Latham's Landing (6 page)

“
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 with 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.

Damn it. He needed water to immerse his eyes
He staggered for the door, and threw it open, heading to the
shoreline on faltering feet.

Sam paused, confused. He could’ve sworn that
door hadn’t been there when he’d come this way, there had only been
a hallway that had led back to the main staircase. He opened the
door, finding another closet.

Damn it, another dead end. He didn’t have
time for this crap!

Slamming the door shut in frustration, he
backtracked again, anxiously looking for the staircase down.

Daryl plunged his hands into the icy water,
swearing as he banged his knee painfully on some rocks. He splashed
at his eyes, the grittiness and stinging easing even as his vision
remained blurry.

He splashed again, the water washing the last
of the grittiness and pain away. Scarily, his vision remained oddly
fuzzy.

Daryl looked back at the house, getting to
his feet shakily. Could he see well enough to get back to the
house? There was no moon tonight.

Eerily, all at once, lights all over the
house came on, light shining through the many windows. Daryl
blinked, and took a step back. As he did, he noticed a shadowy
figure standing near the granite landing.

“
Sam?” he called.

The figure shifted, the blurry outline of it
almost rippling. It began to come toward him.

Sam put his fist into the door, the loud bang
satisfying even as he grimaced in pain. Where the hell was the
door? He’d retraced his steps five times, and five times he’d come
to dead ends. No matter which way he tried, he couldn’t get below
the second floor, or find that main staircase. What the hell was
going on?

He looked out the window. The shadowy figure
was gone from its post. Sudden worry for his friends filled him,
along with desperate resolve. Wrapping his fist in his shirt, he
put his fist through the window, shattering it. Then he crawled out
onto the roof, dropping with a grunt to the ground.

“
Sam?” Daryl called.

The figure was still slowly approaching, but
it hadn’t answered. Strangely, it was walking in the shadows beyond
the light cast from the house windows, not in the light itself.
Louder and louder came the sound of methodical splashing.

Fear touched him with icy fingers. Sam
wouldn’t walk in the treacherous dark water when he could walk on
well-lit ground. Daryl’s hand went to his pocket, easing open his
folding knife, his army training kicking in. “Who are you?” he said
defiantly.

Sam looked around frantically. He’s sworn he
heard someone call his name. Where had the shadowy figure gone?

He moved close along the shore, searching,
his gun at the ready.

The dark figure was almost upon him. Daryl
grasped the knife loosely, praying he wouldn’t have to use it.

“
Who are you?” he cried. “What do you
want?”

The figure lunged for him. Daryl stabbed
reflexively, his knife going deep. The figure crumpled with a
groan.

A shot rang out. Daryl fell backward, the
blast to the chest knocking him down even as he twitched, blood
pumping from his chest.

Sam awoke gasping, clutching his side. Around
him, his friends slept peaceably. His eyes went immediately to the
inner door. It was closed.

He sagged back in relief, then Daryl awoke
flailing, clutching his chest.

“
You had a nightmare, too?” Sam
whispered. “You okay?”

“
Yes,” Daryl said, reaching for his
notebook. “God, it was vivid.”

“
Mine, too,” Sam said, grabbing Nikki
in his arms and lying down.

“
Want to tell me about it?” Daryl said,
writing notes on his dream furiously.

“
In a little while,” Sam answered,
after a moment. “When its light.”

Marie awoke, yawning. By the clock, it was
dawn. She got up, relieved to see the inner door leading deeper
inside the house was still shut. Oddly, the door leading outside
was unlocked, slightly ajar, a cool breeze coming in. The rock
bracing it shut from inside had been moved.

One of the others must have opened the door
in the night. “Thank God for that,” she said, dressing quickly. “It
was stifling in here.” She got out a bottle of water, then slipped
on her shoes and went out to enjoy the sunrise.

The predawn darkness was cool, the breeze
clean and heavy with dampness. Marie breathed deep, the air
refreshing her. She wandered down near the shore, faint light from
the breaking dawn illuminating the darkness. She sat down on a
large rock.

Soft music came to her on the wind. She
turned to see a girl nearby, a recorder of some kind in her
hands.

Marie was utterly still, not moving. This had
to be a ghost. Damn, she should’ve grabbed Nikki’s camera…

The girl played a haunting melody, the tone
one of regret and melancholy, the notes lingering in the damp air.
She looked out to sea as she played, her attention all on the
brightening sky.

Marie studied the girl, trying to commit
every detail to memory. She was dressed in modern clothes, stained
jeans, and a sweatshirt. Her light brown hair was long and
straight, the style simple. She was too modern to be from Latham’s
era. Likely, she’d died in one of the currents.

The girl suddenly stopped, and turned to
Marie. Her eyes were sad and resigned, their image overwhelming
Marie with grief for her.

“
I’m sorry you died,” Marie
blurted.