“Then what’s the plan?” Sam said.
Daryl looked at each of them in turn. “First, we’re going to the island, to take pictures of everything, and gather some data relative to the deaths I have documentation on. Marie will get us a boat, and we’ll meet two weeks from now on the shore of the nature preserve. That’s October twenty-seventh, at dusk.” He got to his feet. “We can question the locals and do the dry research later.” Daryl strode out, the others following.
“So long as there’s no wet research,” Marie mumbled worriedly, as she hurried after them.
“She chickened out,” Sam said for the second time, eyeing his watch. “Or she’s dead in a car accident.”
“You’re fun,” Nikki said nastily. “Be morbid, why don’t you?”
“She was supposed to be here an hour ago—”
“And I would’ve been,” Marie said loudly, startling them. “But I had to winch the boat by myself onto the trailer. My jerk brother and his friends never put it on for me.” She strode into the clearing, then gestured with one hand. “If you get in the water, I’ll back the trailer down in.”
“Hurry,” Sam said to Daryl. “We’ve only got a few minutes until it gets too dark to see clearly without lights.”
“I’m a private used to desert work, not a Marine,” Daryl joked. “Sam may know his way around boats, but you’re going to have to instruct me, Marie.”
Under Marie’s direction, Sam and Daryl released the boat from its few trappings, clamped on the motor, and got the craft into the water.
“We should wait for morning,” Marie suggested. “My cousin got killed at dusk. The currents are dangerous—”
“We’ve been over this,” Daryl said sternly. “If we go there in the daytime, someone will see us. We’ve got to go there at night, and get the boat up on shore and hidden before daybreak. We’ll sleep the rest of tonight, then do our research tomorrow during the day. We’ll head back as soon as it gets dark.”
“He’s right,” Nikki agreed. “That gives us the least risk of getting caught. I’m on a scholarship, remember? I get one infraction, and I’m out.”
“So am I,” Marie said grumpily. “Dark will do. Did you get the night vision goggles, then?”
“Right here,” Daryl said, brandishing them. “Load up, and let’s get going.”
Quickly, they stowed their gear in the boat, then began their journey across the black water, the motor loud in the night’s stillness. Daryl watched through the goggles as Marie piloted the boat.
“See any ghosts?” Sam joked.
“Nothing except your dead sense of humour,” Daryl replied scathingly.
Closer they edged, ripples from the boat’s wake lapping the islands shore. Sam jumped out, then pulled them into the shallows. The rest got out, then together they hefted the boat and motor, bringing it up on shore.
“Thank God this is lightweight,” Nikki puffed.
“If you’d eat less chips and exercise more, that wouldn’t be a problem,” Sam teased.
Nikki cast him a dark look, and didn’t reply.
They set down the boat and motor behind a low stone wall.
“Is this granite?” Marie asked, running her fingers along the stones. “It’s odd colored, almost—”
“Red,” Sam answered. “It’s very rare to find granite so solidly colored. Marbled is much more common.”
“Why is that, oh knowledgeable geologist?” Nikki teased.
“That’s because it’s drenched in blood,” Sam said seriously, then let out a howl.
“Enough,” Nikki said sharply. “Daryl, what’s the plan here? You said you want pictures of everything, and I’ve brought my cameras. What are you looking for in particular?”
“Scary shots,” Daryl answered, opening a notebook. “Most places people find scary are at the very ends of the spectrum, such as claustrophobic or cavernous in size. They’re very cold or very hot in temperature where you wouldn’t expect it. Often exits are hidden from plain view, or there are too many doors to be faced all at once so you have to leave your back to an exit. Temperature aside, Nikki, shoot anything you can that illustrates how the layout of Latham’s Landing itself leads to disquiet—”
“I just felt a cold draft,” Marie said, turning to look uneasily at the last fading sunglow.
“You’re outside on an island at night,” Nikki said, rolling her eyes. “We’re all feeling a cold breeze. Come on, let’s get inside.”
The group turned on flashlights, then made their way to the front door. Surprisingly, the padlock was not locked.
“That’s a relief,” Daryl said, taking it off and pocketing it. “We can say we found it open, if we’re caught.” He swung wide the door. The stench of dust and disuse rose from the opening, along with the scent of something rotted and moldering.
“Yuck,” Marie said, stepping back.
“We’ll light a fire,” San said, walking in calmly. “Any house closed up for a long time smells like this. We can bed down in the main room here. This house is old, so it has to have a fireplace. All we need is to gather some driftwood.”
An hour later, the group sat before a cheerily burning fire, eating chips and drinking soda. After making the fire, they’d spread out their sleeping bags in a semi-circle around it, placing a few propane lanterns on the floor. Their light caught the ornate carved shells, cresting waves, and mermaids of the woodwork, making them gleam and shine through their coating of dust.
“You’re right, this place is nice,” Nikki said, stuffing another wad of chips into her mouth. “That fireplace is beautiful.”
“Yeah, but what happened to the furniture?” Marie mused. “There’s nothing here at all, not one chair.”
“Probably sold for taxes,” Daryl said. “Have you got any ideas for your drawing?”
“You’re writing a paper, not a book,” Marie said. “I still don’t see why you need any drawings.”
“Because it’s unlikely we’ll capture any ghosts on film, Marie,” Daryl said with a sigh. “My thesis advisor was against this idea from the first, telling me he’d read many papers on the topic and all of them were boring as Hell.” He made a face. “I’ve got the psychology down pat, but my paper needs something stimulating to make it soar. I can pull this off if I can find the images and inspiration to present it. I need this trip to net me more than some artfully done pictures to go with my dry facts and figures.”
“Speaking of netting,” Nikki giggled. “Sam and I are going to bed. Just ignore any sounds you hear. Come here, Boy.”
Sam gave a large grin, then joined her in zipping their sleeping bags together. Moments later came the sound of kissing, then soft cries of pleasure and shared anticipation.
“I thought she had a boyfriend?” Daryl murmured, casting a look at Marie.
“She does,” Marie sighed. “But he’s not here. Love the one you’re with, oh yeah.”
Daryl grimaced, but didn’t reply.
“I’m glad we blocked the doors,” Marie said, casting her eyes to the far wall. “You’re right about open doors causing uneasiness.”
Three doors opened off the room they occupied. The one they’d come in by, and two more that led deeper into the house. One lead to a small room with no exits, maybe a large closet from days gone by. The other led into a hallway. At its far end was a huge staircase, multiple doors both above and below it barely visible in the gloom. Without much discussion, they’d used some rope they’d brought along together with long, stout pieces of driftwood to secure both inner doors. The outer door they’d blocked from opening in with a chunk of granite from outside.
“Yes,” Daryl said, writing in his notebook. “Odd the way an unsecured entrance to a sleeping chamber is almost always a cause for fear. It’s called Closet Door Syndrome.”
“I had that in my youth,” Marie said, cracking a smile. “But I’m surprised you did.”
“No one is invulnerable to fear,” Daryl said seriously. “That’s one of the key poin
ts of my research. I’m going to chronicle my own thoughts and reactions as well as yours while we’re here, so please let me know if anything gives you cause for fear.”
“What about the odd noise in the dark? Is there a name for that?”
“No,” Daryl said, finally cracking a smile. “You’d better go to sleep. We’ve got a long day tomorrow, then the trip back in the dark.” He closed his notebook, then slipped into his sleeping bag. “The two lovebirds seemed to have exhausted themselves, but that might not last long.”
“You’re right,” Marie said, crawling into her sleeping bag. “Goodnight.”
Nikki awakened them with a scream.
“What is it?” Marie said sleepily, rubbing her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Footsteps,” Nikki said, clutching Sam. “Upstairs.”
“Daryl?” Marie called. “Where are you?”
“Right here, of course,” Daryl replied, sitting up with a yawn. “What’s the problem?”
“Someone’s upstairs,” Nikki whispered.
Daryl rolled his eyes. “It’s probably just a mouse—”
Deliberate footsteps began overhead, each tread measured and slow. Foreboding rose in the four college kids below listening as something moved intently overhead.
“They’re heading for the stairs,” Marie whispered, eyes wide.
“What if the door opens?” Nikki screeched.
“I secured it,” Sam assured her, holding her tightly. “Don’t worry, Babe.”
The steps went to the head of the stairs, then began to descend, each footfall drawing nearer. None of the group below moved, their breathing shallow and hushed. All at once, the sounds stopped.
“God, is it waiting out there?” Marie said frantically. “What do we do?”
“Nothing,” Daryl said, grabbing her hand. “Shh. Be still.”
They waited, the moments ticking by.
“Is it gone?” Nikki whispered finally.
“There wasn’t anyone there,” Sam said calmly. “It was probably the house settling. Sometimes that can sound like footsteps.”
“We found the door unlocked,” Marie shot back. “What if there is someone else here?”
“Then we’ll handle him when he breaks down the door,” Sam said grumpily, lying back down. “But until that happens, go back to sleep.”
Uneasy, Sam, Nikki and Marie lay back down, one by one dropping off to sleep.
Marie awakened close to midnight. The others were sleeping around her. One propane lamp was still burning. The large room was oddly stifling, as if the large fireplace held a roaring fire instead of dark shadows and dim coals. Tiredly, she reached over and shut off the lamp.
Darkness settled over the room.
Damn, why were these sleeping bags so uncomfortable? She’d never get to sleep…
Nikki woke suddenly. She lay there, chest heaving. God, what an awful nightmare...
There was a soft hiss in the silence.
Nikki gave a sharp intake of breath. Something was nested near her legs.
God, could it be a snake? No, the shape was like a cat, a light pressure too big for a snake. Heat radiated from whatever it was, soaking into her through her thick down bag.
Maybe it was a possum. She moved lightly, shifting, praying it not be a skunk. Whatever it was moved slightly, then resettled.
Fear grasped her, chasing sleep from her thoughts. What was down there? What if it bit her? Vivid mental pictures of yawning fangs and crazed eyes assaulted her mind. Nikki closed her eyes tight
The thing shifted, then began to crawl up the side of the bag slowly, soft rustling with each deliberate step.
Heart pounding, Nikki lay as still as she could, fighting the urge to scream, her body twitching slightly. Please go away, she prayed silently. Please, please go away…
On eager feet, a dark shape crept onto her chest, then settled down. Immediately, Nikki began to sweat from the heat, each moment lasting hours, the steady tick of her watch crazily slow, as if time itself had slowed down.
All was quiet for three agonizing seconds.
Suddenly, the mass shifted, the small pressure becoming unbearable weight compressing her lungs. Nikki’s heartbeat spiked, her urge to scream unbearable. Her mouth opened, a slight whimper sounding. She couldn’t breathe. She fought to move, straining to push the thing off her, but her limbs wouldn’t obey. Each moment, the need for air became a more desperate urge. God, she was going to die!
Nikki awoke with a gasp, soaked in sweat. Her friends lay about her, sleeping, bathed in light moonlight.
She sagged back down in relief. God, it had just been a dream…
A hiss sounded.
Nikki looked up. Near the fireplace, a small creature crouched, the short horns on its small head curled twists. It bared its small fangs, lashed its pointed tail, then clambered up the chimney, the scratching of its claws loosing bits of brick as it scrambled upwards.
Nikki gaped, then bolted for the chimney, locking the grate in place. From the chimney, another small sound came, almost a whine. But there was no more scrabbling sounds of upward movement, just a few bits of brick that fell down.
Whatever it was, it was up there, waiting. The grate blocked off the chimney, but what if it was able to move the grate? It would come back down…
She crossed two pieces of driftwood before the fire, making a crude cross.
Another hiss sounded from the chimney, this one angry, almost stymied.
Shivering, Nikki got back into her sleeping bag, pulling the covers over her head. Maybe there wasn’t any alcohol, but she’d come prepared. She downed two valium, saying a prayer as she did, then lay back down, huddling next to Sam.
Sam awoke. Damn, that woman was too close. She was too hot, and so was he. Had the fire been stoked again?
He rolled her away from him, then got up, stretching. No, the fire was out. In fact, the grate was up, though a couple of sticks lay before it for some reason. Odd…
Wait. Sound was coming from somewhere, just audible at the edges of his consciousness. He walked around the room, looking for the source. Where was it coming from?
After a moment, Sam determined the source. The sound was coming from beyond the door, the one fastened shut with rope. Should he open it? Probably not, the others had been determined to block it off before they went to bed…
Wait. The door wasn’t tied shut anymore, or braced. It was slightly open, the rope knots undone and trailing.
Taking a deep breath, he strode to the door and pushed it wide. Music echoed faintly from above. Someone was playing a flute, or maybe an out of tune piano.
Sam retreated to his bag, and pulled out his gun, glad he’d brought it against Daryl’s wishes. If some assholes were here trying to scare them, he wanted to return the favor.
He went up the stairs, looking for the music.
Daryl awoke. He wiped his brow. Why was it so hot? Maybe they should open a window…
Wait, the door was open. Sam was gone.
He scrambled to his feet, unsure if he should follow, or stay with the girls. If he woke them with Sam unaccounted for, there was sure to be hysteria. Damn it, he’d told them all not to go off by themselves.
Daryl turned on one of the lanterns, then settled down to wait.
Sam climbed higher, panting. The heat was less now, but he was sweating from exertion, having searched room after room, floor after floor. The music was elusive, always there but never coming from a specific direction, always in front of him as if carried on the wind.
Finally, he reached the top of the house, opening a door onto a large balcony that looked out onto the lake. By the bright moonlight, the shoreline was stark as if in daylight. There was a metallic gleam in the trees. To his surprise, it was his own truck.
So much for being discreet. The police would see that in their boats if they were patrolling tonight. Damn moon…
Wait, there wasn’t supposed to be a moon tonight. Daryl had deliberately picked a week wit
h a new moon, so they wouldn’t be seen.
The music sounded again, the haunting tone plaintive, wistful. It was much closer.
Sam turned. At the far edge of the balcony, a female figure stood, playing a flute, long hair blowing in the wind, her jeans stained with sand.
“Hello?” Sam called. “Who are you?”
The figure turned. It was a girl, her eyes swimming with tears. “Go,” she said softly. “Go while you still can.”
“Who are you?”
The girl wiped her eyes on a long sleeve. “A memory.” She turned back to the water and played a few more notes.
All at once, light broke the night into shards, all the windows of the house suddenly ablaze. Revealed by the light was a figure at the granite landing standing, looking out to sea, oddly fuzzy as if a shadow was on him. It looked like a man, but it couldn’t be Daryl.
Sam turned to the girl to ask her if she knew who it was, but she was gone. The air was empty and quiet, the only song that of the night breeze gently blowing.
Daryl fidgeted, wondering if he should wake the others. Sam had been gone a long time. He’d heard no sounds of trouble, but that didn’t mean Sam was okay.
A sharp crack sounded from directly above him. Daryl looked up in fear just in time to get a small clump of plaster between his eyes, the effect stunning him. He sprawled back on the floor, the dust cloud making him cough. He swiped at his face with his sleeve, his eyes immediately tearing up.
Sam watched the shadowy figure. It hadn’t moved, but that didn’t mean it was friendly. The shape wasn’t a branch or some stump. It was definitely a man. He’d better alert the others. Turning, he headed downstairs, hurrying fast, his gun at the ready.
Daryl got to his feet choking, his eyes blurry and stinging. He wiped at them with his hands, but that made the stinging worse. He reached for the bottle of water. His grasping hands clutched it, then it slipped from his grasp, water glugging out onto the floor.
Latham's Landing Page 4
