by Dan Poblocki
She tucked Dory’s book under her arm. Eli’s room was only several steps away. “Hello?” she called out, her voice muffled by the breeze. Josie shook her head, trying to clear away thoughts that didn’t make sense. “Is anyone awake?” At the entry to Eli’s room, she stopped and shone her flashlight inside. The bedding was rumpled, but nothing else seemed out of place.
Josie turned around, screaming out this time, “Mom?! Bruno?!” Her cry was met with an eerie quiet. For a moment, she wondered again if she was dreaming. But dreaming had never felt this real. Or terrifying.
Dory’s tale scratched at Josie’s imagination like a fingernail trying to tear a hole in a piece of fabric. It was almost as if, when she’d climbed the ladder into the secret room, everything in the journal had somehow come true: The Nazis had invaded again.
On a basic, rational level, Josie knew that things like this were out of the question, but the longer she listened to the wind shrieking through the hallways of the house, the more likely it seemed that the membrane that separated the impossible from the possible had grown dangerously thin. What had the chances been that, more than seventy years ago, Dory’s family would be held hostage by the crew of a Nazi submarine? Not large. But Josie was beginning to understand that so much of life seems impossible only until that impossible thing actually happens. Love. War. Family.
Screaming resounded from the foyer — a crowd of voices, male and female, crying out in what sounded like fear and disbelief. Maybe there were words being spoken, but to Josie, it was one big horrifying jumble of noise. Barefoot and feeling totally unprepared, she raised her flashlight like a weapon against the dark.
WHEN JOSIE MADE it to the bottom of the stairs, the screaming had stopped. Now, a screech of wind echoed from the rear of the house. The night’s voice was disorienting.
She followed the glow of her flashlight into the dark hallway underneath the foyer balcony. Part of her expected to find the wedding party sitting in one of the many rooms that branched off to her left and right, chatting and drinking and arguing as they’d done earlier that day. Another part of her imagined finding their pale, cold bodies piled in a corner somewhere. “M-Mom?” Josie called out again, weakly this time.
A shadowy figure crossed her path, moving from one doorway to another on the opposite side of the hall. A few seconds later, when she’d managed to unfreeze her joints, Josie leaned across the threshold where the figure had disappeared.
The room was small. The walls were a dark wood. A couple of chairs sat in the far corner, in front of a tall window. A flicker of lightning from outside revealed the outline of someone crouched behind one of the chairs. A pale peach dress. Dark bobbed hair. Josie only caught a glimpse of her, but she was certain she knew who she was. “Dory?” she whispered.
“Stop!” a voice echoed out from across the hall.
Josie spun as another lightning flash filled the house. In the brief burst of light, she saw a skinny young man she did not recognize raise a long thin object over his head and swing it down sharply toward another man kneeling before him. She recognized the object as a rifle as its butt careened into the kneeling man’s forehead.
“No!” Josie instinctually cried out, immediately regretting making a sound. A moment later, when she shone her flashlight into this new room, she found that it was empty. Josie glanced over her shoulder into the wood-paneled room and realized that Dory had disappeared.
Were these visions the island’s wicked memories? If so, the man with the rifle must have been Emil Coombs, the Nazi spy, and his poor victim, who’d been kneeling before him, was Frankie Sauvage, Dory’s brother. She’d read about that moment in Dory’s journal. Josie’s own head ached as she imagined what that blow must have felt like. There was something safe in thinking that these images were simply like a film. But what if they weren’t? What if there were real spirits here? Spirits who were seeking blood?
Horrible thoughts raced through her mind, and Josie grew even more worried about locating the missing wedding party. A gust of wind spat droplets of water at her from down the hallway. Josie continued onward. “Mom! Bruno!” She fought to keep her chin from wobbling as she added, “Eli? Where the heck are you?”
EVERYONE PAUSED AT the end of the forest trail. Up the rocky slope, the ruined walls of the fort stood like a black curtain in front of a darkened stage. Bruno shouted over the wind, pointing, “I saw her go through the doorway. She’s got to be in there somewhere.”
“For heaven’s sake,” Vivian mumbled to herself, shaking her head in disbelief. “What is she thinking?”
Bruno waved for everyone to follow him, but Eli planted his feet.
“Wait!” Eli called out. A bad feeling was spiraling in the vortex of his mind. “You didn’t say she went through the doorway.” The group continued on as if they hadn’t heard him, so he shouted louder, “Stop!”
“What are you talking about, Eli?” Aimee asked, flipping her wet hair away from her face. “We don’t have time for this!”
“Back in the house, Bruno said that Josie was sprinting up the hill on the other side of the forest. He didn’t say anything about her going through the doorway.”
“Whatever!” said Bruno. “That’s where she went.”
“Hold on!” Vivian cried out. She clasped Eli’s shoulder. “Eli’s right. That’s not what you said earlier. Are you sure?”
“Maybe I was being unclear before,” said Bruno, “but it’s what I meant to say. You saw her too, Otis. Am I wrong?”
“Nope,” said Otis. “She was at the top of the hill, going into the ruined building.”
“Dad!” Eli shouted. “It’s not true! You said she was coming out of the forest. I remember!”
“What does it matter now?” said Charlie. He started toward the ruin, as if expecting everyone to follow him. “It’s probably where she was headed anyway.”
“Come on, Eli!” said Aimee. “Would you leave it alone? Let’s just go find Josie so we can get back to the house.”
Otis prodded Eli with the flashlight again, and the group began to move up toward the end of the spit.
A PINE TREE lay on its side in the solarium. Josie stood before it in awe. The sharp scent of its bleeding sap was overpowering.
The past hour wiggled in her brain like a worm, waking memories. While she’d been in the attic, hadn’t there been a crashing boom? Yes, it had happened right before she’d started reading Dory’s journal. It had shaken the floor. Dust had rained from the ceiling.
Maybe this was just another vision. She blinked and then reached out and plucked several sharp green needles from the tree. She pressed the tip of one into the palm of her hand. Pain stabbed at her skin.
When the astonishment of seeing the felled tree began to subside, Josie was flooded with a new kind of worry. Had anyone been sitting in the room when it had happened? Was this why no one was answering her? Dread numbed her extremities as she imagined bodies crushed underneath these heavy green branches. She stepped forward, careful not to cut her bare feet on the broken glass, and clambered up onto the closest and sturdiest branches. As she climbed over the rubble, she shoved the journal under one arm and waved the other to keep balance. When she was steady, she shone her phone’s light downward, through the crisscrossing mesh of the broken tree, seeking out anything that looked like it may be a body part, a hand reaching out to her, a face silently imploring for help.
The farther she walked, the more certain she was that her fears were unfounded. All she noticed beneath her were remnants of the twisted cage that had once been the solarium, pieces of broken furniture, and endless glittering shards of glass. The pine had done severe damage, but apparently, only to the house itself.
Standing on a high branch close to the tree’s trunk, Josie straightened up and glanced around. Above, the sky was like a black brew churning inside a witch’s cauldron. Across the yard, the base of the pine had left a massive crater in the ground near the cliff. Its roots fanned outward, looking like skinny p
ieces of the funnel cakes her mother would buy for her at city street fairs.
Josie’s eyes stung with frustration. She didn’t know what to do.
As if in answer to an unspoken question, the clouds directly over the island flickered, and the yard lit up.
Shadows were moving at the tree line. Was it her family?
A few more seconds allowed her to see that the figures were men, dressed in colorless uniforms, clutching rifles. Dory’s tale beat in Josie’s head like a drum, and the details of this vision became clearer. These were crew members from the German submarine. But could they see her? She didn’t wish to find out.
With her tongue swelling in her mouth, Josie tried to turn around quietly, but the branches shook and creaked and cracked. She ducked down low, pine needles whipping in the wind over her head, and then she paused for nearly a minute, listening for any sounds coming from the yard.
Josie carefully worked her way back to solid ground, leaping the last few feet from the tree into the hallway just outside of the kitchen. Peering around the corner, she checked the yard. Empty. Still, she figured that the safest place at the moment was probably in her own bedroom. She would move the dresser in front of the door. And if she needed to, she could climb back up the ladder in the closet, giving herself an advantage over anyone who dared to follow her.
Without looking back, Josie raced to the foyer and then scrambled up the stairs two at a time. Soon, the doorway appeared before her. After she slammed the door shut, she leaned her back against it. Placing the book and her phone on the floor, she turned and pressed her palms against the wood. A warmth came over her face as she realized that her actions were like an echo of the actions she’d seen Dory doing all day long.
She stepped away, observing her arms, which were outstretched before her. Her trembling hands suddenly seemed to belong to someone else. Josie shook her head, trying to knock away the feeling that the story of Stone’s Throw Island was her own. She bent down and picked up the book and the phone. “No,” Josie whispered, as if Dory could hear her. “I am not you. This never happened to me.”
She hadn’t noticed that she’d backed all the way across the room until she felt the windowpane against her spine. Its coolness shocked her and she spun. Her phone slipped from her fingers. Its light whirled wildly, bouncing from the floor to the walls and the ceiling. She bent down and picked it up, realizing that anyone who might be outside would now know exactly where she was. She turned off the light, and then, kneeling, she peered over the windowsill.
“IT MATTERS,” SAID ELI, walking beside Margo and Vivian. It felt like they were the only ones willing to listen to him at this point. “It matters because we came out here based on what they said. And now … Now it just seems like they’re lying.”
Aimee spun on him, fury igniting her eyes. “Stop it! Stop being a brat!” Eli felt himself flinch. “This isn’t about you,” she went on. “This whole weekend —” But then her gaze left his face and flicked up over his head. She stood straight, her expression going slack as she stared at the horizon.
Confused, Eli turned around and noticed what had caught her attention. On top of the hill, in the hulking mass of shadow that was the house, a soft light fluttered from inside one of the upstairs windows.
“Would you look at that,” said Cynthia, her voice wobbling in awe. “Someone’s back at the house.”
The light winked out.
“Could it be Josie?” Margo asked.
“Either that,” said Charlie, “or it’s the person who attacked you, Margo. Searching for another victim.”
Margo glared at him, clenching her hands into fists.
“That’s Josie’s flashlight,” said Eli. “Violet, like the one on her phone.”
“Eli’s right,” said Vivian. She faced Bruno, lowering her voice so that it was barely audible over the noise of the storm. “What aren’t you telling us, Bruno?”
No one spoke for several seconds. Eli watched as the men traded strange looks. Bruno to Otis. Otis to Charlie. Charlie to Gregory. The four of them each stepped away from the group, shining their flashlights at the stony ground. Flecks of mica reflected back up into the misty air. Eli flinched when he noticed that the men were now standing in a diamond formation, surrounding the inner circle that included Aimee, Vivian, Cynthia, Margo, Beatrice, and himself. That bad feeling he’d experienced a few minutes earlier was transforming into something else — something resembling a hurricane.
“Bruno?” Vivian tried again, her voice a cricket chirp in the wind.
Bruno stared at his mother and his face changed. In the dim glow from the flashlights, his eyes squinted and became cold; his mouth drew down tightly, unnaturally. He almost looked as though someone had slipped a Bruno-shaped rubber mask onto a soulless department-store mannequin. Then, with a harsh voice totally unlike his own, he screamed at Vivian, “Halts Maul!”
The group in the center of the diamond drew closer together, too spooked to speak.
A moment later, Gregory looked across the diamond to Bruno and smiled. “Sie verstehen nicht,” he said.
“Verzeihen Sie mir, Herr Coombs,” Bruno answered, hanging his head.
Coombs. Eli remembered the name and his stomach dropped. Had Bruno just called Gregory Elliott, Margo’s kindly assistant, Coombs?
Agent Coombs?
Eli glanced from his father to Charlie Gagnon. They were wearing similar smiles — thin and wide. A knifepoint ran up Eli’s spine at the sight, goose bumps spreading across his skin.
Gregory focused on the group that was now huddled before him. “Forgive us, Madame Sandoval,” he added. “They forget that their language is not your own. What ‘Bruno’ meant to say was: Shut your mouth.”
THE MEN TIGHTENED around the rest of the search party like a noose around a neck. Eli took his mother’s trembling arm and looked up into his father’s flat gaze.
Gregory Elliott nodded up the hill toward the ruined fort. “Schnell. Wir verschwenden Zeit.”
Aimee released a loud barking laugh. “This is a joke, right?” Wearing a goofy, tired grin, she glanced at each of the men. “Prank the bride? Good one, guys. But really, you’ve taken this too —”
Before anyone realized what was happening, Bruno swung his hand up. A harsh smack resounded, and Aimee spun, falling into Vivian’s arms. Vivian nearly buckled under the sudden weight of Aimee’s body, but she steadied her feet and managed to hold the girl aloft. Cynthia, Beatrice, and Margo yelped in surprise.
Instinctively, Eli dashed toward Bruno, balling up his fists, aiming for the spot right below his belt buckle, but his father caught him by the shoulders. Eli rocked back and forth, trying to get away. Otis placed his thick forearm at the front of his neck, catching him under the chin. Just a little pressure against his throat was enough to make Eli’s skull feel like it was about to pop. His body went limp, and he struggled to stay conscious, slowing his breath, focusing on the dim ruins at the top of the slope.
The women were too much in shock to say anything. Aimee sobbed, and the others clung to one another, as if that would be enough to stop what was happening here.
“No,” said Gregory, continuing to smile. “This is not a joke. This is what we call Rache. Revanche. Revenge.”
“Revenge?” Margo echoed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Gregory! What could any of us possibly have done to you?” She touched her bruised mouth.
Gregory tilted his head in amusement. “I’m glad that you ask this. And you shall have your answer, Madame Lintel, in good time. In the interim, please call me Coombs. Emil Coombs. Your assistant has left you for now.”
“What are you saying, Gregory?” Margo asked, placing special emphasis on his name. “You’re talking crazy.”
“My name is Coombs!” Gregory sniffed at her, displeased. “Stubborn,” he added. “Just like your mother.”
“My mother? You’ve … you’ve never met my mother.”
“Haven’t I?”
Margo’s brow darkened. “You
’re the one who came into my room. You’re the one who tried to … to hurt me.”
“No,” said Charlie from the other side of the diamond, waving his free hand. “That was me. Guilty.”
Beatrice winced, as if her husband’s sudden confession had stung her.
“Our arrangement was muddied briefly,” said Gregory, glaring at Charlie with reproach, “but now we are all on the same page again. It will be better this way, Helmut, I promise. Much more meaningful.”
Eli listened to the conversation through the sound of blood throbbing in his ears, his father’s arm pressing at his Adam’s apple. Did Gregory just call Charlie Helmut? The atmosphere around him shimmered, as if reality were beginning to collapse, and he understood that he was growing weaker.
“Lasst uns gehen,” said Gregory, waving his flashlight up the hill. “Jetzt.” Bruno, Charlie, and Gregory held out their arms, corralling Vivian, Cynthia, Margo, Beatrice, and Aimee like animals, directing them toward the ruined fort. Otis released his grip on Eli’s throat, and the world came rushing back. He gulped air, filling his lungs. His vision went black in patches. For a moment, Eli considered elbowing his father in the stomach and dashing away. Then he remembered the ferocity with which Bruno had struck his sister, and he understood that none of the men would hesitate to do the same thing to him, or to any of the others. He allowed his father to steer him as they walked. The ruin at the cliff seemed to grow as the group slowly made its way toward it.
In the moment before Bruno stepped through the doorway at the front of the crowd, Eli craned his neck back toward the house on the hill and shouted as loud as his lungs would let him. “Josie! Hide! HIDE!”
