Chapter 20

Hayden was just turning in for the night when red and blue lights went flashed at his end of the lake. One, two, three squad cars came racing from the center of town and past his house. Moving the curtain aside, he stood at the window, watching the lights and listening to the sirens grow louder, toothbrush caught in his mouth mid-stroke.

“What could possibly be happening in this little town?” he asked aloud. He pulled his toothbrush from his mouth. Clad in white-and-blue-striped pajamas and Malcolm’s old t-shirt, his curiosity was stirred a bit. He walked down the stairs and to the front of the house. He grabbed a jacket and stepped out of the front door to see what was happening and where the cars were going.

The air was chilly and wet with the storm that had swept the town and continued to pour itself out. In the darkness, the squad cars’ lights pulsed their carnival colors through the night. They must have stopped farther down the lake; he could still see the lights but he could no longer hear the sirens.

As he stood there, bare feet planted on cold wood, his curiosity stirred stronger still. His breath came out in plumes of steam underneath his front porch light, and he wrapped the jacket a little tighter around him.

He considered jumping in his car and driving down to take a look but then he shook his head. That isn’t your job anymore. He forced himself to turn around and walk back into the house, shut the heavy door behind him and locked it tight, leaning back on its solid wooden structure. He closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath, trying to stop his heart racing.

He opened his eyes on the interior of his home and looked around at the boxes and covered furniture, suddenly feeling very alone. He put his jacket back in the hall closet and walked back up the stairs, turning lights off as he went. As he turned the corner at the head of his staircase, his eyes fell upon a pale man standing there watching him. His scraggly brown hair hung limp at the sides of his head. Dressed in black from the neck down and carrying a hat in his large white hands, he stood in the corner next to his bedroom door.

Hayden cried out, stumbling backward and falling down hard on his ass. His head connected with the banister and he instantly saw stars.

For a split second, he shut his eyes against the spreading pain in his head and then, realizing what he had just seen, he snapped his eyes open and looked in the corner. Where the pale man stood was simply an empty wall. Adrenaline surged through his bruised body as he got up on shaky legs and reached up, wincing as he gingerly touched the spot on his head that had connected with the railing. A good-sized goose egg was now rising up to greet his fingers.

“Shit,” he murmured as the pain spread through his body. He took in a deep breath to steady himself. His heart hammered hard against his ribcage, his mouth was dry, and his whole body shook with fear. He reached out for his bedroom door which was ajar and pushed it slowly open. Nothing greeted him but his made bed and a few boxes yet to be unpacked. The light was on and the ceiling fan spun lazily above the bed. He walked in slowly, alert, as he checked again for the tall figure. Nothing. He exhaled sharply.

“Jesus. What was that?” he asked aloud. His inner voice replied with one word that sent chills up his spine and caused the tiny hairs on his arms to stand up. Ghost. A tingling sensation crept through him from the top of his head to his bare toes. He walked over to the bed, grabbed the big comforter, his cell phone, and Malcolm’s picture, and went downstairs to the living room, where he set the blanket on the floor and removed the dust cover off the large sofa that he and Malcolm had purchased. He scooted it back from the piles of shrouded furniture, against the large picture window that overlooked his front yard. The blue and red lights from down the road still pulsed insistently as he lay on the couch. He placed the picture of him and his late husband next to the couch and kept his cell phone in his hand, just in case. In case of what, dumbass, you are accosted by tall, dark, and spooky? He chuckled. I just scared myself is all. There’s no such things as ghosts.

Terri and Amanda would be arriving tomorrow evening, and Tommy would be showing up early in the morning to get to work on their bedrooms, so he needed to get some sleep. Tommy, the broad-shouldered veteran, wouldn’t be afraid of a ghost, he reasoned. He laid his head on the arm of the couch and closed his eyes, thinking about the man who’d sat across from him at his kitchen table. He looked rough, hard, and would be frightening if made angry. His body was solid, his arms were large, not to mention his shoulders. I wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley. A dark bedroom perhaps… Hayden shook that thought loose from his head.

There had been no one in the year since Malcolm had died, and he wasn’t about to start having sexual fantasies about his contractor no matter how much his body reacted positively to the idea. In frustration and anger from being scared away from his own bedroom, he turned his back to the room and buried himself in the large sofa.

Suddenly very conscious that anything could come up behind him and he wouldn’t see, Hayden pulled the blanket over his head and turned on his cell phone underneath it. He searched until he found an old video recording he had made on his phone of Malcolm blowing out his last birthday cake. With the covers over his head and an ache in his chest, he watched the scene play out until his eyes grew too heavy to keep open. There he slept, blanket over his head, thinking about days long past.

* * * * * * * *

Across the lake, it was another story for Paul. As the police showed up with a wrecker behind them, he led the officers down to the side of the lake and shone his flashlight on the spot where he noticed the vehicle. The wrecker lined up and put the cable onto the back bumper and pulled the SUV out of the lake. A young woman was found in the back of the truck. She was nearly naked, wearing only a pair of pink panties and a shirt.

Don Lage got out of his patrol car, hitched up his pants, and walked over to where Paul and Linda Portman stood. She had taken his statement about finding the car after being sent down here from his boss. The blue and white lights cast an eerie glow on the woods that surrounded them and the flashing of police taking photographs made him feel like he was inside some other-worldly disco hall. As if his nausea wasn’t bad already, the pulsing lights gave him a migraine that pulsed at his temples and aggravated his stomach.

“What did you say your name was again?” the police chief asked. Paul hadn’t mentioned his name to him prior, but he let it pass. Linda stood there with him and he silently thanked her for that.

“Paul Spencer,” he said.

“And you work for the USGS?” Don asked.

“That’s right. Your police officer took down the information for my boss, including his phone number.” Paul didn’t like the man already; he was standing too close and was breathing too heavily. He was a walking heart attack and Paul had this irrational fear that if he got too close, the chances for his heart exploding in sympathy increased.

“Okay. Linda did you get all of that?”

The pretty female officer nodded her head handing over her note pad to him. He took it, scanned the information, and handed it back to her.

“So, you are here doing what exactly?” Don asked.

“We’re monitoring a recent spike in tremors in this area. I was sent here two days ago by my boss. I have met with the town mayor already, along with the city council. They know I am here and for what reason.”

“Mmm-hmm. I wasn’t told of you being here.”

“I don’t doubt that. Your mayor and two members of the council were less than thrilled with me being here themselves. When we show up, it usually isn’t a good sign. I understand this area does a great deal in tourism.”

“The mayor is a prick. Got elected because his daddy used to own a mining company, trust me, he’s worthless.”

Linda chuckled at that and gave her boss a knowing look.

Paul relaxed a little. “I’ll have my boss fax me the records of the seismic activity here. But I gotta tell you, Chief, it seems to be focused on the lake. I would warn residents to keep their distance.”

The chief’s eyes narrowed and he turned his attention out towards the lake. Linda’s eyes grew wide with the news also and shifted uncomfortably on her feet, following her boss’s eyes. Their reaction piqued Paul’s curiosity.

“Yeah we have had some things going on with the lake here. Damnedest thing. Nothing that would correlate with seismic activity, though, unless it makes people act real peculiar,” Don said absently.

“Peculiar how?” Paul was really interested now. There were old wives’ tales surrounding places where major earthquakes had been predicted. Usually, these precursors to a terrible quake were animals acting strangely and even the occurrence of a thunderstorm. He annoyed himself with the thought of that; those wives’ tales have never been proven. And so what, it was pouring out now, but that didn’t mean that Vermont was about to be shaken to bits.

“We have had a series of drownings, Mr. Spencer. We are suspecting foul play,” Don said, turning his head to meet Paul’s gaze. “Are you going to be in town for a bit?”

Paul nodded. “Yes, I’m staying over at the bed-and-breakfast on route 12.”

“Okay, well, we will be keeping in touch, huh? I’ll call you if I have any more questions. Think you can get home all right?”

And with that, Paul was dismissed. He looked over to Linda, who gave him a slight smile, and he nodded.

“Yeah I’ll get home just fine.” He turned and trudged back to his truck. He was freezing, and his insides felt like ice. Other officers glanced at him as he made his way back to his truck but then turned away when he switched on his headlights. He took one last glance at the black lake before him and then backed out of the area and onto the road heading home. He cranked the heat up and let it blast him full in the face as he drove ten over the speed limit.

When he pulled into the drive, the house was dark save for the living room light. As he walked in the door, Ms. Hatch stood up from the couch. He looked at the clock on the wall and sighed. It was past midnight.

“You’re soaking wet,” she said as she wrapped her robe around herself. She asked all her patrons to please be in by eleven p.m.

“I am sorry, Mrs. Hatch. I was down on the lake. There was an accident.”

“I heard on the police monitor in the kitchen. A drowning? That’s terrible. Come with me. I’ll get you some fresh towels and I have a pot of chicken soup on the stove. You look like you could use a dose of it. Come on now, don’t fuss,” she said, shooing him up the stairs.

He smiled at that; here he was, a forty-three-year-old man, and this lady was fussing over him like he was a child. He really did like her.

“Okay, I’m going.” He laughed.

They walked up the flight of stairs and she reached inside a closet and handed him two fluffy towels.

“Now you go take a hot shower and meet me down in the kitchen in ten minutes. I’ll have a cup of chicken soup waiting for you. It’s a good thing I was awake, otherwise you’d catch your death in this weather. Go on now,” she said, turning and walking back down the stairs. He didn’t fuss at her; a hot shower and soup sounded wonderful, so he decided he would humor her.

He was glad he did. After the hot shower and hot food, he was so sleepy, he could barely keep his eyes open. After saying goodnight and kissing Mrs. Hatch on the cheek, he took his tired and aching body back up to his bedroom where he set the alarm on the bed stand and was asleep moments after his head hit the pillow.

* * * * * * * *

After a busy day of grocery shopping and getting school projects finished, Michelle Camden, the town librarian, tucked her two little ones into bed for the night. Being a single mother to two little children, she relied heavily on their nanny, a friend of hers named Cassandra Diaz. She was the wife of Tony Diaz, one of Don Lage’s officers and the best friend of her late husband Mike.

After the accident on route 12 two years ago which took her husband’s life, Cassandra and Michelle had become almost inseparable. Mike and Tony worked together and had stopped a tourist who had been driving too fast. Per Don Lage, whenever they stopped an out of town plate, both officers were required to get out of the car and assist each other, which usually meant that one walked up to the passenger side window and the other one the driver’s side.

It was a hot day in July, Vermont’s peak tourist season, and this particular day they had stopped a New York license plate. Inside the car was a family of four on their way back from the lake at around sunset. What started off as a routine stop ended when Mike approached the window. There was a small hill on route 12 that crested about twenty yards from where they had the car pulled over. Tony didn’t see the oncoming vehicle till it was too late. Two teenagers from the next town over had borrowed their dad’s car to go joyriding and were speeding down the strip. At the crest of the hill, the driver of the car lost control and side-swiped her husband and the small sedan carrying the four New Yorkers.

The boys had been on the lake side all day, drinking and smoking pot. Basically, being stupid teenagers and her husband suffered the consequences. Mike was struck hard, momentarily pinning him between the two vehicles, and suffered a fatal blow that crushed his spine and severed his spinal cord. His abdomen had also been destroyed on impact. According to the medical examiner, he died instantly.

Cassandra accompanied her husband when Tony showed up to tell Michelle the news. Her small frame held up Michelle as she fell into her arms weeping. She was a widow at the age of twenty-six.

Now, two years later, she lived off her salary from working in the library and Mike’s pension. She also received social security for her two children until they were eighteen. Like Hayden, she mourned her husband in various little ways still. Yet unlike Hayden, her sleep would not be dreamless. As she relaxed in the bed, listening to the thunderstorm outside trailing off, she drifted beyond the land of dreams somewhere into the nightmare world.

* * *

“Michelle, you have to get out of here. Michelle!”

Her eyes snapped open; she was no longer tucked in her bed. She was standing on the edge of Lake Veronica. Wind whipped hard around her, but the voice pierced through the wind, and reached her ears nonetheless.

“Baby, you have to run!” the voice of her dead husband called out to her.

“Mike!?” She felt a surge inside of her as she looked around. Standing a few feet from her was her husband in his uniform. His eyes were pleading with her. He kept motioning with his hands and arms above his head, signaling for her to back off.

She took a step forward, disbelief coursing through her.

“Mike!” she exclaimed, her heart swelling.

“Yes, it’s me baby. NO! Don’t take another step!”

The wind whipped harder around her, throwing her long hair around. She kept trying to brush it out of her face. As she looked behind him, she saw something far out in the lake that caught her attention. A green light pulsed beneath the water and the surface immediately above it was bubbling. Shards of emerald colored light streaked out from the center like lightning bolts. Something was trying to emerge.

“Michelle run! Run back! Get out of here!” her husband shouted, the fear in his voice rising. “The truth is in the books! Baby, you have to look in the books!”

The green glow whitened as it reached the surface. The boiling increased in rapidness and Michelle took a step backward in fear. The light pierced the darkness and filled the night sky as it broke the surface. The ground shook beneath her feet, and her legs had a hard time holding her up.

“Run Michelle! RUN!”

Backing up she got her feet tangled in some ground cover and landed hard on her ass. Her breathe left her body in a whoosh and her hands jammed up into her wrists. She cried out from the pain. She was terrified of the scene around her. She called out for her husband to come with her. The ground shook harder still as a solid white beam of light rose out of the lake and with it, swirling mists. No not mists, Michelle realized. They were spirits, swirling around and around the beam of light. One of them broke free and made for her husband. It was haggard, ugly, its face sunken in, its head merely a skull and its wispy white hair clung to its scalp. When it laid eyes on Mike, it opened its wrinkled lips in a fiendish grin and swooped down, grabbing him under the arms.

“No! NO!” he screamed as it lifted him off his feet and dragged him back to the center of the lake. His screams were horrendous as it dove with him underneath the dark water.

“NO!” Michelle screamed…

* * *

She sat bolt upright in bed, soaked in sweat. Her throat was sore from screaming. Her chest was heaving, and her heart thundered deep within her breast so hard it threatened to bust loose. Her little children Kylie and Andrew were standing in her bedroom crying as they stared at their mother. She jumped out of bed and gathered them to her, kissing their faces.

“Was it a bad dream mommy?” Kylie, her five-year-old, asked. Michelle trembled so violently in their arms that she was afraid she was scaring them more. She tried to catch her breath and calm herself down. One, two, three, she counted. Her heart slowed, and she nodded.

“Yeah, baby, it was a bad dream,” she said, kissing them both on the head and standing up, both kids in her arms. Their little arms wrapped around her neck. Andrew, the three-year-old, stared at her with wide eyes while he sucked his thumb. His big blue eyes that reminded her so much of Mike’s filled with tears. She was reminded of the dream again and shuddered.

She walked them back to their room; it was four in the morning—another four hours before the sun would be up. As she lay them down, she crawled into Kylie’s bed with her.

The children slowly faded back to sleep, but she lay there awake until the golden rays of morning touched their sleeping heads. It was then and only then, she could convince herself to go back to sleep. When she awakened a few hours later, when her children insisted on breakfast, she could barely move her hands. Her wrists were terribly sore as if she had fallen hard upon them.