by Greg Herren
Marc loved slasher movies.
That was the real reason not having cell service was going to drive me crazy—not being able to text or talk to Marc whenever I wanted.
I missed him already so much I could scream.
It’s only seven days and you’ll be home next Sunday, I reminded myself as I looked out the window. We were still climbing, and the rain was still pouring down—I could hardly see anything outside. It was also getting later, and there hadn’t been any thunder or lightning in a while.
I shivered again and closed my eyes, yawning.
I opened my eyes again when the car stopped.
There was another road branching off to the right, but we’d gotten much higher on the mountainside. I squinted to try to read the signposts.
“The sign says Thirteenth Lake Road goes off that way, but that’s not what my map says.” Mom’s voice was annoyed, and I couldn’t help but grin. She hated it when things didn’t go the way they were supposed to. “The map says to keep heading straight up the side of the mountain, on the same road.”
“Does the map name this side road?”
I closed my eyes and tuned them out.
I missed Marc.
I started to drift off to sleep, my parents’ voices just noise, droning on in the background. I hadn’t slept well last night, and Mom had gotten us up ridiculously early for the trip to the airport. I was sleepy, and so felt myself drifting off.
In the dream I was walking through the woods. The sun was shining and it was a warm spring day, and I was sweating just a little bit. But my heart was singing because I was in love and was going to be seeing my love in just a moment or two. A bee buzzed past my head as I walked, and I stopped to pick some beautiful yellow wildflowers growing in a bunch just to the side of the path. I held them up to my nose and took a deep inhale. It was a beautiful day, and it felt good to just be alive. I kept walking down the path and came around a corner. There, the path started sloping downward to a clearing where a log cabin sat. There was a well, with a brick wall built around it and a hood with a bucket hanging down from a crossbeam by a rope. There were rose bushes blooming in front of the cabin, and my heart leaped a bit in my chest. I saw Marc come out of the cabin door, wearing nothing more than a pair of old-fashioned trousers that looked strange on him, and he looked up to see me standing on the path, and his freckled face broke into a big smile, the sun glinting on his coppery red hair—
I was startled out of my nap by the sound of my mother swearing loudly.
“This stupid damned road just circled back to the original one!” I could tell by her tone she was getting angry, the way she always did when things didn’t follow her plan. “Are we just supposed to drive around the side of the stupid damned mountain all night?”
“It’s okay, honey,” Dad answered, in the patented calm-Mom-down voice he’d perfected over the years, as I stretched in the back seat and looked out the window. “We’ll get there.”
The rain had stopped, but an eerie mist had come up. As I stared into the woods, the mist seemed to make shapes out in the forest, weirdly ghostlike, and I shivered. The dream had been so peculiar—it wasn’t weird for me to dream about Marc the way I had, but what was weird was how I’d seen him in the dream. Those old-fashioned pants and the cabin in the clearing—what was that all about? It didn’t make any sense, but then again, it was just a stupid dream. “Are we lost?” I asked, stifling another yawn.
“I think I’ve got it figured out,” Dad said with a cheerful laugh, looking at me in the rearview mirror. “The directions and the maps were bad, is all. I think it should be right around this next curve.”
I saw a wooden building out the side window, with a paved parking area in front of it. The porch light was on, shining yellow.
“That should be Iroquois Cabin,” Dad said as the road climbed even more steeply. “And up ahead…”
We went around the curve, and there it was, with a big sign in the grass where the road widened into an enormous parking lot: MOHAWK LODGE AND RESORT. It was a long, two-story wooden building, and a yellow porch light was on by the front door. There were some other wooden buildings on the other side of the parking lot. Dad made a U-turn and parked, the headlights of the SUV shining in the wispy mist that seemed to be rising out of the grass. Another yellow light cast light on the other side of the big building, and through the mist I could see that the lawn sloped gradually downward to the silvery surface of a lake, glittering in the moonlight.
I shook my head. It all seemed so—so familiar somehow…but that had to be my imagination.
Dad shut the engine off, and the other two vehicles also parked. He grinned at Mom and winked at me. “All right, I guess we should get all checked in, don’t you think?”
I opened the door and climbed out. The night air was heavy and damp enough to make me sweat, but it wasn’t that hot. I yawned and stretched, and followed my parents inside. Just inside the front door there was a small gift shop off to the right, with a cash register on the counter. An enormous room stretched out in front of me. An area that looked like a dining room was separated off from the main room by a split-rail fence, and there were some tables on this side of the fence as well. In the dining room, the outside wall was lined with windows—but I couldn’t really see anything other than mist through the glass. There were couches and rocking chairs spread out around an enormous fireplace, and stuffed animals lined the mantelpiece—I recognized a raccoon and an armadillo. Deer heads and some shiny fish were mounted on the dark paneled walls, glassy black eyes staring out over the room.
It kind of gave me the creeps.
A woman with long gray braids hanging from either side of her head came through swinging doors just past the fireplace that I assumed led to the kitchen. She was wearing a blue denim shirt, jeans, and a white apron. She was wiping her hands on the apron as she came toward us, a big smile on her face. “I was getting worried about you,” she said when she reached us. “I’m Lisa Bartlett. Welcome to Mohawk Lodge and Resort.”
“We’d have been here sooner but the directions—” Mom started to say, but Dad cut her off quickly.
“We’re here now, that’s all that matters.” He held out his hand. “Hank Thompson. This is my wife, Arlene, and our son, Scotty.”
“We’re very delighted to have you here,” Mrs. Bartlett said. Her smile hadn’t wavered at all, even when Mom had started to get a little bitchy about the directions. “Let’s get you all checked in. You’re the only guests we have right now—summer is our slow season.”
Dad and Mom followed her into the gift shop, and I wandered across the room to the split rails separating the dining area from the living room. I took the step down into the dining area and crossed over to the big plate-glass windows. I heard the front door open and close behind me as others in our little group came inside, and I could hear some talking but didn’t pay attention to any of it as I stared down the long lawn to the surface of the lake—Lake Thirteen. Something was nagging at me, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was. Every time I thought I almost had a hold on whatever it was, it was gone. I sighed and pressed my forehead against the glass. There was a porch running along that side of the lodge, with a railing made of the same raw-looking split wood. I could see tables and chairs made from unfinished wood placed at even intervals along the porch, and there was a tire swing hanging from a pine tree just at the far edge of the lawn.
Everything seemed so familiar—like I’d been here before.
But that wasn’t possible. I’d never been to Mohawk Lodge before.
It didn’t make sense.
I shook my head and turned away from the window. I couldn’t help but grin when I saw my mom hugging the Wolfes and the Starks.
Our fathers were pledge brothers at Beta Kappa fraternity at the University of Virginia. Our moms went there, too—that’s where they all met. The three families took turns choosing the group vacation destination—last year had been our turn, and we’d
chosen a beach house on Sanibel Island in Florida. We’d been taken a little aback when the Wolfes chose this place—they’d gone in the winter—but Mom and Dad were determined to make the best of it. I’d done some web searches—Mom’s passion for American history was going to require visits to nearby Fort William Henry and Fort Ticonderoga. With Lake Thirteen right here, the Hudson River a short drive away, and all kinds of hiking and bike paths through the woods, there would be plenty to do during the day.
At least, that’s what Mom kept saying, like she was trying to convince herself.
“I know it’s silly,” Mom had said one night over dinner, after the plans had been finalized, “but just the name makes me nervous. Lake Thirteen? It just seems unlucky, is all.” She shivered as she passed me a bowl of garlic mashed potatoes. I tried to hide a smile without much luck, and she made a face at me. “Laugh at me all you want, mister,” she wagged a finger at me. “But I’ve got a bad feeling about this trip. Mark my words, something bad is going to happen up there.”
Dad and I had exchanged glances and tried not to laugh at her. Mom had never really gotten past her bad feeling, but you’d never guess it by looking at her hugging Aunt Lynda.
“Dude!” Carson Wolfe gave me high-five as I walked up. Carson was short, maybe five-six at most, with dirty-blond hair, a round face, and big blue eyes. He lowered his voice as he looked at me over the top of his glasses. “Ghost hunting later, right? You up for it?”
I tried not to smile. “Sure.” I shrugged. “Why not? Where’s Rachel?” Rachel was his sister. She was a year younger than us.
He rolled his eyes. “She wouldn’t get out of the car.” He started to say something else, but I was distracted by a big hug from his mother.
Lynda Wolfe was a small woman, barely five feet tall, and looked like she didn’t weigh more than ninety pounds. Her thick black hair was parted in the center and pulled back into a long ponytail, the way it always was. Her skin was tanned, but her face looked different somehow in a way I couldn’t quite identify. “You’re such a big handsome young man now,” she said in her breathless way, her smile widening as she looked up at me. I smiled as her husband crushed my right hand and yanked my arm up and down overenthusiastically. David Wolfe looked like he’d gained some weight in the year since I’d seen him last, and he barked questions at me without giving me a chance to answer.
That hadn’t changed.
“Logan and Teresa are outside playing soccer,” their mother, Nancy Stark, said as she kissed my cheek and gave me a hug. Nancy Stark was the tallest of the three adult women, almost my height, and also really thin. She smelled slightly of roses. She also had a dark tan, and her brown eyes were warm.
Her husband, Jerry, shook my hand less vigorously than Uncle David had and started quizzing me about my tennis game. “Maybe we’ll have some time to hit the ball around some,” he said as my dad came back out of the gift shop with the keys to Iroquois Cabin.
I excused myself as my father greeted his old friends—the usual shoulder punches and affection in the form of insults they never seemed to grow out of—and slipped back out the front door. Teresa Stark, wearing an orange Longhorn Football T-shirt over a pair of white shorts, grinned at me and jogged over to where I was standing on the cement sidewalk between the front door and the parking lot. Behind her, her twin brother Logan swore—he hadn’t been able to stop the swing of his leg, and the ball went sailing down the sloping lawn past where Teresa had been standing. I willed myself not to watch him running and smiled as Teresa gave me a big hug.
Teresa was about five-eight and, like her mother, wore her brown hair cut short. She wore round gold-framed glasses on her pert little nose over her wide brown eyes. She smiled with her entire face, from her pointed chin to her round cheeks, her eyes crinkling in pleasure. She rarely wore makeup, and she wasn’t wearing any at the moment. She had beautiful skin that always seemed to glow, and she was always tanned golden from playing soccer and softball. She was effortlessly good-looking and never really seemed to care how she looked.
Both Teresa and Logan were soccer stars at their suburban Dallas high school, with a strong chance of getting college scholarships to keep playing. But while Logan was lazy about studying, Teresa was a straight A student with her sights set clearly on law school.
“You look good,” Teresa hugged me again. “It’s so good to see you!”
“You, too.” I replied, hugging her back. I still felt a little awkward around her, even though clearly the coming out e-mail wasn’t a big deal to her. I hadn’t thought it would be—Teresa had always hated injustice, which was why she wanted to be a civil rights attorney. That’s part of the reason I was so surprised she never answered me. “What do you think of this place?” I gestured with my hand, and out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw something at the tree line on the other side of the parking lot.
I turned my head, but there was nothing there at all.
“Are you okay?” Teresa asked, her smile fading into a frown.
I turned back to her slowly. “You didn’t see anything over there, did you?” I pointed, starting to feel more than a little foolish.
She shook her head. “No. No, I didn’t.” She peered at me over the top of her glasses. “You sure you’re okay?”
As she said the words, once again I had that weird sense of familiarity—
And for just a moment, the pavement changed into dirt and rock—
And just as quickly changed back.
I gulped. What the hell was that?
“You look pale,” Teresa reached over and felt my forehead with her right hand. “You’re not hot.” Her eyebrows knit together. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”
“I didn’t sleep good last night,” I said, forcing a smile on my face. “I’m just really tired.” And I’m seeing things. I stole another glance over to the edge of the forest. There was nothing there, nothing at all. You’re just tired, I said to myself again.
“Okay,” she nodded, leaning in closer to me as Logan approached, the soccer ball tucked under his arm and a big grin on his face. “We don’t care about the gay thing, you know, you’re still Scotty, if that’s what you’re worried about, okay? We wanted to talk to you in person—not online, okay?” Impulsively, she planted a kiss on my cheek.
I hadn’t realized until that moment just how tense I’d been about it. I wiped at my eyes, turning my head slightly so she couldn’t see the sudden tears her words had caused. “Thanks,” I said softly as Logan slugged me in the arm.
“Come on, Scotty,” my mother called. “Logan, Teresa—we’ll see you at dinner.”
“See you guys in a bit,” I said, trying not to yawn, and I walked across the parking lot and climbed into the backseat of the SUV.
“Any trouble?” Mom asked as Dad started the engine.
“Nope,” I replied, closing my eyes and leaning back into the seat.
But I deliberately avoided looking at that spot in the tree line as we drove past it.
I was just tired, that’s all it was.
A short nap before dinner was all I needed, and I’d be fine.
Chapter Two
All six of the adults were sitting in the lodge’s little bar, drinking too much and laughing a little too loudly as they relived the glory days of past vacations and their college days—stories we’d all heard so many times before on the first nights of previous vacations I could probably recite them word for word. Once the reminiscing started after dinner, the five of us had gone into the game room. The game room was a small space through a door off the big main room. It had its own little bathroom and a back staircase leading up to the second floor. There was a desk with an ancient desktop computer sitting on it in one corner, and the wireless router was right behind it. There was a dusty air hockey table and a battered foosball table against the wall by the staircase. Right behind the L-shaped couch was a stack of well-worn board games, with Trivial Pursuit, Life, and Monopoly on the top. And in front of the couch w
as a coffee table, its top scattered with old issues of People, Us Weekly, Better Homes and Gardens, and Good Housekeeping. There was a big picture window with the curtains pulled open along the wall facing the lake, but it was now so dark outside the glass might as well have been painted black. An enormous flat-screen television was mounted on the wall opposite the couch and a cheap plywood entertainment center set beneath it, with stacks of DVDs and ancient videotapes on its shelves—mostly Disney movies and other so-called “family” entertainment. Of course, there was just basic cable.
And the game room of the lodge was the only place on the entire property with Internet access. The wireless signal was pathetic—none of us could get online anywhere else on the property. But no matter how many times we complained about it, that wouldn’t change. And the zero-bars thing? Not just a dead spot—there was no cell service here, unless you drove down the mountain back to the state highway.
Mohawk Lodge and Resort was a bit on the rustic side, to say the least.
I was sitting at the round table off to the side of the room away from the window facing the lake, near the desk and the game tables. I frowned at my phone. Marc still hadn’t answered my last text, nor had he sent me an e-mail. I scrolled through my Facebook news feed, but no one had posted anything new since the last time I’d checked it. I typed in I am so bored I could scream but deleted it without posting it. I put my phone down and leaned back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling.
I’d taken a nap after we’d gotten settled into Iroquois Cabin, which was just down the mountain road a bit from the lodge—Dad had been right about that. The Wolfes were staying in Algonquin Cabin, which was even farther down the mountain, and the Starks were in Huron—I wasn’t quite sure where that was exactly. My room was huge, with its own bathroom and its own little back deck made of raw wood. I’d gotten a little creeped out when I checked it out—stepping out there, with its railing and three steps down to a dirt path that led back into the forest. It was the same feeling I’d had up in the parking lot at the lodge, like someone was watching me. But I knew that wasn’t possible, so I went back inside, locked the door, and put the chain in place. I unpacked quickly and lay down on the bed, closing my eyes and falling asleep almost immediately.
