Chills & Thrills Paranormal Boxed Set

by Flynn, Connie

  Liz shook the remaining contents of the bag on top of the journal, hoping she wouldn't find them to be of the same ilk. A small green stone and a cellophane packet appeared. "Green chalcedony. And what's this?"

  She picked up a celophane packet, pulled the folded edge apart and peered inside. A sweet and pleasing fragrance reached her nose. "Rose petal dust. Two to keep the one at bay."

  "What?"

  "Something Mama used to say. If someone is in danger, you give them a malevolent object along with two benevolent ones that control it. I'm surprised I remember after so long, but it almost feels like I just heard that phrase." She put down the packet and picked up the small green stone. "And I also remember what this gem is called." She dropped the stone into the chamois bag, then did the same with the packet. Finally, feeling irritatingly nervous about it, she gingerly lifted the voodoo doll from the deck and started to put it away.

  "Aren't you getting rid of that creepy thing?" Zach asked, puffing tensely on his brightly burning cigarette.

  "No. I don't think so. It came with the bag and having it reminds me of Mama."

  Getting the doll back in was a struggle. The needle continually snagged on the fabric as she pushed it through the opening. She reached to pull the needle out.

  "Don't!" Zach said sharply.

  She pivoted toward him in surprise.

  "If you have to keep it, at least let it remain wounded."

  Liz laughed. "I guess you can take the boy out of the swamp," she teased, "but you can't take—"

  "—the swamp out of the boy," Zach finished, smiling and keeping his voice light, but he stubbed out his cigarette and reached for another.

  Leaving the needle in place, Liz worked the bag around it and finally managed to get the doll inside. Giving a pleased sigh, she pulled the drawstring tight, then placed the gris-gris back in the plastic bag.

  "Satisfied?" she asked, grinning again.

  Zach looked at her wryly. "Call me superstitious," he said, "but I'd hazard a guess your ma and her kind understand these things better than we do. They'd probably also have answers for aggressive alligators and deranged raccoons that run around in broad daylight."

  "Probably, Zach." She patted the journal. "And I'll bet the answers are in here."

  "You've been dying to read again, haven't you?" Liz nodded.

  "If you find anything out, let me know."

  "Sure thing."

  Liz opened the book on her lap and flipped to the page where she'd left off.

  I feel le fantome noir stir deep in the bayou. He found a poor soul to swallow, maybe more. How this unfortunate person or persons happened on Quadray Island, I know not, but I see the fire opal spark and ebb and know it is disturbed by Ankouer's new wakening.

  His power grows from this milk of human warmth. Soon the cold, cold bodies wash up to rip another loved one's heart to shreds. I weep for them, but in my sorrow I cannot forget my duty.

  Here her misery seemed to eclipse even the grief she'd felt when she'd thought Liz had died. Liz looked up, once more struck by how much pain this mythic being had given her mother. Such a burden, and none of it was real, no realer than the gruesome figure inside the chamois bag. Throat thick, she resumed reading.

  If I should fail, it falls to Izzy to guard the opal, so I write these warnings to smooth her way.

  Liz rubbed her arms, suddenly cold, although the day was warm, then read on. The warnings contained a lot of nonsense that never failed to anger her. According to her mother, once Ankouer had bled the life from a human sacrifice, he was able to control the thoughts of men, often appearing as their ghostlike forms in odd and sundry places. Other times seducing them to do his will.

  And, as the book had said before, Ankouer desperately sought the fire opal, which would allow him to permanently take over a person's body. Once he'd done this, he would proceed to build an empire and incite warfare throughout the world. But only if he defeated the guardian.

  Sighing, Liz put down the book, but even as she closed it, she felt a call to continue reading. After a moment's hesitation, she opened it again. The pages fluttered in the blowing wind coming over the windshield, and when she finally flattened them, she found herself looking at a quatrain written completely in English, which hinted that her mother had copied it from somewhere else. Quite beautiful, it contained the saying Liz had mentioned to Zach not long before.

  THE KEY

  Beasts lay panting on the trail.

  The two keep the one at bay.

  When two join as one,

  The soft overpower the strong.

  "Listen, Zach," she said, reading it to him.

  "What the hell does it mean?"

  "I've no idea. It's as incomprehensible as an I Ching verse."

  "Not unlike the stuff happening out here," he muttered.

  Liz chose not to respond. She had a feeling he hadn't expected her to, anyway. Fingers of apprehension crawled along her skin. The incidents had started out easy enough to explain. A bull alligator regarding the boat as a rival might see her dangling bare legs as an area of vulnerability. Even the mad raccoon attack of last night could be rationalized away. But an entire pack of raccoons coming for their dead companion in broad daylight, then showing no fear of a shouting man? This was moving into the realm of the totally eerie.

  "Zach," she asked, "anything like this ever happen to you before?"

  "No," he said tersely.

  "That's what I thought."

  She shut the journal. Maybe she'd read it later.

  At the sound of the closing book, Zach turned to her. "We need to talk."

  "About what?" Her expression made him think she was steeling herself for a rehash of their argument the night before. He figured what he really had in mind would disturb her a whole lot more.

  "About heading back."

  She touched the breast pocket of her overalls, emphasizing the cylindrical shape of her father's pill vial. "How much farther before we reach the main waterway?"

  "Ten or twelve miles, barring any dead ends."

  "Oh, not far," she said with clearly forced brightness. "We'll make it there in less than half an hour. It's not even noon, so we still have all afternoon to search for him."

  "For all we know, your pa's already gone home."

  "If he's home, he's safe. But if he's out here, he's not."

  Zach glanced out the windshield, and changed course to avoid a current that hinted at a submerged tree. "I'm not sure we're so safe out here ourselves."

  He expected a retort laced with sarcasm. Instead, she remained silent, rubbing the pill bottle and turning to look nervously in the direction from which they'd come.

  "We've got this big boat," she said after the pause had grown in length. "And he's in a small one."

  She leaned forward, speaking fervently, and he wasn't sure who she wanted to convince, him or herself. "Please, Zach. Just until midafternoon. If we haven't found him by then, we'll go back to the river. That would get us home before dark."

  "You have been away a while."

  "So?"

  "So . . . the correct turnoff's supposed to be a cypress swamp. They aren't so easy to navigate."

  "You'll get us through. I trust you."

  Zach crumpled like an empty cigarette pack. Christ almighty, a woman in distress. Even now, knowing where his former stupidity had led, he couldn't resist.

  "All right," he replied reluctantly, reaching for the Winstons he'd bought from Harris. Before pulling them out, he looked down at his watch. "Until two-thirty. Then we turn back. Agreed?"

  "Agreed." She picked up the book again, lost to him for the time being.

  Although she didn't seem upset with him, he wished he could take away the harsh words he'd spit out in his drunken haze. Hell, he'd promised himself he'd cut back, but since embarking on this trip he could hardly keep his hands off his flask. Or off Liz.

  That didn't justify the way he'd jumped all over her. Still, he found it difficult to believe she
'd so thoroughly forgotten the night she'd begged him to take her away that she accused him of abandoning her. He'd always been there when she needed him. Hadn't he listened without scoffing to her fantastic tale of le fantome coming for her grandmother? And if he'd even half believed she would really leave, he would have taken her.

  So what was up with her denial? Could she honestly think she'd never told him that story? He glanced at her, saw she was still absorbed in her mother's writing, and suspected that if she'd truly forgotten, the contents of the book might very well revive the memory not only of their conversation that night, but of her entire heritage. If that happened, she'd need him, because he sensed Liz Deveraux was a woman who didn't face her self-deception well.

  The possibility quickened his heart, and if not for his sinking feeling that their journey was leading them into trouble they weren't prepared to handle, he might have felt a burst of joy.

  A while later he glanced at Liz again. "I'm going to need your help navigating the cypress knees soon."

  They'd just passed a shore with a cluster of maple trees that resembled the ones drawn on the map. But so had several other locations, and he didn't feel much hope as he turned from the river.

  Liz appeared a bit dazed as she lifted her head from the book. "I need a break anyway."

  She rubbed her arms, and he noticed she had goose bumps. Somewhat odd, since a while back he'd unbuttoned his shirt and rolled up the sleeves to get cooler.

  "This part is all about Ankouer. She says he's alone, suffering something akin to sensory deprivation, and that he badly longs for the joys of human life." Her voice took on a mocking tone. "But he fears love, which he also knows is his only salvation. Can you believe it, after all she's said about his evil heart, she's suddenly sympathetic?"

  "I don't pretend to understand Cajun lore," he replied, a bit uneasy over her agitation. "My folks took us to mass on Sunday, but that's as close as I ever got to mysticism. They never talked about the old legends."

  "According to the journal, hardly anyone does these days." She let out a sound halfway between a sob and a cough, then put the book back in the bag and returned it to her pocket. "I've been reading too much. She has a way of making it all seem real."

  The reason for her chills. Good thing he'd interrupted her. Strangely, and despite his earlier anticipation that reading the book might jar her memory, he preferred not to hear more. True, he hadn't been raised amid dark legends, but this discussion refreshed his recall of the journey in his pirogue, and he was beginning to shiver just like her.

  "When are those knees coming up?" Her question broke his train of thought.

  "Soon enough, cher. Soon enough."

  "What time is it?" Liz asked, simultaneously taking in the sky and checking her watch. "Two o'clock!" she exclaimed, answering her own question. "Why's it so dark?"

  She plucked at her thin top, which stuck to her skin in the suffocatingly thick air, then pointed behind them. "Over there the sky's as blue as it can be."

  "We're in the shade," Zach replied. "The sun can't get through."

  "I know shade when I see it. This is different." They were deep in a cypress swamp, stopped beneath towering trees in a water-choking sea of fallen moss and grass.

  Zach peered up through the leafy canopy. He'd been worried they'd taken another wrong turn, and wished like hell they'd used Cormier's smaller boat. This big tug of Frank's needed room, and if he'd read the signs of the sloping shore correctly, the channel would narrow even more before they passed through it.

  And Liz taking this moment to point out the dark sky only served to revive his chilling memory of that long-ago journey.

  "Hmm," he said, carefully maintaining his facade of nonchalance. "Does seem a storm front's moving in. It'll probably pass, but let's concentrate on getting through here in case it doesn't."

  Cypress knees jutted up all over like bones in some ceremonial burial ground, some of them taller than he was. Now and then he spotted the round protuberant eyes of a submerged alligator, but otherwise there was no sign of life. All was so quiet their voices split the air each time they spoke. Too quiet, he thought, way too quiet.

  He wished Liz had taken his advice. What were they doing out in this wild terrain? They'd once known this swamp like the backs of their hands. But they weren't kids anymore, and this was still a corner of the bayou that even then had scared the hell out of him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Zach opened the throttle just slightly and started slowly forward. "Check the clearance on the port side, will you?"

  "Port? I've forgotten which side that is."

  "Left, if you're facing front."

  "Oh, left, right." She laughed nervously, then did as he asked and stood there gazing down. "All clear."

  Zach applied a little more gas. Ahead, was an even narrower passage. "You think we can make that?" Liz asked. "Maybe we should turn around and try a different route."

  "We'll never get out by dark. If your ma's map is right, that narrow spot's supposed to lead into a channel that goes back to the river."

  "Watch out, Zach, there's a small knee over here." He corrected to starboard until she said, "Clear."

  Two o'clock, Liz thought. But she'd agreed. Once they were out of here, they'd turn back.

  Everything Zach said rang true. Her father had probably returned to the cabin even as they were navigating this treacherous swamp. Trouble was, she didn't want to go back, and she failed to understand her own stubbornness. How unlike her. If she knew anything, it was how to cut her losses.

  A chill ran down her spine, along with the oddest sense that this journey was out of their hands. She had felt that even as they'd embarked, but the farther they went, the stronger the feeling got. What if they couldn't turn back now, no matter how hard they tried?

  This line of thinking scared her, so she forced her attention back to checking for obstacles. They twisted through the morass of cypress knees for quite some time, with Liz occasionally giving warning and Zach making corrections. Soon they reached a cramped bottleneck that led to a wider passage.

  "Stay alert," Zach said, standing up to see clearly. He slowed the boat to a crawl. The way looked quite clear, so Liz let up her guard and looked over her shoulder at the dark, forbidding swamp they were finally leaving behind. Not a place she wanted to be trapped in when the sun went down.

  When she turned back, the port-side bow was nearly on top of a knee. "Watch out, Zach!"

  He veered sharply, but too late. The crunch of metal colliding with wood mingled with the whir of sudden acceleration. Despite Zach's efforts, the boat came to an abrupt halt. Steadying herself with the rail, Liz looked forward to see what had happened.

  The bow was wedged between two enormous cypress knees.

  "Oh, Zach!" she cried. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I could have sworn this side was clear."

  "It's okay," he replied gruffly, nodding toward the knee on his side. "I didn't see this one either. These suckers came out of nowhere."

  "Can you get us out?"

  Rather than answering, Zach put the boat in reverse, cautiously applying the gas. The hum of rising rpms wasn't reassuring, especially since the boat didn't budge. Zach looked over his shoulder and Liz followed suit. She realized their predicament even before Zach spoke. "If we do jerk free," he said, taking his foot off the gas pedal, "we'll end up crashing into those knees behind us."

  Liz nodded. Cypress trees were everywhere, blocking out the pale sun and thrusting their bony roots up through the water. Scum rippled in a love dance with the fallen moss, and the roaring engine must have awakened the sleepy swamp. Catcalls, chitters, caws, and cheeps rose from every corner. Liz had a chilling feeling the animals were laughing.

  "So what's the plan, el capitan?" she asked shakily. "I pray it doesn't include spending the night here."

  "You think that cell phone will work?"

  Her explosion of relief came out as a laugh. "Now why didn't that occur to me?"

  "Wh
y indeed?" Zach teased. "I think of that thing as your third arm."

  "Don't be ungrateful," she said jauntily, leaving the gunwale to retrieve her bag. "You'll soon owe your life to my phone."

  Zach chuckled, and when Liz came back with the phone, his face no longer looked tense.

  "Nine-one-one?" she asked.

  "This all is sure an emergency isn't it?" He leaned back leisurely and lit a cigarette.

  A mass of static reached her ear. Her heart sank, then rose again when she heard a click.

  "You are out of range," stated a raspy, funereal voice. "There is no help." A malevolent laugh followed.

  Liz gasped and her fingers trembled so violently she dropped the phone.

  "What?" Zach said, bending over to pick it up. He put it briefly to his ear, then pushed the "off" button, his face white beneath his tan. Liz collapsed in the passenger seat and buried her face in her shaking hands.

  A long while later, Zach spoke.

  "We've been skirting around this, Liz," he said. "But something extraordinary is happening out here. I don't think we can ignore it anymore."

  Liz straightened up, still trying to get a hold on herself. When she answered him, she didn't trust her voice.

  "You may be right. But scaring ourselves with spooky stories like we did as children won't make things any better." Adopting a tone she hoped conveyed a skepticism she no longer quite felt, she added, "Our energy will be better spent trying to devise a way out of here."

  Zach reached for his flask, opened it, and took a swallow.

  "Try to stay sober until we do," Liz said, more irritably than she'd intended.

  He gave her a hard stare. "You might try a drop yourself, cher, loosen up that tight ass of yours."

  She let out a long sigh. "Look. We're in this together, so let's not turn on each other."

  "Then stay off my back. I'm only trying to warm up before I jump in the drink—no pun intended."

  Her expression must have conveyed her confusion.

  "I'm going into the water and pull us out."