House of Fallen Trees

by Gina Ranalli

  Goosebumps popped up all over her flesh as she poked her head out the bathroom door, expecting to see Rory or, more likely, Saul, sitting on the bed, having a good chuckle over one thing or another. But there was no one.

  Her eyes went to the door—still closed—and the travel bags she’d placed in the center of the bed when Rory had first shown her the room upon their arrival. Nothing appeared to be disturbed.

  She shivered, colder than ever, listened in the bathroom doorway to see if the sound of laughter would be repeated. When it wasn’t, she chalked it up to a tired and overactive imagination coupled with the loudness of the water running in the bathtub and the trees thrashing against each other outside.

  This time, she closed the bathroom and, though she thought she was being ridiculously silly, used the eye-hook lock to prevent anyone from barging in on her.

  Like who? She asked herself, only partly amused. One of the two gay guys downstairs?

  She turned off the faucet and stepped carefully into the warm water, sitting down, immediately immersed in what had to be the coziest spot in the entire house right now.

  Sinking down low until only her face from the nose up remained above the water level, Karen sighed, causing bubbles to boil up around her head.

  The warm water instantly soothed her aching muscles, letting her know just how much of a workout she’d gotten on the trek up here.

  If only I could have some hot water, she thought. Scalding. Now that would be heaven. It seemed like mere minutes had passed and already the water was growing tepid. Soon it would be cold and unless she wanted to keep refilling the tub, she should move on from the soaking stage to the scrubbing one.

  Reaching for the new bar of soap Rory had provided for her, her hand stopped in mid-air as a dog began to bark ferociously. Outside. Dusty, of course. She doubted there were any other dogs freely roaming the woods, but why did the dog sound so hysterical?

  Maybe ran into a raccoon or a deer. Nothing the dog hadn’t run into before, in all probability.

  Still, the barking made Karen uneasy and she quickly finished her bath, dried herself with a starched white towel and hurried into the bedroom to put on her night clothes.

  By the time she finished dressing the barking had faded into the night until it was completely gone, with only the sounds of the wind remaining.

  That poor pooch, Karen thought, scrubbing at her damp head with the towel. She couldn’t blame Saul for despising the townie who had allowed his children to abuse and neglect the animal. Though she didn’t have any pets herself, it wasn’t because she disliked animals. Just the opposite, in fact. She was too afraid of the emotional attachment that came with them. Knowing she would come to love an animal like family—hell, probably more than family, given her hostile upbringing—just to watch it grow old and die. She didn’t see the point in putting herself through that kind of inevitable heartbreak.

  Once her hair was dry enough, she hung the towel on the doorknob and crawled beneath the covers of the bed, reaching for her computer bag as she did.

  She made herself comfortable, propping two plump pillows against the headboard, and powered up the computer. While she waited for it to boot up, she listened once more to the wind, which seemed to be dying down at last. Thank God. The last thing she needed was a two ton pine to come crashing down on her head.

  When the computer was ready, she opened a new Word document and titled it HOUSE OF FALLEN TREES, for lack of anything better. She thought for a moment and then began at the beginning, with the phone call from Rory. She knew this wasn’t the actual beginning of the story. The actual beginning started with Sean’s disappearance six months ago, but she didn’t think she could handle writing all that out just now. She would come back to it later.

  As she typed, she fell into the familiar trance most professional writers find themselves in once they tumble into the white of the screen or paper, vanishing from the present world into one made up entirely in their own minds and escaping through their fingertips. In a sense, it was almost the same as automatic writing in that the writers become unaware of their physical bodies and the world around them. She had gone as many as ten hours straight, lost in space and time, unaware she’d grown tired, hungry, thirsty or even that her bladder needed to be emptied.

  To the non-writer it probably sounded like some form of self-torture, but to writers, it was sheer bliss and a state they wished for every single time they sat down to do their jobs.

  She entered that state now, bringing herself back to her condo the evening before Rory had called. The night she’d woken to the sound of the phone, heard a bizarre message, her door open to the night.

  Her surroundings faded before her. She no longer sat in a canopy bed in an ancient and strange house in the middle of nowhere in Washington. There was only the white screen, the black words racing to fill it up, the gentle tapping of the keyboard.

  All else was lost.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  It was after midnight when she looked up from her computer, her memories of the events so far now out of her system and stored as she clicked the SAVE button for the last time that night. She couldn’t believe that despite feeling so exhausted all day, she’d still been able to get it all down without a single yawn.

  But now she barely had the energy to put the laptop aside. A walk to the bathroom was out of the question, at least for a couple minutes. Just a few minutes…she would close her eyes, only to give them a little rest. They were burning inside her skull and they needed a rest…

  She jerked awake in the dark. Had she shut off the light? She couldn’t remember doing so.

  The laptop was still open on the bed beside her, its screensaver dancing loops of color across it. The light thrown by the open computer was weak but enough to see shapes by. Groaning, she tossed the covers off and got out of bed, aiming for the bathroom like a drunk on a tossing ship.

  A ship, she thought. Now that’s funny…

  She did her business without turning on any lights and made it back into the bed without stumbling over anything. She debated on closing the laptop but realized the feeble light thrown by it was comforting in this strange place. She rolled over, her back to it so it wouldn’t keep her awake but she could still have the benefit of a nightlight. Closing her eyes, she snuggled down into the bed, feeling almost happy for a reason she couldn’t define and was too tired to puzzle out.

  Maybe it was being here. Yes, the place was odd, but it also had a certain old world charm about it. And it was Sean’s…

  The touch on her forearm was feather-light, so light it was barely perceivable, could have been mistaken for the fall of a cotton sheet across the skin, had it not been for the heat it radiated.

  Close to the precipice of sleep, she opened her eyes slowly, not even a squint, closed them again, opened them again.

  The hand on her arm was illuminated by the screensaver, clearly masculine and whiter than the petals of a new daisy. She could clearly see the cuff at the wrist—some dark-colored flannel—and then she was screaming, sitting up fast and screaming, reaching for the lamp beside the bed and screaming, fumbling fingers in the dark, screaming, screaming until she found the light switch and, despite it being a low watt bulb, the room flooded with light, plenty enough to see by and she was alone…alone in the room and still screaming, screaming, heart beating painfully, throat searing with her screams until the bedroom door flew open and Saul was there, his face terrified and confused and half asleep, dressed in a white tank-top and blue boxers.

  Dear God…only Saul. Crossing the room. Putting a strong brown hand on her shoulder, brown eyes blinking fast as he sat down on the edge of the bed. He was speaking—she could see that—but she couldn’t hear him, though she’d stopped screaming by now. Instead, she burst into tears, wrapping her trembling arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest, dampening his shirt with her tears, already feeling like a foolish, weak woman, jumping at shadows.

  But, she had seen it. She
knew she had. She just didn’t know who or what or how and that was the terrifying part.

  In the kitchen, Rory poured them all mugs of tea, which Karen accepted gratefully, wrapping her hands around the ceramic as if it were some sort of talisman that would keep her safe. Now dressed in sweatpants over his boxers, Saul watched her closely, worry creasing his brow. “It was just a dream, Karen. Nothing more.”

  “It wasn’t a dream,” she said firmly, looking away from his face and into the depths of her steaming mug. “I wasn’t even asleep.”

  “You must have been asleep,” Rory said, sitting down across from her. “You just don’t know it.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t.”

  She could sense them exchanging glances but she was sure she’d seen what she’d seen. She was positive it had not been a dream.

  “So…what?” Rory asked. “There’s a man hiding in the house?”

  “Obviously,” she snapped, harsher than she’d intended to.

  Rory had put on a robe and given her one as well. Sean’s old robe. It was soft and warm and comfortable, if a little too large for her frame. Unfortunately it was also flannel, which she found unnerving and pushed the sleeves up to her elbows despite the chill in the air.

  “That’s impossible,” Rory said.

  “Why?” she countered. “Why is it impossible?”

  He let out an exasperated moan. “It just is! All the doors are locked! Don’t you think we would have noticed a strange man in the house? Or heard him?”

  “Evidently not.” Then, as the thought occurred to her, she spoke it hopefully. “Maybe it’s a homeless person. Maybe he lives in the basement and only comes out at night! You said yourselves that you don’t go down there.”

  “We don’t go down there often,” Rory corrected. “I didn’t say we never go down there.”

  “Well, it’s possible! Why are you so quick to dismiss it as a possibility?”

  Rory looked at Saul with a pleading expression. “Jump in here anytime, Saul.”

  Saul sipped his tea and said nothing.

  “See?” Karen said, taking his silence for agreement with her. “He’s not saying it’s impossible!”

  “I’m sure you were dreaming,” Saul said quietly, barely speaking above a whisper.

  Karen gaped at him as though betrayed by a confidante. “What? I told you, I wasn’t dreaming. I was awake!”

  “Okay, fine, you were awake!” Rory was practically shouting. “But, I’m telling you there is no one in this house but the three of us!”

  Karen opened her mouth again, intending to argue further, but she saw it was useless. There would be no convincing them. It was best to just drop it, drink her tea and try to stop freaking out. Otherwise, they would think she was either insane or prone to fits of hysteria and since she was neither, she knew to make her case, she would have to remain calm and rational and just drop it for now.

  It had occurred to her that she should insist on conducting a search of the entire house, from top to bottom, but now she knew the suggestion would only frustrate them further. If she wanted to do that, she’d be doing it on her own.

  She’d have to risk coming against the intruder alone and the mere thought filled her with dread.

  “Okay,” she said at last. “You’re probably right. It was just remnants of a dream. I’m sorry I got so hysterical about it. I guess I’m just a little jumpy.”

  Both men nodded, Saul looking relieved, but Rory’s eyes narrowed just a fraction, just enough to let Karen know he wasn’t buying her sudden about-face. He knew she was full of shit, that she didn’t believe for a single second it had been a dream. From that point on Saul tried to make small talk but neither Karen nor Rory were very receptive to his attempts.

  Eventually, Rory excused himself. “I’m going back to bed, if you two don’t mind. I’ll be a total bitch tomorrow if I don’t get my eight hours.”

  Karen managed to muster up a smile and wished him a good night. It wasn’t long after that she finished her tea and bid Saul goodnight as well.

  She was far from anxious to return to her bedroom, but what choice did she have? Besides, what if they were right? What if it had been a dream? It’s not like it was completely outside the realm of possibility. She’d had lucid dreams before and though what she’d experienced didn’t feel anything like those past dreams, who was she to say it couldn’t have been one nonetheless? It wasn’t like she was an expert on them, for Christ’s sake.

  Back in her room, she went around turning on every light, though they still did little to keep back the oppressive darkness. It was too thick and loomed heavily in places where the light should have easily banished it.

  Not brave enough to try sleeping again just yet, she opened her laptop and wrote down this latest incident. She suspected she would feel like a complete fool when she reread it at some later date, but for now, she wanted to keep the journal as honest as possible.

  When she was done, she played several rounds of spider solitaire before her eyelids grew too heavy to keep open.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Karen blinked awake early the next morning for one of two reasons, either she’d been having an odd dream involving a dark room where she huddled in fear, listening to predatory voices on the other side of the walls as the beams of flashlights played back and forth outside a solitary window.

  She’d been hunted, but by who or why, she had no idea.

  The other reason she may have woken up was an unusually urgent need to pee.

  Glancing at the bedside clock, she was startled to discover it was just past 5:00 a.m. and still quite dark outside.

  She groaned, flipped the bedding back and made her way to the bathroom, stumbling and weaving a bit, as though she were not only drunk but also in a sea-tossed ship. The thought almost made her giggle—she was after all on a ship of sorts.

  When she finished in the bathroom, she returned to the bed where she lay restlessly for over an hour before she finally gave up and accepted that she was awake for good.

  Without bothering to shower, she dressed and padded quietly down to the kitchen, making her way through the gloom as carefully as possible, unwilling to turn on any lights just yet.

  Helping herself to a glass of orange juice, she sat at the table sipping and thinking about the dream that was most probably the reason she was up at this ridiculous hour.

  What did it mean, if anything, and who had been hunting her? And, why?

  So strange.

  She pondered the dream, trying to puzzle it out, until she finished the juice and finally concluded that it was pointless to try to decipher the workings of her slumbering mind. It was just one of those things. There was no reason or meaning.

  Once her glass was rinsed, she briefly debated putting on a pot of coffee, then rejected the idea. Maybe she’d want to return to bed soon. In fact, she already did want to go back to bed, but she still felt too awake at the moment.

  Gazing out the window at the shrouded morning, she drummed her fingers against the countertop, thinking. Several minutes passed before she resigned herself to the fact that if she was awake anyway, she may as well be getting some work done.

  Silent as a wraith, she moved through the house, wondering when the men would wake up. Not that it mattered. She knew neither of them would disturb her if she was in her room with the door closed. They would probably assume she’d never even been up.

  Back in her bedroom, she pulled out the laptop, waited for it to power-up and then opened the document file containing her latest book.

  She carefully read over the last page, fingers hovering over the keyboard, and when she’d finished re-reading what she’d written and her brain was back in her fictional world, she began to type with an almost magical speed.

  Lost in the land of make believe, Karen didn’t look up again until 8:45, surprised, as she often was, that she’d been able to disappear inside her head for so long.

  She listened for the sounds of
movement in the house, but heard nothing and assumed the men were still asleep. Despite its size, the house had an odd way of amplifying noise—particularly voices—and she was positive if the guys had been talking she could have easily heard at least murmurs.

  Putting aside the laptop, she rose and stretched. The idea of coffee was irresistible now and besides, her belly was rumbling up a storm.

  She left the room, anxious for the caffeine and maybe a couple of slices of toast and jam and, coincidentally, she heard a voice drift down to her from the floor above.

  Oh, good, she thought. They’re up.

  She paused in the hallway, head cocked, listening, waiting for the second voice she knew would come.

  But there was no second voice. Only the first, speaking low, then pausing as if listening to a reply she couldn’t hear.

  Immediately, she knew one of them—probably Saul—had somehow managed to get a cell signal and was chatting on the phone.

  Thank God.

  She began climbing the stairs. Though she didn’t need to call anyone, it was still comforting to know that she could call out if she wanted—or needed—to.

  At the top of the staircase, she hesitated, looking down the long dim hallway, first in one direction and then the other, trying to determine if the voice was coming from the left or the right.

  When the voice spoke again, she knew it wasn’t Saul and her chest tightened painfully. She held her breath, peering down the hall to the left.

  More murmurs. This time she was able to make out a single word:

  “…crawling…”

  Slowly, she forced herself forward. One foot in front of the other, almost shuffling. Her mouth had gone dry, her palms damp. She suddenly felt as though she were moving through a dreamscape. A nightmare…

  She’d determined where the voice was coming from, three doors down on the left.