Lure

by Brian Rathbone

  Shells did not look impressed and Sam chose not to say anything yet.

  "I sense that you are looking for a professional psychic . . . the best even," the woman said, holding one hand to her forehead. "Am I right?"

  "You're good," Shells said.

  "Do you know of someone?"

  "Yes, ma'am. You want to see the Woods Woman Psychic, that's who you need to see."

  "Oh you have got to be kidding me," Shells said. "Do you have a Woods Woman to English dictionary?" she asked no one in particular.

  The woman ignored Shells. "She's the best there is; even has her own radio show and everything. Here, I have her number. I'll write it down for you."

  "Is it this number?" Shells asked, holding out her smartphone.

  "Why, yes," the woman said, looking a bit crestfallen. "How did you do that?"

  "I got the Interweb," Shells said, and then she moonwalked to the carving of an eagle. "Aw, man. I have to have that," Sam heard her say.

  "Thank you," Sam said.

  "You're welcome dear," the woman said with a warm smile. "I hope whatever brought you here is for your own good."

  "You can't tell?" Sam asked.

  "I'm only a little psychic. Bye now."

  "Wait. That's it? Didn't you come in here for something?"

  "I did, dear," she said while walking out the door. "I came to see you. Now I'm going home."

  It was as strange a thing as anyone had ever said to her, with the noted exception of what the man behind the counter had said. He had yet to reappear.

  "C'mon," Shells said. "Let's go."

  Sam followed her back outside and they wandered back toward the car.

  "I've got this woods woman's phone number," Shells said. "You want me to call her?"

  "Uh. Sure."

  "Yeah. Is this the woods woman psychic lady? Yeah, my friend is a wreck, a real mess, and she needs to see a professional psychic. We were told you were the person to see. When can we come see you? Now? Sweet!" Shells gave Sam the thumbs up, though Sam had another bad feeling in her gut. What was with her gut these days anyway? She had better not be pregnant, she told herself. But then she quickly did the math and realized there was no way. She shrugged it off.

  "Oh yeah, she's totally screwed up," Shells said. "She's, like, seeing ghosts, lost her job and her man. She's all messed up. OK. We're coming now; we'll be there in . . . " she looked down at her phone and poked around for a moment. "We'll be there in a half an hour."

  "Thanks," Sam said when Shells hung up the phone.

  "Oh, you're welcome dude," Shells said, never looking up from her phone. "OK, these roads might get a little dicey; let's go a little easier on the go pedal, ya dig?"

  The Camaro had always been a car that was impossible to drive the speed limit. It seemed to always creep a little faster and a little faster. With Shells navigating, Sam kept it slow, much for the purpose of safety, but sometimes waiting for Shells' smartphone to quit saying "connection lost."

  "I thought that thing was supposed to keep us from getting lost and it appears to have done the exact opposite," Sam said.

  "Ha!" Shells said. "Just keep going straight for another mile and then we're gonna make a right. Then we're just about there."

  The Woods Woman Psychic's office was at her modest home in the hills outside of Lake Lure. Nothing on the outside gave any indication of anything but normalcy. When Shells knocked on the door, it made a dull wrapping sound that Sam didn't think anyone would hear; but the sound of a small dog barking and the click of claws across a hard floor, announced their presence just as well.

  The woman who answered the door had a kind smile, short hair, and looked completely normal. which came as a disappointment to Shells, who looked crestfallen.

  "Y'all the ones with an emergency?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Sam said. "I suppose you could call it that. My Aunt made me promise to see a professional psychic."

  "Good for your aunt! And come on in. Don't mind the dog; he won't bite."

  The little white and brown dog continued to bark and growl at them as they came in, and when Sam met its eyes, it backed up and barked in short yips. Sam wondered what made such a little creature think itself ready to take her on. It was a silly, immature thought, but Sam was used to that. Growing up was a disease she had managed to never catch, and responsibilities were not currently on her list of things she needed.

  "My name is Serena," she said as she led them down a short and narrow hall and into her office. Shells seemed to appreciate the Native American and other art that adorned the walls. "Whew! Can you feel the energy in here today?" she asked. "You'll have to forgive me if I start flying around the room. Don't be alarmed."

  Sam looked at Shells, whose eyes had gone wide, but neither said anything.

  "You have a choice to make. Choose well," the woman suddenly said, and Sam looked up to find Serena staring at her, or through her perhaps, since the woman's eyes didn't seem to exactly meet hers or show any recognition that Sam was looking back. "OK. So let's get started," she said a moment later. "Tell me about what brought you here."

  "What about the choice?" Sam asked. "You said I have a choice to make. What do you mean by that?"

  "I didn't say anything about a choice. Did I?" Serena asked. "I'm sorry dear, sometimes I do that. I must have been out of my body. I'll try to stay more grounded around you. Ok?"

  "Yeah. OK," Sam said. "So, uh, I keep, like, seeing people right after they die."

  "Ah, so you are a medium."

  "No," Sam said.

  "Ah, so you are a reluctant medium."

  "No. It's not like that," Sam argued.

  "It never is, dear," Serena said. "You must accept the fact that the world is changing and so are you. You feel it and yet you deny it. Perhaps you do have a choice to make. Will you accept your gift or will you reject it? Neither road is easy, I'm afraid; it's not something we get to choose. I say it is a gift, others would tell you that it's a curse; it's what you make of it."

  Sam could find no words to respond. She couldn't really be psychic; that was her aunt's role in the family. Sam had seen what that had gotten her: more than her fair share of sideways glances.

  "I'm seeing water around you and a big trip."

  "Well those things are kind of obvious, aren't they?" Shells said. Serena ignored her.

  "I see danger and I see solace. You must be very careful."

  "That's kind of vague. Can you be more specific?" Shells asked. Sam gave her a dirty look, which had absolutely no effect.

  "Beware the darkness and embrace the light."

  "Words to live by," Shells said. "So what about me? Do I need to beware the darkness? What does my future hold?"

  Serena stared at Shells for a moment as if seeing her for the first time.

  "Nothing," Serena said.

  Shells gaped, speechless.

  "Just kidding," Serena said. "You should probably beware the darkness too."

  And that was it. With a nod, the session was ended, and Serena seemed to come back to her body. "Are you heading back to Lake Lure?"

  "Yes," Sam said.

  "Here. Let me write you down directions on how to get out of here. Even if you have GPS, the mountains sometimes block it."

  "Ha. See?" Shells said. "It wasn't my smartphone's fault." She looked very satisfied with herself.

  "Here you go. Just make sure you can read my handwriting. I find when I come back to my body, I have the hardest time getting my hands to do things."

  Looking over the directions, Sam noticed that if she looked at it the right way, she could clearly see the number 313, large and diagonally through the text. It seemed impossible, but it was so perfect that she now had trouble reading the directions because all she could see was the number 313.

  "Shells, look at this piece of paper and tell me what you see. Don't just read it, look at it." Sam handed the paper to Shells, and Serena watched with what seemed amused interest. Shells looked at it, read the words, tu
rned it this way and that, and turned to hand it back to Sam; just as she did, though, she stopped, her jaw hanging open. "Holy crap. How did you do that? That's incredible!"

  "What is it?" Serena asked.

  "You really don't know?" Shells asked. "Oh, man. That's freaking me out." She said, handing the paper to Serena.

  "I don't see it," she said after looking at it for a few moments. Shells reached over and turned the paper so that the number was straight across, and Serena gasped. "I didn't write that. I mean. I didn't mean to write that, at least not consciously, I guess. Wow. Three Thirteen. I wonder what that means?"

  "You wonder?" Shells said. "How do you think we feel? That's freaky, man. Either you're really good and you're messing with us, or that is just plain freaky."

  Chapter 8

  Behind a desk stood a man with a shiny bald head and a goatee with more gray than black in it, but there was a warmth in his eyes that drew Sam to him. "Welcome to the Lake Lure Inn, my name is Michael. How can I help you today?"

  "Hi, Mike," Shells said. "We're with SJPS. We're here to see about your ghosts."

  Michael didn't look particularly pleased with being called Mike, but he did brighten when he heard who they were.

  "I'm so glad you're here," he said. "We were starting to worry about you."

  "We were slightly delayed," Shells said.

  "I believe lost is the correct word," Sam added.

  "It happens to the best of us," Michael said, and he handed each of them a key; not some electronic key card, but an actual key. "We're going to put you up on the third floor. That should keep you isolated from the other guests. We don't want them to disturb you, and we don't want you to disturb them." Shells gave Sam a glance at that point, which Sam thought took some nerve. "Many of the claims here take place in the spa area, but the maids don't like to go up on the third floor, and we've had a number of people check out early."

  Sam looked past the registration desk, and not far away sat a bar. For a moment she wondered if a quick drink might be in order.

  "There are a number of different stories that people tell," Michael said. "Soldiers rested here during World War II, and there is said to be the spirit of a woman here. Mostly I think people are just telling tales, but if you can come up with some hard evidence, then people will come just for the haunting. And if you don't find anything, then I can tell the staff that the place isn't haunted. Either way, I win."

  Sam could see his point, and from the stale smell in the air on the third floor, it appeared these rooms didn't get much use anyway, so he wasn't losing out on room fees. That just left the meals they had been promised, and the two of them couldn't eat all that much. It seemed like a pretty good deal for everyone involved. Despite the lack of use, the rooms were well appointed and comfortable. Once the air conditioner had brought in some fresh and cool air, the room began to feel a great deal better.

  "So people have experiences in the spa, right?" Sam heard Shells asking Michael, who waited in the hall, and she smiled. She loved that girl.

  "I suppose I could comp you each a massage. Just stop by the spa and schedule something. Keep in mind the therapists are independent contractors, and I'm sure they would appreciate any tips you feel are appropriate."

  "That's a fair deal," Shells said. "Thanks."

  Looking out of her still open door, Sam saw Shells moonwalk, grab her crotch, and spin around with a "He he!" She shook her head.

  With guests to attend to, Michael didn't stay any longer, and Sam and Shells were left to settle into their rooms. A king size bed dominated the room, but a small desk and chair provided a work space, and an easy chair and ottoman filled the remainder of the main space. Aside from that, there was a nice sized bathroom, with relatively modern fixtures. Someone had done a great deal of work to keep this hotel up with the times. A small closet was the only other space, its open door facing the bed.

  Ready for the real adventure to begin, Sam grabbed her key, never looking at the white paper tag attached to it by a bit of string. When she stepped outside and slid the key into the lock, she turned it to the right and there was a satisfying thunk of the deadbolt. At that moment her eyes came to rest on the dull brass-rimmed number plate that adorned the door.

  313.

  Her room was number 313. It couldn't be a coincidence, and Sam felt a lump rise in her throat. What did this mean? What was she supposed to do with this? Without realizing it, she was pounding on the door to Shells' room, and it didn't take long for her friend to respond.

  "What the hell?" she said when she opened the door, but then she saw the look on Sam's face. "Dude. What's up?"

  "Look at my room number," Sam said.

  "Holy crap!" Shells said when she saw the number. "Oh, man. You're not going to believe this. I mean you're really not going to believe this."

  "What?" Sam asked, not really wanting any more surprises, but unable to resist asking.

  "The guys from Survieltech called, and they weren't all that mad about picking up the equipment, and they know the only reason the equipment was abandoned was because we got arrested, which they actually thought was pretty funny. So anyway, on to the really friggen' interesting part. Rather than just trash our evidence, my buddy Ron decided to check it out and see if we actually caught anything. And guess what?"

  "What?"

  "We friggen' caught some stuff, dude! And he emailed a couple clips to me. We caught two EVPs. Here, listen to the first one. Just tap the play button."

  Shells handed Sam her smartphone and after figuring out what the play button was, she tapped it. A sound played, but Sam couldn't pick any words out of it.

  "I know what Ron thought that said, but I'm not going to say it. Did you make anything out?" Shells asked.

  "No," Sam said.

  "OK. Hold onto your panties, and listen to the second one. You might want to sit down, dude. For real."

  Sam took the smartphone and with a certain amount of trepidation tapped the play button. What she heard was a deep and garbled voice issue three very clear syllables: three thirteen.

  "Is that not freaky as hell?" Shells asked. "What is going on here, dude? I'm starting to freak out."

  "I don't know Shells, but we're going to find out. This just tells me that we are heading in the right direction. When will the equipment arrive?"

  "It should get here tomorrow," Shells said. "I didn't want to pay for overnight shipping, so I tried to time it. It may take a couple days, but it saved us some bucks."

  "That sounds good," Sam said, knowing Michael had said they could stay for as long as they needed to, within reason, and a couple extra days seemed well within reason. "Let's go see about scheduling those massages. I doubt they would let us record those anyway, so we can just relax and get in tune with the Inn."

  "Yeah. That's the ticket," Shells said. "I'll bet getting yourself into a super relaxed state is a great way to bring out the spirits."

  Sam shook her head.

  "I've told you before that getting a massage is an art," Shells said. "If you don't do the right things when receiving a massage, there's not much the therapist can do for you."

  "As you say, master massage receiver."

  "I used to sleep with someone in massage therapy school, and I was her homework for like a year. Now I'm a friggen' pro," Shells said.

  Taking the stairs across from the registration desk, the girls descended to the spa level and made their way to where a pleasant looking woman sat at an antique yet modest desk. "How y'all doing?" She asked with one of the most appealing drawls Sam had heard. Coupled with a warm smile and laughing eyes, Sam instantly knew she liked the woman. "My name is Lori," she said. "What can I do for you ladies today?"

  "Hi, I'm Sam and this is my friend Shells, and we would like to schedule massages for tomorrow if possible."

  "Ouch. Tomorrow, huh?" Lori said. "We stay pretty well booked. Let me have a look at the schedule."

  "The later the better," Sam added.

  "Wel
l. You might just be in luck. I've got an opening and a cancellation at 2:30 tomorrow. Will that work for you?"

  "Deal," Shells said, trying to move her way a little closer to Lori. Sam stepped to the side, barely able to suppress her smirk. "You ever have anything weird happen to you down here? Oh. Wait. That came out wrong."

  Lori laughed. "You're the ghost busters, aren't you?"

  "We prefer ghost detectives," Shells said. "It makes us sound badass, don't you think?"

  "If you say so."

  Sam could see this wasn't going anywhere. "So what would you recommend doing around here?"

  "Oh, well there's Chimney Rock, which is a must see; the view is amazing. You can take an elevator up through the mountain to the chimney. And then I would have to say the boat tour of Lake Lure is quite a treat."

  "Thanks," Sam said. "Come on Romeo. Let's go."

  "Bye, Lori," Shells said, undeterred. "It was nice meeting you."

  "Oh, do come on," Sam said, surprised by the bit of jealousy that threatened to redden her face. "Which do you want to do first?"

  "I gotta see this elevator," Shells said. "I dig elevators."

  Sam raised an eyebrow. "Elevators?"

  "Hey, everybody has their quirks, and I've got a thing for elevators. And I ain't talking empty elevators either; I'm not that freaky. Close but not quite."

  After paying their way into the park, Sam drove slowly up the winding incline. One mistake here could be deadly, and Sam wasn't taking too many chances, though she chided herself for not going straight to a garage instead of sight seeing. The ride back down the mountain could prove interesting. Sam lost count of the switchbacks when they passed a small house that stood cradled by the tightest of turns. Its maroon painted wood siding with dark green roof and trim looked almost magical in that spot, surrounded by pristine forest with a quaint bit of blacktop running through it. Movement caught Sam's eye, and she thought she saw a flash of light. She craned her neck and tried to look back as they passed, but a pickup was coming from the other direction and Sam needed to keep her attention on the narrow roadway.

  Finally, a parking lot appeared around the next curve, and Sam parked in a spot with an empty spot on either side, as she always tried to do. She could have parked far closer, but the risk of door dings kept her from taking those spots.