The Haunting of Silver Creek Lodge

by Alexandria Clarke

  “Course not. Say, fifteen bucks an hour?”

  Cassie pursed her lips and scanned the café. She pointed out a tall, skinny kid in his early twenties, eating alone as he scrolled on his phone. “Try Keith. He’s always looking for work. He’s a lifetime hometowner.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “When you grow up in a small town, you have two options.” She held up a finger. “One, get the hell out as soon as possible because you know there’s more to see in the world than this tiny corner of the earth. Or two, stay forever because you’re too scared you’ll never make a name for yourself outside Silver Creek. You know the type: they peak in high school, get married too early, and never find a job they like.”

  Simon raised an eyebrow. “Judgy, judgy.”

  Cassie smirked. “As you can probably tell, I can’t wait to get out of Silver Creek.”

  “Didn’t you promise free coffee for life if we rebuilt the Lodge?” I reminded her.

  “I’m only a sophomore,” she said. “You’ve got two and a half years of free joe. After that, you’re on your own. Besides, I found you Keith, didn’t I?”

  With our food on the grill, Simon and I went to introduce ourselves to our potential part-time employee. As we approached, I got a closer look at Keith. He looked exactly like a boyfriend I’d had in high school: overgrown ashy hair, a shapeless chin, and lopsided shoulders indicative of a varsity baseball career. To confirm, he watched a live baseball game on his phone.

  “Nationals fan, huh?” I asked, peering over his shoulder. “Are you from DC?”

  He glanced up, startled. “Uh, no. I just like the team.”

  “Solid. I’m Maxine Finch. Max,” I corrected myself. “This is my husband, Simon.”

  His eyes brightened with recognition. “Oh, you two bought the Lodge up the road, right?”

  “That’s why we wanted to talk to you,” Simon said. “Cassie said you might be interested in some work?”

  Keith immediately set aside his phone to give us his full attention. “Absolutely. What do you need? What’s the pay?”

  “Fifteen an hour,” I answered. “It’s hard work. Construction. Think you can handle that?”

  “Hell yeah.” He nodded. “When can I start? Now?”

  Simon and I exchanged a look. My arms shook, thinking of how much more trash and debris we had to haul out of the Lodge’s lobby, and we hadn’t begun to tackle the actual rooms yet.

  “We need to eat,” I told Keith. “After lunch, we’re heading to the store to pick up construction materials and rent a truck. Would you be able to come with us?”

  “Sure, I can haul the stuff if you want. Save you some cash.” The bell over the door chimed, and Keith’s eyes darted around us. “I’ve got, uh—”

  A chorus of deep laughter made me turn around to see what Keith was looking at. A group of older men had come in, all dressed in slick business attire. In the center of the throng was Boyce Driscoll, in the middle of an evidently hilarious joke.

  “You’ve got what?” Simon prompted Keith.

  Keith’s eyes and attention flickered back to us. “I’ve got a truck with a huge bed. You don’t have to rent one.”

  “Great, we’ll meet after lunch.”

  Keith leaned around me to watch Boyce and the other men. “Cool, see you then.”

  As we walked to our table, Simon whispered, “What was that all about?”

  “Long lost daddy?” I guessed.

  Keith never took his eyes off of Boyce as the older man ordered a latte to go.

  “Evil stepfather?” Simon countered.

  “That’s admiration, not animosity,” I said of the look in Keith’s eyes.

  “You’re probably right. Small towns are notorious for drama.”

  Boyce and his chuckling friends didn’t stay long. As Cassie made their coffee, they chatted with other people in the café. Boyce’s deep voice resonated across the room as he held court with the locals.

  “I made arrangements to have the sprinklers fixed in your yard,” he told one man. “By spring, you’ll have beautiful green grass. Can’t wait!”

  A few minutes later, a little girl around the age of six came in with her mother. When she saw Boyce, she ran over and wrapped herself around his leg. “Mr. D! I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Katie!” Boyce said. With a flourish, he pulled a lollipop out of his pocket and offered it to her. “Your favorite flavor.”

  “You’ll rot her teeth,” the mother said half-heartedly as the child unwrapped the candy and stuck it happily between her lips.

  “I can’t help it,” Boyce said. “How do you say no to a cute little face like that?”

  “Mommy, I want a donut!”

  “Like this.” The woman faced her child. “No.”

  Everyone shared a chuckle as Cassie handed the last of Boyce’s friends his coffee order. As the group passed us on their way out, Boyce caught my eye. He nodded politely but didn’t say anything.

  “That guy’s weird,” Simon said. “He’s like Mr. Monopoly.”

  “Minus the mustache.”

  “Did you notice that ugly mansion we drive past on the way to the Lodge?” he asked me.

  “What mansion?”

  Simon picked the tomatoes off his sandwich. “It’s hidden in the trees. The place is enormous. I looked up the address. That’s where Boyce lives. Apparently, he designed and built the manor himself. The town uses it to host events and stuff.”

  “That’s nice of him.”

  “Hmph.”

  “You’re doing it again,” I warned him. “Judging people before you get to know them. Remember when you first met Christian? You called him a supercilious frat boy with a superiority complex and a crush on Jesus.”

  “To be fair, we met him because he was canvassing for his church.”

  “We met him because Sienna wanted me to meet her boyfriend,” I corrected him. “Pretty sure you made up that whole church canvassing thing in your head.”

  “I did not.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  As planned, we regrouped with Keith after lunch and headed to the hardware store. We mostly bought a ton of wood to temporarily board up the windows until we gutted the rest of the Lodge. Keith’s truck came in handy. Were it not for him, we would’ve had to bungee the materials to the surf rack of our crossover. Instead, we stacked it in the bed of his truck.

  “You know how to get there?” Simon asked Keith as we finished up.

  “Yeah, I partied there with a few friends—” Keith cut himself off as Simon shot him a sharp look. “I didn’t break anything, though. It was like that when we got there.”

  “Weird kid,” Simon muttered once we were in our own car. “Think he knows what he’s doing?”

  “Give him a few days to get used to us,” I advised. “We can’t afford professional help, and Keith’s all we got so far.”

  In the following hour, Keith proved his worth. Despite his skinny build, he had enough strength to hold a board over the window holes and drill it in place without any help. Once we got the Lodge sealed against the elements, the space heater didn’t have to work so hard to keep us warm.

  Keith worked hard and didn’t complain. When a huge splinter pierced his palm through the glove, he yanked the piece of wood out, slapped a Band-Aid on the hole, and went on without his work. After we finished the windows, he hauled more garbage to the dumpster without being asked, then helped Simon take down an entire wall to make the lobby bigger. Keith had an instinct for what needed to be done next.

  “I’d get rid of that insulation,” he recommended, indicating the ugly pink fluff inside the walls that helped keep in the heat. “It’s probably what’s stinking up the place with that musty smell.”

  Careful not to spread the splintery fiberglass pieces across the floor, Keith yanked the insulation out of the walls and packed it into heavy-duty trash bags. With that completed, he took a sledgehammer to the ugly check-in desk at my request. We watched in aw
e as he swung the hammer over his head with relative ease and smashed the desk into manageable pieces.

  “I take it back,” Simon whispered in my ear. “He can stay.”

  When it got too dark to continue safely, Keith and Simon worked on cleaning up while I ordered pizzas from the locally recommended parlor.

  “Two large sausage and onions,” I said into the phone, gazing at the view behind the Lodge. Steam rose off the hot springs. I was tempted to dive in. I hadn’t felt properly warm in hours. “That’ll do it, thanks.”

  As I hung up, an unfamiliar guitar melody floated through the icy air. Confused, I peeked into the hallway. I didn’t think Simon had brought his guitar with him.

  “Babe, is that you?” I called.

  The tune went on without an answer. I followed the sound, but when I reached the lobby, it faded out. Keith and Simon were outside, sitting on a part of the porch that hadn’t fallen to bits yet. I went out to join them, beer in hand.

  “You’re twenty-one, right?” I asked Keith, withholding the bottle.

  “This past May,” he said. “Wanna see my driver’s license?”

  “I trust you.” I handed him the beer. “You deserve it after all the work you did. Did you keep track of your hours?”

  He expertly popped the lid off by angling it against the porch railing. “Three?”

  “Dude, you’ve been here for at least four and a half,” Simon rectified.

  “I know, but I didn’t want to seem like I was overshooting.”

  We all laughed, and I decided I liked Keith. I swallowed my sip of beer as quickly as possible, wishing it were hot chocolate as the cold liquid ran down my throat. “How long have you been in Silver Creek, Keith?”

  “Since birth,” he answered. “My great grandparents opened the first school here when the town was settled, so we’re Silver Creek originals.”

  “Wow. You must know a lot about the Lodge then?”

  He shrugged. “About as much as everyone else. Why?”

  “Did you know the previous owner?”

  “Earl? Sure, he was a good guy. Kinda weird, though.” He caught the look on my face and explained further. “Earl used to be a real townie. He went to every event, volunteered all the time, made friends with everyone in town. Then his wife died, and he became a complete recluse. That’s when he stopped taking reservations at the Lodge and let the place go. We barely saw him after that.”

  “How long ago was it?”

  “Almost ten years.”

  Simon stomped his feet to warm them up. “So, what happened to Earl?”

  “He passed away,” Keith replied. “Old age. That’s why this place went up for sale.”

  “Uh… Where exactly did Earl die?” I asked.

  “In his room, I guess.”

  “In the Lodge?” Simon asked.

  “Where else? There’s the pizza guy. I got this. He’s a buddy of mine.”

  Keith leaped to his feet and bounded across the yard to meet the car driving up. Simon looked over his shoulder at the Lodge.

  “Should we bother to ask which room was Earl’s?” he said.

  “I have a feeling it’s the one we intend to sleep in.”

  Simon lifted his beer in a toast. “To Earl. May he rest in peace.”

  Keith left once the pizza was gone, and Simon and I were officially alone for our first night at the Lodge. We set up camp in the presidential suite.

  “I’m not sleeping on that mattress,” I said of the stained king bed by the window. “Who knows what kind of critters have been living in there?”

  “Rats, most likely.” Simon, ever prepared, set up a portable generator to power the space heater. He unfolded the air mattress and began blowing it up with his mouth. I marveled at the strength of his lungs.

  While he did that, I set up the bathroom. We had nothing but bottled water to wash with and no way of warming it up unless we wanted to waste time with the hot plate. I quickly dowsed myself with cold water, cleaning what I could and drying off immediately. Shivering, I changed into flannel pajamas and wool socks.

  Simon had made up the bed and plugged the heated blankets into the generator. I snuggled underneath the covers, trying to ignore my lackluster surroundings. Simon washed up in the bathroom and returned without a shirt.

  “Excuse me, sir. It is illegal to look that good half-naked when I’m too cold to take advantage of you,” I said in a serious tone.

  He lowered himself to the air mattress in a push-up position, intentionally showing off his arms as he hovered over me. “I can think of a few ways to warm you up.”

  His cold nose pressed into my cheek as his lips met mine. I grasped his broad shoulders and pulled him closer, grateful both for the heat of his body and the warmth it was generating in mine. My skin tingled as he dipped his hand beneath the blankets and traced the outline of my waist. His breath warmed my neck as I lost mine.

  “I love you, Max,” he whispered.

  “I love—”

  A horrible screech rent the air, echoing from the nearby road—tires skidding across the icy pavement. Crash! Metal against wood.

  Simon rolled off me, shot to his feet, and went to look out the front window. I wasn’t far behind him. Outside, a plume of smoke rose from the trees.

  “Shit,” he said, hurrying to put on his winter coat and boots. “Someone crashed their car. Call 9-1-1.”

  4

  We ran down to the road. Around the bend, just out of sight of the Lodge, we found a smoking wreck of a car. By the looks of it, the driver had taken the turn too quickly, lost control, and plowed into a tree. The front was completely smashed in, the airbags were deployed, and the front windshield was totally shattered. There was no sign of a driver.

  “Hello?” Simon shouted through the woods. “Is anyone there? We called emergency services!”

  I had already put the request in and described our location, but since Silver Creek didn’t have a police department, it would be a few minutes before an ambulance arrived from the next town over.

  I pointed into the darkness of the trees beyond the front of the car. “Over there. They could’ve been ejected from the car if they weren’t wearing a seat belt.”

  We tramped through the wilderness. Sharp, thorny branches nicked the skin of my hands. I’d been in too much of a hurry to put gloves on. In the darkness, I misstepped and sprawled forward, careening into Simon’s back. He steadied me and kept one arm around my shoulders to guide me.

  “See anything?” he asked, squinting through the poorly lit forest.

  I turned on my phone light, but it was no match for the shadows of the trees. “Nothing. What happened to the driver?”

  “Maybe they were okay?” Simon suggested. “Maybe they got out and headed down the road for help. Should we check that way?”

  We turned around and walked back up the slope toward the car. As we did so, the crushed driver’s side door rocketed open, and someone fell out.

  “Simon, look!”

  It was a woman. She scrambled to her feet, gasping for air. When she looked up, my stomach plummeted. Blood coated her face. She waved at us.

  “Help,” she pleaded. “Help me.” Then she collapsed.

  Simon and I leaped up to the road. The woman wasn’t completely unconscious. She was breathing, at least. The blood was due to a huge gash from where her forehead had hit the windshield during the collision.

  “Don’t touch her,” I warned Simon. “We’re supposed to wait for the ambulance so they can stabilize her neck.”

  She gasped sharply and came to, scaring the crap out of me. “No!” she said. “Can’t stay here. He’s chasing me. Help—hide me—”

  “Miss, we can’t move you,” I told her. “Stay still. We have to make sure you’re not badly injured.”

  The woman’s hands shot up, seized the collar of my jacket, and yanked me toward her. Breathless, I found myself staring into obsidian eyes. Flecks of gray in them caught the moonlight overhead. I couldn’t look
away.

  “He’s behind me,” the woman whispered, her face mere inches from mine. “Please help me. Hide me.”

  “Who’s behind you?” Simon went to the back to look farther down the road. “There’s no one there.”

  I pried the woman’s cold hands off my coat. “You hear that? No one’s there. You’re safe.”

  “No, please!” She flung her arms around me and buried her face in my neck, making me acutely aware of her sticky warm blood against my skin. “Help me!”

  “Okay,” I said softly, and Simon stared at us, aghast. “Just relax. We’ll make sure you’re safe. Simon, can you help me?”

  “I thought you wanted to wait for the paramedics.”

  “Well, I changed my mind,” I snapped. “Can you help or not?”

  Without another word, he helped me lift the woman to her feet. With our help, she was able to walk up the road to the Lodge.

  “You got her?” Simon asked, helping us up the porch. “I’m going to stay out here and wait for the ambulance.”

  The woman draped herself more heavily on my shoulder, but I managed to move her into the lobby. I laid her on one of the leather couches that we intended to save and covered her with a clean blanket. She trembled violently, eyes squeezed shut as if trying to keep out a scary image.

  I flipped on the camp lamp. In the light, I got a real look at her. She was extraordinarily beautiful with smooth pale skin and long dark hair that settled in voluminous waves around her shoulders. The angles and dimples of her cheeks made her seem like she belonged in an earlier era. And those eyes—so deep in color they looked like an entrance to another universe.

  “Stay with me,” I murmured, squeezing her hand as her tremors began to subside. “Don’t fall asleep. If you have a concussion, you have to stay awake.”

  She struggled to keep her eyes open. “Thank you.”

  The cut on her forehead was ugly but not deep—head wounds bled more than others. I was more concerned about bruising in her brain or other internal injuries. With a gentle hand, I wiped the blood from her face and neck with a clean washcloth.

  A few minutes later, sirens echoed outside.