When Darkness Falls

by Chanda Stafford

  I zoom in on the lighthouse peeking out of the trees in the distance. Most of the time, people don’t even know it’s there since it’s hidden by trees and surrounded by a high-voltage fence. About a hundred yards from the lighthouse at the edge of the water, the high-voltage fence is replaced by thin wire netting that I’m told reaches down to the bottom of the bay. The netting extends above the water, bobbing between red-and-white striped buoys.

  “It’s to keep curious children out,” Dad says, his tone annoyed. “Why do you ask?”

  “I dunno.” Seven-year-old me scuffs one rainbow tennis shoe in the dusty earth. “Brody was talking about it at school. He said it was because the guy who lives in the lighthouse killed somebody. Did he?”

  Dad frowns. “Your friend is an idiot. The lighthouse keeper just likes his privacy, that’s all. He’d never hurt a fly.”

  “Do you know him?”

  He glances over the trees, his eyes losing focus. “I met him once, a long time ago. It was way before you were born.”

  Molly’s squeal when Brett whales on her with the foam noodle brings me back to the present. I sigh. Some things never change. Behind them, the shadow of the netting cuts through the bay. Tangles of seaweed curl around something red bobbing on the surface. Is that a fish? No, it’s probably just trash.

  I adjust the focus on the binoculars and the object sharpens into view. It’s a tiny red buoy, the kind people who spend a lot of time on the water attach to their keys to keep them afloat. The kind Brett got Dad for Father’s Day last year. That can’t be is. But what if it is? Excitement blooms in my chest. Those are his keys, I just know it.

  I climb down from the tower and race toward the water, the binoculars glued to my eyes so I can keep the keys in view. I can’t shake the feeling that if I take my eyes off of them, even for just a second, they’ll disappear and I’ll never find them again.

  At the edge of the water, I skid to a stop. It will be cold out there, and way deeper than it is in the cordoned-off beach area.

  “What’s wrong?” Brett yells.

  I have to get these keys, but without binoculars, I can’t even see them. There! Adrenaline rushes through me. A row of canoes rests on the shore, their paddles piled up nearby. Perfect. If it weren’t for my brother, sister, and Ari, I’d go out and get them right now. I can already hear their questions. Mom’s right, they don’t need to worry about Dad being out here. I’ll have to come back later and hope they haven’t drifted too far away from the netting by then.

  Hope rises within me. Dad was out here for some reason; I know it. The keys have to be a sign. And maybe, just maybe, they’re a clue to his current whereabouts and to what happened the night he disappeared.

  ***

  “Are you sure those were your dad’s keys?” Ezra puts the last of the plates in the dishwasher and slams the door shut. “I’ve seen similar those bobbers in the gas station. I bet they sell thousands of those things.”

  “No. I know it’s his,” I say, even though nibbles at the back of my mind. If Ezra’s right, then I’m back to square one and no closer to finding my father than when we found his car on the side of the road.

  “Look.” He puts his hand on mine. “I know how it feels to desperately want something to be true even when logically it doesn’t make any sense, but let’s not rush things. Why don’t you tell your mom, and then she can check it out.”

  “Those were his. Besides, what’s the likelihood of someone else with a similar key chain losing their keys right after my dad disappears? Anyone else would have scooped them out of the water. There must be a reason he didn’t. Maybe it’s a sign.”

  Concern crosses Ezra’s face. “Have you told your mom?”

  “What would I say? Hey Mom, I saw Dad’s keys floating in the middle of the bay. I couldn’t get close because I didn’t want to worry my brother and sister, but I’m sure they’re his.” I frown as his words once again raise doubt in my mind. “But if you’re right, I don’t want to worry her unnecessarily, either, you know?”

  He nods. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He glances around the kitchen. “So, do you want to go check it out after work?”

  Adrenaline and a sense of excitement rush through me. “Sure! I don’t know if Phoebe would let us take a canoe out, though.”

  He gives me a conspiratorial wink. “Who says we gotta tell her?”

  I shiver, his words drawing a trail of ice down my spine. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” I don’t know Ezra very well. I’d be stupid to go out with him at night without telling anyone. An unwelcome thought enters my head. Ezra showed up at the diner after Dad vanished. What if he knows more than he’s let on? “I don’t feel right sneaking around there. I used to work for Phoebe and—”

  “Then it’d be perfect!” A fevered light enters his eyes. “You know your way around, and we can easily get a boat out there.”

  I chew on my lip. Part of me wants to jump at the chance to find the key chain and, hopefully, a clue as to what happened to my father, but it also makes me uneasy. I’m not sure if I’m ready for whatever I might find, and I know my mom would definitely disapprove of this plan.

  “You want to find your dad, right?”

  He sounds a little too eager. I study him for a few seconds before answering. “Why do you want to help me so much?”

  He shrugs, but a blush colors his cheeks. “You said it was pretty close to the lighthouse, right? I’ve always wanted to go up there.”

  Did I say that? I must have. Phoebe probably wouldn’t even notice if we snuck in and took a boat out for an hour or two. “What’ll I tell my mom?”

  Ezra considers this for several seconds. “You could always tell her I asked you out on a date.”

  Heat explodes on my cheeks. “I don’t know where you came from, but this isn’t exactly my idea of a date.”

  “Come on, it’ll be fun.” He offers me a cheeky grin.

  I lean against the wall, crossing my ankles in what I hope is a semblance of calm. Is he flirting with me? “Yeah, no. This really wouldn’t be how I define fun.”

  Ezra chuckles. “You can trust me.” He crosses his heart with two fingers. “You’re safe with me, I promise.”

  “You know you just jinxed us, right? Never promise anything before setting out on an adventure. It rarely ends well.”

  A startled laugh rumbles from his throat. “I think you watch too many scary movies.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” I say, even though my better judgment warns me about what a bad idea this is. “Let’s go talk to my mom.”

  Chapter 4

  “I can’t believe my mom said she’d fire you if you broke my heart.” I groan, remembering the stern look she gave Ezra when he asked her if he could take me out for dinner.

  He chuckles, turning the wheel on his rusty yellow VW Bug. “I’d probably say the same thing if I had a teenage daughter.”

  Something deep inside flutters to life. Be careful, Austen. You don’t know him.

  “Do you mind if we stop at my place?” Ezra asks. “I have a couple flashlights and some other stuff we might need if it gets dark before we find the key chain.”

  “Sure, no problem.” Said every heroine in every horror flick right before the serial killer lops off her head. I sternly scold my subconscious to shut up.

  A few minutes later, he turns down a narrow dirt road lined by twisted pine trees and dense ferns. The dirt road opens up into a wide overgrown field. At the far end, a rambling old farmhouse nestles against the trees. White paint peels off the structure, and it lists to the side, sagging against the trees as if using them for support.

  “Are you sure this place is habitable? It kind of looks like it should be torn down.”

  He shifts the car into park and gives me a toothy grin. “I prefer to describe it as nice and secluded.”

  “Yeah, in the creepy serial killer kind of way.”

  He throws his head back and laughs. “I can assure you, I’m not
a serial killer.” When I give him a dubious look, he adds, “I can give you references, or you can google me.”

  I cross my arms in front of me and lean back. “Maybe I should do that.”

  He unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the car door. “Do you want to come inside? I’m going to grab a couple of flashlights, some duct tape, a knife, and one of those masks like the murderer in Scream wore.” I jump and he chuckles. “Sorry, I was just trying to lighten the mood.”

  “Not funny.” I scowl at his dark humor.

  He hops out of the car. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Everyone’s a critic. I’ll be back in a few.”

  After he leaves the car, I hit the locks. I know that Dad didn’t kill Hilary Crum, which means someone else did, and that someone is still out there.

  A few minutes later, Ezra returns, a backpack slung over his shoulder. He rattles the door until I unlock it.

  “Paranoid much?” He grins and slides in the driver’s seat.

  “Hey, my dad vanished, and now I’m finding out all this weird stuff about my town. Of course I’m being cautious.”

  “That makes sense.” He turns the car around. “So, where are we going?”

  I picture a map of the forest surrounding Phoebe’s camp. “It’s called Camp New Horizons. We can’t use the driveway, for obvious reasons, but there’s a dirt road about half a mile away that’s probably still clear enough for us to use.” I smirk. “Though I’m not sure how far we’ll have to go to hide your car, since it’s such a . . . unique color.”

  Ezra pats the dashboard affectionately. “What’s wrong with Sunshine?”

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  “It’s all right, baby,” he croons, his head bent over the steering wheel. “Don’t let her get to you.”

  I ignore his insane attachment to his car and direct him down the highway as the sun starts its descent toward the trees. “I’ll show you where I last saw the key chain. Since it’s bright red, it should be pretty easy to find. Hopefully it hasn’t drifted too much.” Just the thought of not finding it strikes panic in my heart. I know they belong to him.

  He slants me a long glance. “And then what?”

  “I’ll tell my mom and take it to the cops, of course.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and check for messages. Nothing. I blink back frustrated tears. Come on, Dad. Just call, text, send up a smoke signal, anything.

  Ezra takes his hand off the steering wheel and rests it on mine. “We’ll find it.”

  “I hope so. Thanks for coming with me. I . . . I couldn’t say anything to Brett and Molly, because I didn’t want to worry them, but I’m so glad you’re coming out here with me.” My throat tightens, and I choke back a sob. Those keys might be the only way I can find him.

  He gives me a reassuring smile. “Me, too.”

  Ezra finds the service road easily enough and pulls deep into the trees. “There, that should hide even a gorgeous beauty like you, Sunshine.”

  I grimace but let that comment go. The guy has a serious crush on his car. “The camp is this way,” I say, pointing through the trees to our right. “So if we go straight, we should reach the beach without getting caught.” Not only would I get in trouble for sneaking onto Phoebe’s camp, but if Mom finds out I’m sneaking around with a boy, she’ll kill me as well. Metaphorically speaking, of course. I think. I’ve never tested that theory.

  About twenty minutes later, we reach the sandy beach. I pause just inside the line of trees and scan the clearing; it’s empty.

  Ezra strides toward the canoes. “If we get caught, we could always say we were going on an evening canoe trip.”

  I cast him a dubious look. “Like they’ll believe that.”

  He grabs the weathered edge of one of the canoes. “Do you want to go together or split up?”

  If we’re together, I get to spend more time with Ezra, but we can cover more ground separately. “Let’s each take a canoe. I think we have a better chance of finding it that way.”

  “Sounds good to me.” He shoves his canoe toward the water. “What does the key chain look like again?”

  “It’s red and looks like a fishing bobber.”

  Ezra gazes out over the bay. “And you’re positive it wasn’t a fishing bobber?” At my glare, he holds his hands up in surrender.

  Without waiting for his reply, I grab a paddle and toss it into the canoe before heaving it into the bay and wading out after it. The water, warm against my ankles, grows chillier as it climbs my calves. When the canoe bobs up and down, I climb in. It wobbles dangerously from side to side, and I almost fall into the water.

  “Are you all right?” Ezra paddles his canoe out next to mine. I can hear the hint of a smile in his voice, so I feel perfectly justified in giving him the middle finger. From his echoing laughter, I can tell he’s not offended. He turns his canoe away from mine and paddles toward the weeds lining the opposite side of the beach.

  I paddle toward the net and scan the floating tangled weeds. Other than few bright flashes fishy scales flit just underwater, I don’t see anything. I clench the paddle so hard my knuckles turn white. Come on. It’s got to be here somewhere.

  In the distance, clouds start to gather, but I’m sure the impending storm is still hours away. I lean over in case the bobber got tangled up in some weeds, but I still don’t see it.

  After about half an hour, I’m about to give up. The keys must have drifted too far out, or maybe they weren’t there to begin with, and I was hallucinating. Where are they? I swear under my breath. They’ve got to be around here somewhere.

  I spy another clump of weeds butting up against the fence about twenty feet away. That’s not too much farther, so I give Ezra the thumbs up and paddle toward it.

  The once crystal clear water is now a deep, dense black, the bottom at least twenty or thirty feet below me. A taut net strung between posts mounted on buoys bobs in the water, with more netting disappearing into the depths. Between two of the buoys, pieces of the once secure netting drift apart. There’s a hole in the fence.

  I paddle closer to get a better look and peer down into the darkness, trying to figure out what would possess someone to come out here and cut the fence. It doesn’t make any sense. There has to be something worth keeping hidden on the other side, but what? It’s the same dark, murky water. The same seaweeds. The same everything except for—

  A huge shape slides beneath my canoe. Is that a fish? It can’t be. My mind’s playing tricks on me, pretending the light glinting off weeds underwater is scales and fins when it can’t be that. Heart racing, I scan the surface of the water, but all I see is seaweed and floating muck.

  Ezra’s theories about shipwrecks and monsters creep into my mind. I glance at the shore, but I’m at least a hundred yards away now, and Ezra is a blurry shape on the horizon. I didn’t think I was that far out.

  I clench the wooden paddle, unease running up and down my spine. Something isn’t right. I shouldn’t be this far out. I didn’t paddle that much. The current has been pulling me farther and farther out into the lake, even though it’s never been that strong before. A dense fog creeps out from the line of trees, swallowing the tall pines.

  Screw it. I’m heading back to shore. I dip my oar into the water.

  Thump.

  I must have hit a log or that fish I saw. Northern Michigan used to be a big logging community, so it wouldn’t surprise me if there were submerged logs in the bay.

  Once the boat settles, I turn the canoe toward the shore. This was a stupid idea. The wind whips up, plastering my hair across my face and blocking my sight. I rest my paddle across the canoe and yank my hair behind my ears. What looks like a green hand wrenches the paddle from my boat and jerks it into the water. What the—? Hands aren’t green and don’t appear out of the water. I must be hallucinating. That can’t—

  The boat rocks dangerously, and I center myself to keep my balance.

  The canoe bumps against one of the buoys. Goosebumps pepper my arms. I shouldn’t be out h
ere. I’ve got to get out of here.

  I reach for the paddle, but it bobs away. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” I slam my hands on the sides of the canoe. Now what do I do? The shore beckons to me, and if I want to get off of the water, I might have to swim.

  A greenish-silver shape glides under the surface followed by a flash of red. I lean over the side of the canoe as far as I can without tipping it over. Is that—

  Thump.

  The canoe tips, and I fall into the lake. The cold water closes in over my head, and I’m sucked below the surface. Swim, dammit! I pump my arms and legs toward the surface, desperate to escape. My lungs seize, and black spots dance around the edges of my vision.

  I bump against the net and grab the thin fibers. Wiry edges dig into the palms of my hands, tightening as I try to jerk free. I pluck at the netting, but every time I feel some of the it give way, more wraps itself around me. Just as I untangle the last few strands, cold, slimy tendrils wrap around my arms.

  I open my mouth to scream, but suck in more water. Sharp edges scrape against my body, and I’m dragged through the netting. Twisting and turning, I fight my attacker, but my hands and legs slide off the fish’s slippery back. The muddy green shape shoves me into the net, but this time, its sharp edges snag against my clothes and bite into my skin. Oh God, the creature’s pushing me through the opening in the fence.

  I inhale another mouthful of lake water and struggle to swim away from the enormous fish, but it’s no use. The length of its body easily dwarfs mine. My heart stops. I’m going to die out there and that fish is going to eat me.

  I propel myself toward the light dancing across the surface. My legs become leaden and I can barely move them. This is it. The fish nudges me with its long, scaly tail. No! I can’t die out here. I won’t be eaten by some ten-foot-long fish.

  With one last burst of adrenaline, I kick toward the surface. My tortured lungs burn. Just as I’m about to give up, I break the surface. Hacking and coughing, I fill my lungs with air and try to get a bearing on my surroundings. The netting bobs up and down about a foot away. I search for my canoe, but I don’t see it.