Lure

by Brian Rathbone

  "I think I'm gonna hurl."

  Sam and Greg both let go at the same time, and within a single breath, Shells was gone like she'd been shot out of a cannon, all the while yelling, "I'm a world class sprinter!" She made it perhaps fifty strides before she ran, face first into a telephone pole. There was a sickening thud, followed by another when Shells fell backward and lay supine and unmoving. Sam and Greg ran to her with Maddie close on their heels. None could quite believe their eyes when they found Shells giggling.

  "I have to pee," was all that she said. As only the drunk could manage, Shells didn't have a scratch on her and seemed completely unscathed. As Greg and Sam helped her from the ground, a Lake Lure police car passed them very slowly, and Sam gave them a half wave as if to say, "We have everything under control." The policeman did not stop, and Shells let them guide her back to the Inn.

  Michael watched from the reception desk as they half carried Shells up the stairs; he just shook his head and laughed. Maddie bid them a good night once they had safely deposited Shells in her room. Sam and Greg then made their way to Sam's room.

  "Did you have your wheaties today?" she asked.

  "I suppose so," Greg said. "Why do you ask?"

  "Shells had a little redhead up here the other night and did her best to keep me up all night. I was kind of hoping to return the favor."

  Greg just smiled, picked Sam up, and carried her to the bed. Shells could eat her heart out, Sam thought.

  * * *

  When Sam woke, her legs were still trembling and her head swimming. Greg had acquitted himself well. When she opened her eyes, she drew a sharp breath after finding a dark figure standing at the foot of the bed and looking down at her.

  "What are you doing up?" she asked after a moment, unsure why Greg would be watching her sleep. In fact, she wondered how he could be upright. The combination of alcohol, exertion and dopamine had sent her into a deep sleep; that is until some instinct had caused her to wake.

  "Well?" she asked when no response came. A moment later she nearly levitated when a loud snore came from her right. Quickly looking over, she saw Greg sleeping soundly and clutching his pillow. Beyond him, the dull red glow of the digital alarm clock. At first it was little more than a blur, but she concentrated hard and convinced her eyes to focus.

  3:13 AM.

  Her blood running cold, Sam forced herself to look back to the foot of the bed. Now the dark figure stood with one appendage pointing toward the window; Sam guessed it was an arm, but the shape was a mere approximation.

  "Go away," she said, but it had no effect; if anything, the dark figure seemed to grow more imposing and forceful in its silent demand. "Shoo! Git! I'm not investigating now. Come back tomorrow. Go on! Git!"

  Seeming to grow larger, the dark figure absorbed the darkness around it and became even more substantial. It was then that Sam realized that the room itself was getting lighter. A greenish blue glow emanated from the window at which the dark apparition pointed.

  "Fine," Sam said finally. "If that will make you happy, I'll look out the window."

  "Yes, dear," Greg mumbled, still clutching the pillow, his eyes still closed.

  Feeling dizzy and disoriented, Sam slid her legs over the side of the bed and her feet touched the floor. When she looked up, the dark figure was nowhere to be seen; yet she distinctly felt its presence remaining. Part of her wanted to lie back down and go back to sleep, but now her curiosity was fully engaged and she knew it would nag her until she got up and at least looked to see what was generating that unnatural light. Naked, she felt self-conscious at first, uncomfortable showing her bare form to the dark entity, but she supposed it could have been watching all along, and she must have already given it quite a show.

  "I hope you're enjoying yourself," she said with an accusatory tone, yet she felt silly for doing so. Chastising ghosts for watching her seemed a less than sane thing to do.

  Greg continued to talk in his sleep, and Sam considered waking him, but she was drawn in silent fascination to the window, where the glow had begun to pulse, as if in time with her beating heart. The time on the clock couldn't have been a coincidence, and she looked out the window with an impending sense of dread. What she saw brought no real answers, only more questions. The lake itself was glowing from within, at the exact spot to which she and Maddie had been drawn. In the air above 'the spot' hovered a helicopter, yet this was not the same one they had seen gathering water for the fire she doubted really existed. This one seemed to drink in the light, and even after opening the window, she could hear nothing. Knowing the thump of its blades should easily be audible, Sam became convinced this was a military helicopter.

  "Greg," she said, but he just mumbled and rolled over, pulling the pillow over his ears. Somehow Sam knew that there would be no getting through to him in his current state, and she quickly put on a robe that had been hanging in the bathroom. After grabbing the room key from the nightstand, Sam moved into the hallway, locking the door behind her; fearing the unknown. Quietly, she descended the stairs and moved through the dimly lit reception area. No one could be seen, and she suddenly felt as if she were the only person left alive in the world. It was silly, she knew, yet the feeling persisted, and she made her way outside. Fog obscured her lower legs, hovering above the ground and seeming to spring from the lake itself.

  There, across the water, which moved in concentric rings away from the wash of the helicopter, was the glow she had seen from her room. Still pulsing in time with the beat of her heart, it seemed as foreign as anything she had ever encountered, and yet she felt as if she were somehow tied to it. Again the faint pulling sensation drew her across the road and onto the beach. Without even realizing it, she walked into the water itself, and only when the water reached her ankles did she recognize how far she had come.

  "Fancy meeting you here," Maddie said from behind her, and Sam thought her heart might stop. So strong the sensation of being alone had been, the sound of another living voice came as a severe shock.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you, but I don't think you should be out here. I don't think either of us should be."

  Sam turned to see the concern in Maddie's eyes, and she couldn't argue with her sentiment. The feeling of impending danger was now growing ever greater as the pulsing light dimmed. With one last glance at the glowing waters, Sam took Maddie's hand and the two started back toward the Inn.

  "I don't know what's going on here," Maddie said. "But something tells me that when the people in that helicopter are done looking at the lake, they will probably want to know if anyone else saw what they saw."

  Sam agreed and nodded, words seemed hard to form, and she let Maddie lead her away. Only moments later, light washed over the beach as the helicopter turned and simultaneously gained altitude. At first Sam thought they would be caught, but then the light stabilized on one spot: a rock outcropping along the shoreline. There stood a man in nothing but a loincloth. Sam recognized him. He was the man from Arrowheads, and he stood with his arms raised in silent defiance. Ropes dropped from the helicopter and dark forms moved to the open doors. Sam and Maddie both turned to make their escape, driven by primal fear. These were not the actions of friendly forces. As they ran, Sam risked one more glance in the direction of the rock outcropping, but the man from Arrowheads was gone. Only dark forms in helmets and body armor stood on the rocks.

  Chapter 13

  "Why the hell is there sand in the bed?"

  The sound of Greg's voice cut through Sam's brain like a chainsaw, and her only response was a groan. Light poured through the window and, like a blowtorch, tried to burn through her eyelids. The sound of pipes creaking was like enormous gongs ringing in the room with her, and Sam tried to burrow her way under the pillow. Her tongue was thick and tasted like a dirty sock, a realization that made her stomach churn. Why had she let Shells convince her to start drinking last night, she asked herself.

  Cold air rushed over her exposed legs, as Greg lifted up
the blankets. "Look at your feet! What the hell were you doing last night?"

  "The ghost told me to go to the lake," Sam said, realizing just how crazy that sounded. "Now could you please speak more softly?"

  "I am speaking softly," Greg shouted.

  "Then whisper."

  For a moment, a beautiful silence hung between them, but then someone took a battering ram to the door. Greg stomped across the floor, and it sounded as if he tore the door from its hinges.

  "Morning, sunshine," Greg said.

  "What's up, O'Greg?" Shells said. "That is your name now, right? I'm not sure why someone had to scream your new name for hours last night while I was trying to sleep, but from now on, I'm calling you O'Greg. Where is the little screamer hiding? That wouldn't be her hiding under that pillow, would it? O'Greg! O'Greg! O'Greg! There. How do you like it, ya' filthy little bitch."

  "Please stop," Sam said. "I'll give you whatever you want. Just stop yelling."

  "C'mon. Get up," Shells said. "O'Greg is gonna take us out for breakfast. Anyone with that much stamina ought to be able to carry us both down there and whip us up an eight course meal without breaking a sweat."

  "Shut up, Michelle."

  After a shower in which Sam spent much of the time leaning against the shower wall, she hid behind her darkest shades, her hair pulled up into a ponytail. Somehow Shells managed to avoid having a hangover. Sam was pretty sure she was still drunk.

  "Hey, Mikey," Shells said far louder than was required. "Where can we get some good food? And I'm not talking about those barely thawed muffins you have over there. That shit should be illegal. I mean where can we get some real food?"

  "What kind of food are you looking for?" Michael asked.

  "Something hot, and salty, and that will cure this hangover," Sam said.

  "It's a bit of a drive, but you need to go to Green Hill."

  "Where the hell is that?" Shells asked.

  "Just take 64 east until you come to a big gas station with rocking chairs sitting out front."

  "You're sending us to a gas station?" Sam asked, her glare somehow visible from behind her shades.

  "Trust me," Michael said. "There's a restaurant on one side. It's just the kind of place you're looking for."

  "Oh wait!" Shells said. "That's the place we ate at on the way in, remember. LIVERMUSH and FATBACK!"

  Though the names themselves might turn a weak stomach, the memory told Sam it was exactly the kind of thing she needed.

  "Let's go," she said.

  "Bring me back a livermush, egg, and cheese biscuit, will ya?" Michael asked.

  "You're one sick dude," Shells said, but she took the ones Michael handed her. "It's your funeral," she said as they left.

  Sam, Shells and Greg started the walk back to La Strada, where Sam's car waited. The walk seemed far longer on the way back, and seemed to be uphill the whole way.

  "Why don't you just run up there and get the car for us, Michelle?" Greg asked. "You're a world class sprinter."

  "Shut up, O'Greg. My nose hurts just thinking about it."

  Sam smiled. The mountain air worked wonders on her headache. Her grumbling stomach was another matter.

  As they walked up the drive that led to the parking lot in the rear of the restaurant, they found Maddie waiting for them.

  "I thought you would end up here eventually," Maddie said.

  "We're on a quest for hangover food," Shells said. "Care to join us?"

  "Don't mind if I do."

  No one spoke on the ride to Green Hill, and it wasn't until the ride back that Sam began to feel human again.

  When she returned to New Jersey, she vowed to extol the virtues of livermush and fatback. Truly the Yankees didn't know what they were missing. Maybe when she retired, she could open up a little greasy spoon, selling southern favorites to relocated rebels and unsuspecting northerners. It seemed as good a goal as any.

  Back at the Inn, Michael waited at the front desk; next to the desk a cardboard box that looked to have been through a war zone. Only vaguely rectangular in shape, flaps stuck up at odd angles, bits of tape clinging to them.

  "I have a delivery for you," Michael said.

  "Cripes, Mikey, what the hell happened to it?"

  "Not sure," he said. "I considered not signing for it, but I knew that would mean putting you up for another week with no investigation going on. You were going to investigate at some point, weren't you? And I'm not talking about investigating what all the girls are hiding under their skirts."

  "A girl's gotta start somewhere," Shells said, unfazed by the accusation. "Let's see what's in the box." Opening the box didn't take much effort, since it was really only closed in spirit. "What the hell! Only half of the stuff is in here! Where the hell are my IR illuminators?"

  "Maybe there's a second box coming?" Michael suggested with a hopeful note in his voice.

  "Nope," Shells said, holding a packing slip in her hand; on it Sam saw the words: package 1 of 1, and Shells was pointing to line items on the list. "Says here that my friggen' illuminators are supposed to be in here."

  "Sorry," Michael said, seeming almost as annoyed as Shells. "The UPS guy is usually as reliable as they come. I'm gonna say that someone else must've gotten to your box before it got to him. I could call them if you want."

  Shells just dismissed his offer with a wave of her hand, "I'll call the company I ordered them from and start a claim. Maybe they'll ship us some new ones, but it's gonna take a few days at least. You gonna put us up until then?"

  "Don't see where I have much choice," Michael said, but Sam noticed that he didn't really seem as upset about putting them up as he was about the missing illuminators. Something niggled at the back of her mind. Old police training came to the fore, and though she tried to ignore it, she couldn't help feeling that something wasn't as it should be.

  "We'll do what investigation we can without the night vision," Sam said.

  "You ever try hunting ghosts with the lights on?" Shells asked, and a few people in the lobby turned to watch the scene as it unfolded. Michael didn't seem to care.

  "We'll just have to do some audio work," Sam said, and Shells made an annoyed sound but didn't argue with her any further. Instead, she dialed a number on her phone and paced the floor while working up a good attitude. By the time someone answered her call, Sam wondered if they would ever get their illuminators, since Shells had worked herself into a frenzy. It seemed nothing irked Shells more than missing items and hold music. Sam made a note of that for future reference.

  The digital audio recorder and flash cards were in good order, and the handheld camcorders were all working properly, which was progress at least. Sam laughed at herself while checking out the new equipment. For years, she'd resisted new technology, but this new quest for evidence of the paranormal had required her to become familiar with the tools of the trade. Now she found she actually enjoyed tinkering with gadgets; something she wouldn't admit to Shells, since she would never hear the end of it. Still, she couldn't help smiling as the tri-field meter registered trace amounts of electromagnetic energy around the reception desk.

  "You ever get creeped out when working the desk?" Sam asked Michael.

  "All the time," he said. "Especially when Shells is around."

  Sam laughed, and Shells gave him the finger without ever pausing in her ranting tirade against the customer service person.

  "Listen here, Bob, or whatever the hell your name is. I don't know what the custom is in your country, but in the US of A, the customer is always right. Now which one of us is the customer? That's right, Bob. I am. Now that we have that cleared up, how soon can you send my four new IR illuminators?"

  Sam laughed and Michael shook his head. "You know, you could take all this back to your rooms and handle this in privacy instead of involving all of my customers."

  "You signed for it, Mikey," Shells said. "You're just gonna have to deal with it."

  Michael just held his hands up in front of hi
m in surrender. "Whatever you say, Michelle."

  Greg had been taking a drink of soda, and Michael's comment sent brownish foam shooting from his nose.

  Shells paused long enough to cast them both a scathing look, "Bite me, O'Greg. And that goes for you, too, Mikey Mike."

  Sam just loaded the equipment back into the mangled box, while Michael and Greg simultaneously gave Shells the finger. It seemed a bit inappropriate, but a few of the other customers seemed to find it amusing while Shells just shook her ass for them while she walked and talked.

  Not long after, the group convened in Sam's room. The cleaning crew was just leaving and cast them strange glances as they past.

  "Sorry about the sheets," Greg said. "She's a filthy little bitch."

  The cleaning ladies practically ran down the hall to get away from them.

  "Good one," Shells said, and Maddie smiled in agreement.

  "I guess I'm going to have to leave them a tip," Sam said, slightly embarrassed.

  "I got a tip for ya, right here," Shells said with her best New Jersey, Italian accent.

  "Shut up, Shells," Sam said.

  * * *

  In near complete darkness, Sam sat with her legs crossed, only the LED on the audio recorder providing any light. The video recorders were tucked away, useless in the darkness without the infrared illuminators.

  "Can you give us a sign of your presence?" Sam asked the darkness around her, knowing full well that there were spirits in this hotel; even if they had thus far remained illusive, except times when Sam wasn't prepared to capture evidence of their presence.

  "We just want to understand who you are and what you are doing here. Speak into this device I'm holding and we should be able to hear you, but please speak loudly." Silence greeted her requests, and only the occasional creak of the Inn broke the silence.

  "I know you're here. Please do something to let us know you are here. Move something. Make a noise. Anything."

  For a moment, there was no response, but then Sam heard a low popping sound followed by what sounded like a hiss.