep in his own room, no matter how scared he really was. He was about to say he wanted to sleep in his own room when Stephen piped up again.
“Garrett’s man enough not to let a bad dream get to him.”
“It wasn’t a dream!” Garrett snapped.
“So what are you trying to say—that the bogeyman really did come into your room?”
“Yes!”
“Well, if that’s true, if it was some sort of being from the beyond, I don’t see what the problem is. I mean, you’re the one who said you’d like to make friends with a creature from another planet. Here’s the next-best thing.”
Lauren began to get truly annoyed with Stephen. Why was he egging on Garrett at a time like this?
For his part, Garrett once again thought he detected a hint of malice in Stephen’s remarks, but the actual content of them reverberated through him like a thunderclap. For months he had dreamed of making contact with a being from another world, and yet he had been so frightened by his encounter with the thing, it had never occurred to him he might be letting just such an opportunity pass him by. He did not like admitting it, but Stephen was right. His own glib assertions about wanting to meet an alien life form meant nothing unless he was willing to back up his words with action. No matter how daunting a prospect it seemed, he had to sleep alone in his room.
Lauren’s eyes were now steely. It was the first time Garrett had seen her actually annoyed with Stephen. “Stephen, there’s a divan in our room. I think it’s perfectly okay if Garrett wants to sleep there.”
“It’s all right, Mom,” Garrett cut in.
She looked at him with surprise. “What?”
“It was silly of me to be afraid. I’ll be okay.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded.
“Okay,” she said.
But she was not appeased. Later, after tucking him in bed, she brought the matter up with Stephen again.
“I can’t believe what you said to Garrett downstairs.”
“Why not?” Stephen said with astonishment.
“Because he’s only a little boy. And you were trying to make him ashamed of being frightened.”
“Hey. He’s gotta learn sometime not to be afraid of the dark.”
“Maybe so. But when he’s frightened you shouldn’t be attacking him—you should be comforting him.”
“I didn’t attack him.”
“You didn’t comfort him. He’s your son now, too.”
“Look, I married you, not him. Just don’t push me too far with this father act, okay?” He glowered.
His words shocked her deeply. Her primary reason for marrying Stephen had never been that he was ideal father material, but she had always expected that over time a genuine affection would develop between the two. All at once she realized that perhaps Garrett had not entirely imagined Stephen’s animosity.
She stared at him in disbelief. “I can’t believe you said that.”
Perceiving her shock, he quickly tried to distance himself from the remark. “I didn’t mean for that to come out the way it sounded.” He put on a tired face and ran his fingers through his gorgeous mane of dark curls. “I’m sorry, okay? I spent four hours on the phone with Marty, and I’m just irritable and snappish. You know I think Garrett is a neat kid, and he and I are going to become very good pals.” He came up and took her by the shoulders. His bottomless green-gray eyes bored into hers. “The real reason I was so upset when you suggested he sleep in here is that I enjoy being alone with you so much.” He tried to kiss her, but she turned her face away.
“Come on, isn’t this better than fighting?” he coaxed as he nuzzled her ear.
She continued to resist, still stinging from his insensitivity, but he pulled her closer, kissing her and caressing her until she felt herself melting.
A part of her was still furious at him. But another part wanted nothing more than to be held and comforted, to feel the smooth expanse of his body against her once again. “We have to talk about this some more.”
“We will, we will,” he said softly. With movements as carefully orchestrated as those of a cat closing in on its prey, he turned her around and kissed her and then carried her to the bed. Within minutes he was inside her, rocking, undulating in the slow saraband of his lovemaking.
But when they finished she lay awake and for the first time she started to wonder if there was something about Stephen she wasn’t seeing.
She did not know how long it took her to fall asleep, but it seemed only minutes after she did that something woke her. At first she did not know what, and for several seconds she remained motionless. But then it came again, and she realized it had been a sound. Somewhere deep in the house there was a low creaking, like the mast of a ship swaying gently in the wind. Perplexed, she sat up in bed and listened, but as soon as she tried to focus in on the sound it ceased.
For a moment she was frightened. But then logic told her it was only natural for a house as old as Lake House to do some settling at night and creak and moan a bit. Still, something about the sound disturbed her, and she decided to look in on Garrett and make sure he was all right. Pulling her robe on, she strode toward the bedroom door. Once outside, she clicked the lights on and headed down the hall.
When she reached his door she opened it quietly. She did not want to wake him needlessly and was pleased when she saw he was fast asleep. But as she started back toward her room she realized she was thirsty, and, recalling that the water in the master bath was both tepid and a little rusty, she decided to go downstairs for some ice water.
When she reached the top of the stairs she turned on the entrance-hall lights, and she continued to turn on every light she came to, forging a blazing trail to the kitchen. After drinking her fill, she started back, but as she passed through the drawing room she noticed there was a full moon over the lake. She cupped her hands against the glass and saw that a mist had rolled in from the lake and covered everything i
n a gauzy blanket of fog. Even the lower limbs of the tamaracks were veiled in the ghostly pall, and in the soft bluish glow of the moonlight the forest seemed dreamlike.
Entranced, she continued to admire the scene for several seconds. Then suddenly an icy shiver ran up her spine. At first she was mystified, at a loss to explain why every nerve ending in her body was tingling with alarm. And then just as suddenly she realized. Although she did not know how, she knew without question she was being watched.
Panicking, she realized the only reason she was visible to someone outside was that she had turned so many lights on, and she quickly turned them off. But once again as she scanned the mist-enshrouded landscape, she could feel something staring at her, examining her with impunity, something watching her from the fog.
Not knowing what else to do, she ran upstairs, and when she reached the bedroom she flung herself under the covers. The force of her impact caused Stephen to grumble in his sleep, and she considered waking him. But then she realized she had no evidence to prove that her eerie sensation had been anything but nerves, and she decided against it. Still, it was some time before she drifted off to sleep again.
Several hours later, Garrett awoke uneasily too. However, he knew what had stirred him so rudely from his slumber. It was the thing. It was coming. Like a magnet to steel he felt its power as it coursed through the halls. When it neared his door he sat up in bed and told himself he was ready for it.
Only he was not. When his door burst open soundlessly, all the primeval fear that had gripped him the night before returned. Again he froze, unable to move. Only this time, because he was sitting he was able to see it more clearly. As it drifted toward him he saw its powerful arms and shoulders, but within its swirling depths he also discerned a heavily muscled torso and a pair of huge and sinewy hands. Once again it slowly circled the bed as if examining him for some unknown purpose, and when it turned he noticed it possessed the suggestion of a masculine profile. But still there was something paradoxical about its appearance, for everything that was massive about it was only occasionally given substance by its turbulent and vaporous form.
After it finished circling the bed it stopped, and again the unearthly tingle of its presence swept over him like a strange and silent wind. Suddenly, without warning, it spoke.
“Who are you?”
Its voice was deep and resonant, and hearing it made him tremble all the more. “I’m Garrett,” he stammered. And then he added for good measure, “I’m a little boy.” It seemed to ponder this for a moment, a sudden eddy of darkness whirling up violently through its core.
“What are you doing in my house?” it demanded.
“I live here,” he explained, but as soon as he uttered the words an even greater welling of darkness roiled up through it. Thinking he had angered it, he added quickly, “But I don’t want to be here.”
For a while it said nothing, and with each passing second a thousand different emotions reeled through him. Amazement. Terror. He could hardly believe he was talking to it, and suddenly his resolution to try to befriend it seemed completely beyond his capabilities. An eternity passed, and then another, and again he wondered if its silence meant he had offended it in some way. But then, just when he thought it was not going to reply, it spoke again.
“Why don’t you want to be here?” it asked.
Because he did not yet know how it was reacting to what he had been saying to it, he hesitated and wondered how he should answer the question. But after considering several more evasive responses, he opted for the truth.
“Because this isn’t my home. I really live in New York.” He swallowed, trying to moisten his mouth enough so he could continue. “But then my mom married this guy, Stephen, and he decided we were going to come up here for the summer. Only I don’t like Stephen. I mean, I don’t think he likes me. But that’s why I’m here.”
After he finished, he paused, making sure the thing had not reacted adversely to anything he had said, and deciding that its lack of aggressive action was a good sign, he summoned up the courage to ask it a question.
“Who are you?”
“Who and what I am need not concern you!” it boomed, and the sound of its voice nearly sent him hurtling back under the covers. This time he was convinced it was going to attack him, but instead it just turned and started to leave. As it drifted toward the door he felt a mixture of relief and regret. It had not been easy for him to stand up to it as he had, and a part of him wished only for it to go and leave him unharmed. But another part, the part that always had to know, that could not leave any mystery unexplored, reminded him again of his decision to try to establish some sort of ongoing contact with it. His stomach knotted as he tried to figure out what to do. But finally, deciding it was clearly something alien and perhaps of profound importance—and deciding its behavior toward him indicated it was benign—he resolved to try to win its favor. “Wait!” he cried.
It stopped and slowly turned around.
“I just...” he started, but the audacity of his request caused his fear to reassert itself. “I just wondered if... well... if you wanted to be friends.”
He waited nervously for its response. It seemed so sure of itself, so arrogant and annoyed about his presence in the house, he felt certain it would scoff at the suggestion. But instead a farrago of strange shapes began to shift and move beneath its surface as if the idea intrigued it, and cast some new light on a situation it had almost overlooked.
“Friends?” it repeated with caution. “Why would you want to be friends with me, little boy?”
“Because I want to know who and what you are.”
“But why do you want to know?”
The question left him momentarily stymied. “I don’t know. I guess because you’re—” He stopped abruptly, at a loss as to how best to refer to it.
“Because I’m what, boy?”
“Because you don’t seem to be human and that makes me wonder what you are, that’s all,” he blurted out, hoping against hope the bluntness of his description would not provoke it.
Again it lapsed into lengthy rumination, but finally it seemed to waver. “I demand a lot from my friends,” it warned portentously.
A ripple of excitement passed through him as he perceived the ray of hope the remark offered. “Like what?”
“If we were friends you would have to promise not to tell anyone about me or anything that takes place between us.” Obviously it would not want news of its existence to fall into the hands of individuals who might wish to do it harm, and, recalling that all of the aliens and friendly monsters in the movies he had seem always exacted similar promises, he agreed.
“Okay.”
“Before we could be friends you would also have to do something to prove yourself to me, to show me I could trust you as a friend,” it continued.
“Like what?” he asked again.
“I want you to find out someone’s name for me. I would also like you to find out where this person lives.”
The simplicity of the request relieved him. “That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
“Who?”
“I would like you to find out the name of one of the men who applied for the job of running the generators today.”
“You mean Mr. Foley, the man Stephen hired?”
“No, not that man. I’d like you to find out more about one of the men who didn’t get the job. The man I want to know about arrived on foot. He had very pale skin. Do you know the man I’m talking about?”
Its desire to know the name of the man with pale skin perplexed him, but he nodded. “Yes.”
“Do you think you could do that for me?”
“Yes,” he said, realizing that Mr. Foley could probably provide him with the information.
A final maelstrom of darkness spiraled up through it, and although he did not know how, he sensed it was pleased.
“Good,” it said.
And then, without further ado, it once again star
ted toward the door.
“But how do I let you know what I find out?” he called after it.
“Tomorrow night after your parents are asleep I’ll come to you again.”
“And if I tell you the man’s name and where he lives does that mean we’re friends?”
“Yes,” the thing answered as it glided into the darkness of the hallway. “It means we’re friends.”
After it departed, Garrett felt strangely light-headed because he had burned up so much adrenaline sustaining the courage to talk to it. But he was also ecstatic. Not only had he proved he had the mettle to act on his convictions, but he had at long last fulfilled his dream of making contact with another life form. He did not know what it was, a being from another planet or even from another dimension, but for the moment none of that mattered. All that mattered was that he had achieved his goal and in the process accomplished something extraordinary.
The next morning Garrett was still so excited he woke early. Too impatient to await breakfast, he dressed and was heading out his door when he ran into his mother in the hall. She looked at him with concern.
“Garrett, are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m all right,” he said, barely hearing her question and trying to continue on around her.
“Are you sure?”
He looked at her with bewilderment. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Did you sleep all right? Did you have any more... well, any more dreams?”
At last he understood what she was angling for. He was going to have to lie to her, and this bothered him. He had never lied to her before, at least not about anything as important as this. It also occurred to him that in some strange way it meant he had to choose sides. If he decided not to tell his mother about the thing he was in a sense becoming its ally, and the finality of this made him uneasy. Still, when he considered that the alternative meant never seeing the thing again, he knew he had no choice.
“No, no more dreams,” he said.
For some reason she seemed to have trouble accepting this and continued to stare at him for several moments. But then she finally appeared to accept his answer. “Well, wherever you’re going, don’t be long. I’m going to start making breakfast soon.”
Night Things: A Novel of Supernatural Terror Page 8
