But she felt another chill as the busts in the room stared at her.
She blinked and looked around. Surely they weren't staring at her; no, of course, she could see it now: they were all staring straight ahead, just like an inanimate object should. But as she crossed the room, she caught a faint bit of movement in the corner of her eye, like someone's gaze flicking over for just a moment. When she looked back, the busts were still; the bronze was solid.
Nameplates were adorned just beneath each head. They gave a name and a title for each person, and they seemed to be figures central in either the building of the trading company or the construction of the mansion. Bridgette wandered past display cases, reading old newspapers about the christening of a new ship in the fleet, or gazing at trinkets and artifacts hundreds of years old that had some part in the history. At the end of the room, facing out from the wall and surveying everything was the bust of Jasper. Bridgette recognized the visage from the statue they'd all seen in the courtyard. His face seemed innocuous, but his eyes were staring directly at her.
There was no mistaking it. She studied his face carefully and saw that the eyes weren't set on the other end of the room, but on her... on her own eyes. The corners of his lips were slightly upturned, as if amused that she had discovered his secret. Bridgette felt an incredible pressure in her chest. A light sweat broke out on her forehead. She had to touch the bust. She had to touch it and then she would know that it was lifeless and she was just working herself up over nothing. She reached her hand out. Jasper smiled at her, waiting. She stared at his thin lips, wondering deliriously if they would peel back and reveal a set of teeth to snap her fingers off. Her hand inched closer, within biting distance now as Jasper's wide and expectant eyes watched.
Arms wrapped around her and she screamed, looking down and expecting to find blood pouring out of her hand.
"Bridgette, it's me! It's just me!"
The arms let her go and she turned around to find Dawson.
"What's gotten into you, baby?" he asked, concern painted on his face.
Bridgette put a hand over her chest and took a deep breath. "God, you scared me."
"I think you're letting your imagination get the better of you again," he said. "What are you doing in here, anyway? You can't go running off like that."
"Why not?" she demanded, putting her hands on her hips.
"Because life's not one big fantasy," he said. "You don't even know what's in this place! It could be dangerous... there could be someone lurking around."
"Honey, there's no one here," she replied patiently. "The curator showed Trevor around. He saw the whole thing himself. You heard him. You're jumping at shadows again, baby."
Dawson pressed a hand to the back of his neck. "I don't know, maybe you're right. Maybe I'm overreacting. It's just sometimes I worry about you. I worry that you'd just as soon jump on a pirate ship and sail away as you saw one." He chuckled.
"Well, now that you mention it..." Bridgette smiled. She playfully pushed on Dawson's chest. "Come on, baby. We're here in this beautiful mansion! I mean, have you ever seen anything like it? No one's around, and Trevor's got the run of the place for at least a week. That means we've all got the run of the place for a week. And who knows? Maybe we could actually find something out there. I'm not saying this to be mean, but try to loosen up a bit. I know this is out of your comfort zone, but it wouldn't kill you to put on a smile."
"I guess you're right," he said. "You always are, aren't you?"
She wrapped her arms around his neck. "I like to think so."
The gears started turning in his head suddenly and his face reddened a little. "Do you ever think about our future? I know I mentioned it earlier, but... at some point you figure I would want to make things a little more permanent between us, wouldn't you? Would you want that?"
"What, do you have a ring in your pocket?" she asked.
Dawson froze. "No."
"So then don't worry about it," she said. "The time will come for that. I don't know when that will be, but I know it's not right now. Right now we should just enjoy ourselves." She leaned forward and pecked him on the lips.
"Okay," he said. He slipped his hand in his pocket without her seeing and touched the ring. It felt cold to his touch now.
"Right here," Trevor said, pointing to the boat ramp ahead.
Billy eased the van to a stop, pulling just past it. Trevor hopped out and directed him as he backed the boat up into the water. Trevor unhitched it and tied the mooring line to the bollard.
"You sure you don't want me to go with you?" Billy offered. "I've heard these bayous can be a bit of a maze."
"No, I'll be okay, buddy. You take the van back to the museum. I'll be there in a bit."
Billy nodded and began the arduous process of turning the van around in the narrow lane. A plume of dust wafted into the air from the desolate road and Trevor shielded his eyes from it. He hawked up saliva and spit it on the ground, then he wiped his mouth and stared at a row of rundown houses farther down the road. They were all little bungalows, each of them worn down in their own way from years of weathering and neglect. One had a porch that was bowed in the middle. The shingles were chewed up on half the roof on another. A tattered American flag hung off a crooked pole on the façade. Beyond the houses, there was a grimy shack of a building that looked like a store.
Trevor slid a Camel between his lips and lit it. He took a drag then untied the line and climbed in the boat. He sat in the captain's chair and unfurled the map on the chair next to him. He found where he was on the map, then he found a narrow waterway that led to the back of the mansion where he could keep the boat tied up out of sight. He circled the location with a red pen then traced his finger along the path to get there. He stuck the keys in the ignition and turned over the engine, then he eased the throttle forward and got started. He guided the boat into the main channel that led out to the bay and glanced over at the map periodically to make sure he was still on track, puffing on his cigarette along the way. When he turned onto a narrow line of water coming off the channel, he could almost feel the boat slow down in the sticky murk. Cicadas chirped madly, creating an itchy buzz in the air. Distant birds sang their song and the frogs croaked to join the chorus. The air was still and stifling, like being inside an oven.
Trevor wiped his forehead and compared his surroundings to the map, pulling the boat to a crawl now. A low-hanging willow brushed across the top of the fishing boat, and when he cleared it he could see the edge of the mansion's roof up the hill next to him.
He pulled the boat to a stop next to another wide willow tree and killed the engine. He left the cabin and launched himself over the gunwale, then he tied the mooring line around the tree, making sure it was secure. He hopped back onto the boat and descended the stairs to the storage area, going over all the supplies he brought for the dive and making sure they'd be ready to rock when the time came.
The cell phone in his pocket rang.
The sound made him jump and he hit his head on the low ceiling. "Son of a bitch," he muttered out the corner of his mouth, rubbing the lump and hurrying up the stairs. He stuffed his cigarette between his fingers and pulled the phone out of his pocket. He snapped it open. "Hello?"
"Mr. McCormack," Will said from the other end.
"Oh, uh... Mr. Proper," Trevor replied.
"What's that noise I hear around you? The cicadas. Are you outside?"
"Sorry," Trevor said, gritting his teeth and hurrying back down to the storage area. "I just opened a window. What's up?"
"I think I might have left my briefcase on the desk in my office. Can you go check?"
Trevor looked up toward the deck of the boat. "Uh... yeah, hold on. Give me a sec." He marched his feet up and down on the spot, trying to make it sound like he was walking through the mansion. After counting to an arbitrary number of Mississippis in his head, he held the cell phone up to his ear again. "No, nothing here," he said.
"Hmm. Okay, I suppose I
must have left it at home. Thank you anyway."
"No pro—"
Will hung up. Trevor slowly closed his phone and put it back in his pocket. He put the cigarette in his lips and climbed up to the deck, ready to head to the mansion, when he heard a noise behind him. It sounded like bubbles breaking over the surface of the water. He went to the edge of the boat and saw tiny waves rippling along the surface. Then the swampy water became still. Trevor shook his head and turned to leave.
The water bubbled again.
He leaned over the edge and squinted at the brackish water. The water was brown with sediment flowing slowly along the surface, but he thought he could see something moving just beneath the murk. A form began to take shape, maybe a foot below the surface.
"What the hell is that?" Trevor muttered. He leaned closer to the water, gripping tightly to the rail of the gunwale to keep himself from falling off. The water would become still and then move again in an erratic cycle. He saw something that looked kind of like a small hand, dark underneath the brown water.
Trevor felt the pinprick of fear stick itself in his gut. A sweat broke out on his skin that had nothing to do with the heat. "No..." he muttered in disgust when he saw a pair of eyes. He began to feel sick as the body formed underneath the water, drifting up to the surface.
The alligator launched itself out of the water and made an attempt for his head, but Trevor jerked himself back in time to avoid its snapping jaws. He fell onto the deck and the alligator shot water from its nostrils and descended back into the brown depths. Trevor's heart raced, and when he was able he shook his head at his own stupidity and picked himself up. In anger, he took what was left of his cigarette and threw it in the water. He climbed out of the boat and hardly gave a glance back as he snaked his way up a narrow path in the hill leading to the museum.
The alligator had already swum away from the boat, but a moment later, out of Trevor's earshot, the water bubbled again.
Bridgette flicked on the light and stepped into the pantry. She frowned. Rummaging around the shelves, all she found were unappealing cans of food and one sack of dry rice.
"Anything good?" Janet asked from the kitchen.
"No," Bridgette said. Janet walked into the pantry and Bridgette held up a can of green beans to her. "Want some?"
Janet turned up her nose. "Ew, no thanks." She walked past Bridgette. "There's gotta be something good in here. Trevor said the guy stocked the place for him."
"Clearly he doesn't think much of Trevor."
"I mean, it's still food," Janet said, inspecting a can of creamed corn, "but not exactly what I had in mind."
The two of them left the pantry and stepped into the kitchen, heading for the fridge. Just like every other room of the mansion, the kitchen showed its age, with very old-style white counters and cabinets, and huge, antiquated appliances they weren't sure even worked anymore. Bridgette opened the fridge door and found a carton of milk, a head of lettuce that's freshness was questionable, a small carton of creamer, and a package of processed cheese.
"A creamed corn, lettuce and cheese sandwich, maybe?" Bridgette said, gazing into the fridge with a look of disgust on her face.
"I don't see any bread," Janet replied.
Bridgette sighed. "Looks like we're making a trip into town. We could stock up on nothing but Sno Balls. Just like old times." She turned to her friend with a devilish smile.
"Oh God," Janet replied. "I think I might've died in college if I ate one more of those things. I'm surprised we could even fit through the doorway by the time we graduated! It's a miracle Trevor even dated you back then."
Bridgette turned away, falling silent.
"I'm sorry, Bridg," Janet said quickly. "I didn't mean to bring that up."
Bridgette shook her head. "It's okay. It's old news." And it was. It didn't bother her anymore, but it was one of those things that was to remain eternally unspoken. "Well, we better get going," she said.
They found the others and relayed the dismal state of food in the mansion, rounding up a posse to accompany them to the store.
"Store?" Dawson asked. "I don't remember even seeing a store."
"Yeah, and I'm not sure there's even a town to head into," Karen chimed in. "In case you haven't noticed, we're way out in the boonies."
"There's a little general store down the road a ways," Billy said. "I saw it when I dropped Trevor off. It's right near the boat ramp we found."
Bridgette looked at the others. "Well, I guess it will have to do. Who's coming?"
There was a quiet murmur amongst them as they all glanced at each other and mumbled under their breath. It reminded Bridgette of trying to get a group together in high school drama class.
"I'm staying," Trevor said. "Just in case that guy shows up. I want to be ready for any surprises. Get me a bag of Doritos, though. Cool Ranch."
"Nobody likes Cool Ranch," Karen said.
"Just get it!" Trevor said, chasing them out the door.
They all piled into the van, minus Trevor, and they headed down the narrow and winding road. Billy drove them, and he drove slowly, tracing his memory through the confusing map in his head of where he took Trevor. "I think it was over here," he said, turning down the small side lane that the others hadn't seen at all. When they got down to water level, the road evened out and the sites began to look familiar to Billy. "Yep, this is it." They drove past the boat ramp and the familiar row of old houses, and Billy pointed out the general store just beyond it. They pulled into a parking spot in front of it and they all got out.
A thin line of dust floated down through the air when they opened the door. A bell was supposed to chime, but the hammer was mangled, offering only a dull click. The store was tiny, stuffed with a few rows of shelves in the middle and not much space to move around. It smelled musty. At first they thought it was empty, but someone came out of a back room and stepped behind the counter.
He was a thin man with a wiry white beard. His eyes were sunken into his skull, the ridges of his cheeks round and glossy. His hair was stained yellow around his mouth and he wore a shabby pair of slacks and a torn T-shirt that looked like he hadn't taken it off for fifty years. The man laid his hands on the counter and stared at them.
"Oh, hello," Bridgette said.
The man didn't return the greeting.
Beginning to feel uncomfortable, the five of them spread out through the store. They awkwardly pressed past each other along the aisles, trying to avert their eyes from the man's stony gaze.
"I don't think they have any Sno Balls here," Janet whispered to Bridgette. "I think the pantry was better."
The store's inventory similarly looked like it hadn't been replenished in fifty years. The five of them tried to get what they could, grabbing some bags of snacks and inspecting the row of fridges at the back. Bridgette picked up a loaf of bread and turned it all around in her hands, trying to find where the mold was. She didn't see any, but the loaf felt rather stiff. She tucked it under her arm and opened the fridge door. Most of the food and beverages seemed to have a layer of frost on them, like the temperature was turned down too low. She pushed away a half-frozen ham and looked at a carton of eggs. The others gathered whatever food they could carry and they all quietly brought it up to the front, fishing around in their pockets for some money.
The man still stared at them quietly.
"So do you see a lot of tourists visiting that old museum over there?" Billy asked cheerfully, trying to lighten the mood.
The man stayed silent, breaking his gaze on them at last to look down and ring their items through.
"It seems like an interesting place," Billy said nervously. "Not that we've been up there. I mean, maybe we'll have to visit sometime." Karen elbowed him.
"Sorry to bother you, sir," Bridgette said. "We'll just be taking our things and leaving." She put money on the counter and started to grab the items that he'd rung through.
"Don't know nothin' 'bout no museum," the man muttered at last. H
is breath reeked of cheap tobacco.
"Well it's the Jasper Estate, just up the hill there," Billy said, pointing.
The man looked at them and growled like a dog.
Disturbed, the five of them quickly gathered up their items from the counter and left the store, squeezing past each other to get through the doorway. A woman stepped down from a beat-up truck and headed for the store.
"Hello," Janet said.
The woman glared at them like they were the lowest scum on earth.
"What is everyone's problem around here?" Karen asked.
"I don't know," Bridgette said. "Let's just get back to the museum."
"You don't want to be doing that," someone said.
They all turned away from the van and found a man sitting on the porch of the house next to the store.
"What?" Dawson asked.
"I said you don't want to be doing that," the man repeated as he gently swayed back and forth in his rocking chair. It groaned in unison with the porch under it.
The man was very old and frail. He wore a dirty unbuttoned shirt with a grimy white undershirt beneath. His black skin was very wrinkled, and his arms and hands leaning on the armrests of his chair were long and skinny. He flashed a wide, toothy grin at them, and the freckles on his cheeks basked in the sunlight.
"The name's Boomer," he said.
Bridgette wandered toward him to extend her hand, but Dawson stopped her. "I'm Bridgette," she said from the middle of his dead lawn.
"We were just going up to visit the mansion," Billy said. "You know, as visitors. We heard it's the thing to do around here." Karen elbowed him again.
Boomer turned his head and stared up at the mansion peeking over top of the willow trees. "Lotta trouble up there," he said, his face turning sour. "Lotta trouble."
"What trouble?" Bridgette asked.
Boomer rocked back and forth as a gentle breeze passed through. "Stay away from it, you hear?" he said. "You'll find nothing there for you." There was a heaviness in the man's eyes that told them more than he said. Bridgette was captivated by it and felt a churning mix of curiosity and dread in her solar plexus.
The Box Set of Hauntings and Horrors Page 40