The Haunting of Silver Creek Lodge

by Alexandria Clarke

  I inched the door open with my elbow. “Lily? It’s me, Max. Do you want some breakfast?”

  The blanket was pulled back, but Lily was gone again. I sighed. Perhaps one time, she might actually be around when I called for her. I went to put her breakfast on the table, but there was no room. The pizza and tea from last night were still there, completely untouched. I swapped her uneaten dinner for the fresh bagel and coffee.

  “Maybe she’s vegan,” Simon suggested when I showed him the uneaten pizza, “and she didn’t want to be rude.”

  “I’ll ask when she gets back,” I said. “Where do you think she went?”

  “To take care of herself, I hope,” he replied, refilling his cup. “Or to talk to the police. It doesn’t make sense. Her car can’t have disappeared like that. Someone must have stolen it and sold the scraps. I can’t believe they managed it in such a short amount of time.”

  “Poor Lily.”

  Simon warmed his nose in the steam rising from his cup. “Keith’s on his way. We’re going to map out the wiring in the Lodge, then head to the hardware store to get what we need. It’ll be a long day, but we should we able to get this place lit and heated by tonight.”

  “Heat!” I said. “What a dream!”

  He laughed and hugged me. “Don’t worry, baby. I won’t let you freeze. Do you want to come with us?”

  “That depends. Do you need my help?”

  “Keith and I can handle the work,” Simon answered. “If you’d like to check out the town today, you’re free to go.”

  I lifted my hands. “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you going to work on your comic book?”

  My art supplies and writing journals were piled in a box upstairs. I hadn’t put it in storage in the hopes that I’d come up with a decent story idea while renovating the Lodge.

  “I guess I could,” I said without feeling.

  “You can do it. I believe in you.”

  A horn honked outside.

  “That’s Keith.” Simon put on his coat and kissed my forehead. “See you in a bit, baby. Don’t get into any trouble.”

  “I won’t.”

  I waved to Keith from the porch as Simon traversed the snowy front yard and hopped into the truck. Keith, as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he was yesterday, waved back and shot me a huge smile.

  In the lobby, I knelt in front of the hearth, stuck my head into the unlit fireplace, and looked up. The situation wasn’t as bad as I expected. The chimney was relatively clean and showed no signs of water damage. I could get a fire going to warm up the lobby without lugging the portable heater down here.

  A pile of wood was stacked in the corner of the room, leftover from the last owner. I arranged a few logs in the fireplace and got the matches from the kitchen. As I struck one and leaned in to place it, a memory flashed in my head.

  Everything burning. Skin peeling off bones.

  With a gasp, I shook the match to extinguish it and sat back on my hands. I stared into the unlit fireplace, my breath quickly making its way in and out of my chest.

  The back of my neck prickled. Was someone—something—watching me? Frozen in place, locked in the fire, I couldn’t turn around.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the fiery images out of my head. Darkness was better than that damned inferno from fifteen years ago. My ears roared. I thought of rushing rapids, thundering waterfalls, and intense rainstorms, anything to put out the flames.

  Slowly, the bad memories faded. My head cleared, and my breathing slowed. I kept my eyes closed, grounding myself in the present moment. My hands flattened against the wood floor, the cold seeping through my coat. Simon’s warm breath tickling my ear.

  But Simon wasn’t home.

  My eyes flew open, and I spun around. The lobby was empty. I let out a long breath. The condensation hovered briefly in the cold air. I hugged myself and bowed my head.

  “Max? Are you okay?”

  Startled, I looked up quickly to find Lily standing where no one had been the previous second. She still wore my clothes, and the sight of her warmed me. She looked better than last night, not so pale and sickly. Her cheeks were pink, and her eyes had a bit of light in them.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I, uh, was having a moment.”

  “A moment?”

  “Like a panic attack? It’s a long story.” I hurried away from the fireplace. “Have you been here all morning? I brought you breakfast, but you weren’t in your room.”

  She was a few inches taller than me. I hadn’t noticed yesterday since exhaustion had made her slump. She smiled and reached out. I held my breath as she tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. Bumps rose on my arms.

  “You think of everything,” she said kindly. “You don’t have to serve me. I had breakfast after I visited the doctor.”

  “You went to the doctor?” I asked. “What did they say?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, lifting her shoulders. “They didn’t find anything wrong. They did say this would leave a scar, though.” She touched the bandaged wound on her forehead. “Scars build character, right?”

  “You don’t need any more character,” I said without thinking.

  “I’m not sure that’s supposed to be a compliment,” she laughed.

  “It definitely is.”

  She noticed the burned match on the floor. “Do you need help starting a fire?”

  “No,” I answered hastily. “That’s okay.”

  “Are you sure? I happen to be a bit of a fire whisperer.”

  My body buzzed with fear. “Really, it’s okay. I can get the portable heater. That chimney doesn’t look like it’s in the best shape.”

  She cast a weird look over me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I have a complicated history with fire.”

  “Ah.” As if sensing the true meaning behind those words, she immediately changed the subject. “What are you working on today? You and Simon are renovating this place, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, relieved to have something to talk about. “We bought it with our honeymoon money. I’d like to get it up and running in six months. We’re doing the electricity today. Well, Simon and Keith are. I’ll probably supervise.”

  Lily smiled. “Are you an expert on electricity?”

  “Hardly,” I answered. “This is more Simon’s thing. I’ll help out when I can, but I think he secretly hopes I’ll take the downtime to write my second book.”

  She swayed unexpectedly and put a hand to her head. “Sorry. I’m still a little woozy.” She moved to the couch and patted the empty space beside her. “So, you’re a novelist?”

  “A comic book artist actually.” I sat next to her, feeling that instinctive connection again. “I write and illustrate all of my stories by myself.”

  “That’s amazing. Can I see your stuff?”

  I rolled my eyes at myself. “There’s nothing to see right now. I’m in a rut. Do you want to see stuff from my older books? It’s kind of nerdy.”

  “I like nerdy.”

  I pulled up the pages on my phone. My first few volumes were released digitally as well as in print. As I scrolled through to show Lily, pride filled me. Sometimes, I forgot how much I liked my work.

  “My main character is loosely based on Queen Isabella,” I explained. “She was called the she-wolf of France or the Rebel Queen.”

  “Why’s that?” Lily asked.

  “Because she killed her husband, the King of England.”

  Lily’s eyes widened. “That’ll do it.”

  “The same sort of thing happens in volume one of my comics,” I went on excitedly. “But the queen has a good reason for killing her husband.”

  Lily leaned against my shoulder to examine my brightly-colored drawings. “Something tells me this isn’t set in 14th century England.”

  “Definitely not,” I agreed. “It’s set in a high-tech fantasy world where humans and animals have evolved to form new species.”

  She point
ed to one of my favorite pages in the book, an intricate portrait of the Queen halfway through a transformation. The Queen bared wolf-like fangs as claws ripped out of her skin and fur grew along her spine.

  “The she-wolf?” Lily questioned.

  “She’s a changeling,” I said. “Swapped at birth. In this world, humans consider themselves pure. They would kill her if they knew she was a half-breed.”

  “Let me guess,” she said. “The King finds out and threatens to tell everyone. That’s why she murders him.”

  “Wow, you’re good at this. Any chance you want to help me plot out my new book? I have zero ideas.”

  Lily grinned. “I’m not much of a storyteller, but I have faith in you. Why are you in a rut?” She leaned in. “Are you secretly a she-wolf?”

  Her breath tickled my cheek. The warmth of it washed over me. Something felt good about being this close to Lily. She radiated positive energy. I found myself drawing even closer to her. For the first time, I noticed her scent. Pleasantly musky and tangy, like pine and iron.

  The rumble of Keith’s truck pulled us apart. Whatever spell had settled over the room vanished as the boys’ voices approached the house and they stomped their boots on the creaky porch.

  “You two look cozy,” Simon said when he noticed the two of us on the couch. He huffed into his hands and rubbed them together. “Keeping warm?”

  “So far,” I said. “Keith, this is Lily. Lily, this is Keith. He’s helping us fix up the place.”

  Keith peered intensely at Lily as he took her hand. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

  “I don’t believe so,” she replied.

  “Did you go to Silver Creek High School?”

  “A long time ago.”

  “That must be it,” Keith said confidently. “I must have seen you at a football game or something.”

  From the amusement on Lily’s face, I got the feeling she had never attended a Silver Creek High football game in her life. “Or something,” she said.

  “What are you girls up to?” Simon asked.

  “We’re plotting Max’s next comic book,” Lily answered.

  “Really?”

  I took hold of Simon’s wrist. “Don’t get too excited. We haven’t pitched any ideas yet. We’ll see what happens.”

  He looped his pinky in mine. “We’ll leave you to it then. Keith, you ready to make some light?”

  Keith nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  As they went on their way, Keith glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Lily. She smirked back.

  “You’ve never seen him before, have you?”

  “Not once,” she replied. She got comfy on the couch again. “So, are we going to do this or what?”

  My stomach rumbled. “I’m dying for some food first. All I had was a stale bagel. Do you want to go into town with me? We could go to the cafe, get breakfast—”

  “No, thanks.” Lily examined her nails with automatic detachment.

  The air between us grew colder, maybe because we weren’t sitting close anymore.

  “Oh, okay,” I said, trying to keep myself from sounding so obviously disappointed. “Maybe some other time then. They have really good coffee.”

  She didn’t look up. “I’m not much of a coffee drinker.”

  “They have tea, too. Do you like matcha?”

  Lily wrinkled her nose.

  “You know what?” I said. “I’m not really in the mood to go out in the snow. Maybe I’ll order some food for here.”

  Lily brightened immediately. “That’s a great idea. I love gray days like these. It makes me want to stay inside and cozy up with a great book.”

  “Me, too.” I took out my phone. “What’s a good place to eat around here? Somewhere that delivers.”

  “I’m not sure. I’m not well acquainted with the area.”

  “I thought you went to high school here.”

  She yawned and stretched. Subtle shadows beneath her eyes made themselves known when the light hit her face at the right angle. She hadn’t completely recovered from yesterday’s crash. “I haven’t been back since I graduated,” she said. “The town’s changed.”

  Somehow, I doubted that. The market on Main Street proudly displayed a sign with the year of its grand opening: 1922. Silver Creek was the type of place that changed very slowly, if at all.

  Without Lily’s help, I ended up Yelping the various restaurants in town and decided on a place that served different homemade soups and sandwiches each day. As I ordered online, I asked Lily, “Would you like something?”

  “I ate already,” she said as she had earlier that day.

  “You might be hungry later.”

  “I’m fine.” She stood. “I think I’m due for a nap. Yesterday really took it out of me.”

  She did look woozy and pale again. The bags under her eyes had deepened. As she walked off, she brushed her fingers across the tops of my shoulders. A shiver went through me.

  With Lily sleeping and the boys hard at work, I had no excuse not to pull out my journals to start the outline of my next book. Upstairs in the presidential suite, I wiped the dust from a luxurious leather armchair and dragged it over to the wall of windows that looked out on the mountainside. I curled up with my writing materials, a fresh cup of instant coffee, and a layer of blankets to stay as warm as possible. Determined, I uncapped my pen and flipped to a clean page in my journal.

  Half an hour later, I chucked the stupid journal from the chair. It bounced off the window and landed pages down on the floor like a dove with a broken wing. I threw the pen, too. It rolled under the old king bed in the corner of the room.

  I let my head fall back and glared at the ceiling. This kept happening. Every time I sat down to concentrate, my brain emptied itself of anything remotely creative. I forgot about my characters’ arcs, the progress they had made in the first two volumes, and the important plot points. I couldn’t connect the dots. Nothing measured up to the story I’d already told.

  I knew logically what needed to happen in volume three. The last book had ended with a cliffhanger: the Rebel Queen’s lover had discovered what she was. With her secret revealed yet again, the Queen had to make a choice. Kill her lover or trust him enough to keep her true identity quiet? The problem was I couldn’t decide what the Queen should do.

  I let out a long breath and gazed at the mountainside, wishing for inspiration to whiz by like one of the skiers or snowboarders in the distance. When it didn’t, I gave up. It did me no good to sit here and do nothing.

  The Lodge was a piece of Silver Creek history. The people who had stayed here must have left things behind. I wandered out of the presidential suite and into the hall, letting the aura of the old building wash over me. There was always something creepy about abandoned buildings. The dark corners, outdated decor, and looming shadows were a recipe for unease. I felt it in my bones, a shiver of uncertainty.

  It was dark. When had night fallen? The Lodge was quiet—no hammering or construction. I flipped a light switch, but the sconces along the corridor remained unlit. Simon and Keith must not have gotten around to wiring the second floor yet.

  I meandered through the hall. The doors to the rooms were shut, though I remembered leaving them open to promote airflow. I grasped a handle—it was cold as ice—and entered the room next to ours.

  It was small, one of the cheaper rooms to rent in the Lodge. Dusty white sheets covered the old furniture. The small window above the bed looked to the left side of the Lodge. The woods there were strangely barren except for one tall, narrow tree that grew close enough to hop onto its branches from the roof. The clouds parted, and the moon shone through. Something heavy swung from the tree on a length of rope.

  I blinked, and it was gone.

  Like a scared mouse, I skittered out of the room. A soft light glowed at the end of the hallway. I tiptoed barefoot across the musty rug toward the railing that kept those on the second floor from tumbling into the lobby. A voice murmured below, calling m
e forward.

  I looked over the railing. There was Simon, wearing his favorite pair of pajama pants. No shirt or shoes. He must have been freezing. While I watched, he pried up floorboards with a crowbar. Was that part of our renovation plan?

  “Somewhere,” he muttered, his voice floating up to the second floor. “Around here.” He reached into the ground, his arm disappearing up to his shoulder, ear flat against the floor as he groped for something buried beneath the lodge. “Where are you?”

  Something creaked overhead. One of the massive beams supporting the roof had a huge crack in it. The pressure was too much. As I watched, the wood splintered and threatened to break.

  “Simon!” I called, though my voice sounded muddy and warped. “Get out of the way! The beam’s going to fall!”

  He didn’t listen but pried up the next floorboard and kept searching. The beam cracked. A scream ripped from my throat as it split in two and fell from the ceiling. The sharp, splintered ends turned downward, hurtling toward Simon. With a sickening crunch, the beams pierced his back and legs—

  I woke with a yelp. The cold nipped at my skin from all sides. I was lying on top of the bed, the covers flat beneath me. Darkness pressed against my eyes. The curtains were drawn, blocking out the moonlight.

  Holding my breath, I reached toward the other side of the bed. My fingers connected with warm skin, and I let out a sigh of relief. It was a dream. Simon was right here next to me.

  Without opening my eyes, I crawled on top of him, squared my hips over his, and took comfort in his closeness. A brief mumble—he sounded different—emanated from the pillows. Beneath the covers, hands moved up my thighs. A shiver rolled down my spine as I leaned over him and opened my eyes.

  “Oh my God!”

  I scrambled off the bed, stumbling across the freezing floor. It wasn’t Simon next to me. It was Lily, her dark eyes glowing in the darkness as she sat up to look at me.

  6

  “You did what?”

  I busied myself with the coffee maker, refusing to look Simon in the eye. “I must have been sleepwalking. I have no idea how I ended up in her room.”