The People in the Lake

by E Randall Floyd

  Phyllis scanned the beach. "Nope, nobody tonight. Just the two of us standing out here like a couple of ninnies." She placed the skull back down on the sand and turned to go.

  Astonished, Laura asked: "What are you doing? Shouldn't we take it with us?"

  “I think it's best we leave it here where it belongs." Phyllis wiped her hands, looked up the beach toward Laura's house. "What say we go get that cup of tea?”

  Twenty-Nine

  THEY SAT INDIAN-STYLE in front of Laura’s stone fireplace, quietly sipping tea and munching on lemon-flavored cookies while their boots and ponchos dried by the fire. A pair of blankets draped low across their shoulders protected their backsides from the wintry chill battering the front glass door.

  For the longest time they stared into the crackling fire, neither speaking. Finally, Laura spoke up. “There’s got to be a more rational explanation.”

  Phyllis sighed. “My dear, you don’t know how many times I used to try to tell myself that.” Her mind seemed to wander for a moment. “But that was a long time ago.”

  Laura couldn’t believe they were even having this conversation. She got up and put on another log, then crouched back down and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. “But what you’re saying seems so...so impossible. If they are what you say they are—ghosts, spirits, apparitions, whatever—what do they want with us? Why do they keeping bothering me and my daughter?”

  Phyllis drew another sip of tea. “Perhaps they’re trying to tell you something, warn you,” she said gravely. “Ever think of that?”

  Laura tensed. “Warn me? About what?”

  Phyllis shrugged her big shoulders, gazed into the crackling fire. In the soft glow of the firelight, her watery blue eyes seemed to dance and twinkle more brightly than ever. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice no more than a whisper. “It could be for a lot of reasons. But one thing is certain—I’ve never seen them so restless. Maybe something is going to happen. Maybe that’s why they’re so active. Like I said, maybe they’re trying to warn us.”

  “And you think that skull might have something to do with it?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe."

  "What do you think it was doing out there on the beach, anyway?"

  Phyllis shrugged again. "It must have washed up during the storm.” Her voice sounded hollow, low, like someone locked up in a closet crying out. “Old bones wash up out here all the time.”

  Laura remembered the pictures Phyllis had showed her of the drowned cemetery and shuddered. She stirred her tea with a cookie. “Do you think it's time we contacted the police?”

  “And just what would you tell them, my dear? Besides, even if they believed your story and came out to investigate, it’s probably long gone by now, washed back out into the lake where it came from.”

  The soft patter of footsteps on the stairs caused both of them to turn. Bit, clad in her pajamas and holding Anastasia and Teddy, waddled over to them and stopped.

  Laura put an arm around her daughter’s waist and pulled her close. “Sweetheart, what are you doing up this late?”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she said fretfully.

  Laura kissed the top of her head. “Is anything wrong, honey?”

  Bit nodded. “I had another bad dream.”

  Laura saw the fear in her daughter’s eyes. She looked at Phyllis, then back at Bit. “Oh, no, sweetheart, not again. Was it about those same two boys?”

  “Uh-huh."

  Laura noted the older woman’s reaction. “Sweetheart, you remember Dr. Coleman, don’t you?”

  Bit looked across at Phyllis and tried to smile. “You’re the one with the cute little doggie. Lord Nelson.”

  Phyllis chuckled. “You’re got a fine memory, child.”

  Laura rubbed her daughter’s arms. “Sweetheart, would you mind telling Dr. Coleman what you told me about your dreams, about the boys you saw down on the beach?”

  Bit shook her head. “I don’t want to.”

  Laura hugged her. “It’s okay, sweetie. I’ve already told her about my own dreams. She’d like to know about yours too, especially the one about the boys on the beach.”

  “But, Mom, they weren’t on the beach,” Bit started.

  Bewildered, almost too afraid to ask, Laura touched the girl’s soft face and inquired: “Then where they?”

  Bit waited a moment before answering her mother. “This time they were on the deck outside my door.”

  Icy, claw-like fingernails raked down the center of Laura’s spine. Horrified, she looked straight at Phyllis.

  Phyllis hesitated, as if assessing Bit’s eerie story in the cold, calculated manner of a trained professional. “You know, Bit,” the old woman began, clasping her hands under her chin for effect, “I’ve had dreams myself. I’ll bet yours are a lot like mine. Want to tell me what yours are like, then I'll tell you about mine.”

  After deliberating for a moment, Bit rolled her eyes and said, “Well, okay." She cleared her throat. "They always come at night, and I think I’m asleep. But that's silly, because I know I'm in bed. Then I hear voices, like some kids calling out to me. ‘Bit…Bit,’ they say," Bit explained, mimicking the voices. “They talk kind of funny, you know? They say, 'please come outside…We’re all alone, and we want you to come play with us.’ That’s what they say, but when I get up and go look out the window they don’t look real. I can see them standing there in the dark looking up at me. But...but it’s like I said, they don't look like real people. I..I can see right through them. Sometimes they smile at me and wave. Then, when I close my eyes, they go away. That’s what I dream.”

  Phyllis sat thinking. “Thank you for telling me about your dreams, Bit,” she said.

  “Now tell me about yours,” Bit said.

  Phyllis took off her glasses and wiped them clean with a tissue. “Well, yours sound a lot like the ones I used to have.”

  “Really?” That seemed to excite Bit. "You used to dream about the boys too?"

  Phyllis nodded.

  “Do they beg you to come outside and play?”

  Phyllis chuckled. “Well, they used to, a long time ago when I first moved up here. But they know I’m too old now to go outside and play with them anymore.”

  “Dr. Coleman,” Bit offered, her brow furrowed in a tiny frown, “you know what I think?”

  “What’s that, child?”

  “I think they’re lost. I don’t think they know where they are. I think they’re cold and lonely and just want to go home.”

  "That's exactly what I think," Phyllis said, smiling.

  At that point the elderly professor rose, shook off the heavy blanket and draped it across a chair. “Well, I should be getting along now and let you two young ladies get to bed. It’ll be daylight soon.”

  Laura stood up beside her. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay a little longer, at least until the storm has passed? You’re welcome to stay. We have plenty of room.”

  “Thank you, but I better head back home. Lord Nelson won’t forgive me if I’m away too long.” She glanced out the glass doors. “Besides, think it’s starting to ease up out there.” When she saw Bit yawning, she added, “Looks like somebody's good and tired. Wish I had a couple of cute companions like Anastasia and Teddy to go cuddle up with in bed.”

  Bit gave a sleepy smile. She looked at her mom and asked, "Can I sleep with you tonight, Mom?"

  "Of course, sweetheart," Laura replied. "You go on up. I'll be up as soon as I see Dr. Coleman out the door."

  Bit picked up her dolls and dragged herself slowly up the stairs.

  "Precious little thing you have there, Laura. And smart. Very, very smart."

  "I'm glad you think so."

  Laura accompanied the professor to the front door. Out of earshot from Bit, she asked, “What do you think?”

  Phyllis adjusted her glasses and said, “I think she’s telling the truth. Or what she perceives as the truth. What about you? You’re her mother.”

  “I�
�ve never known my daughter to lie.”

  “Then that should tell you something right there.”

  “But I don’t think I’m quite ready to accept your theory about ghosts.”

  “Even after what you saw?”

  “Maybe I was mistaken. Maybe it was something else. Driftwood, perhaps, or an illusion.”

  “Laura, dear, I think you’re in total denial.”

  “I grew up believing in only what I could see and touch.”

  “No God?”

  “Except for God. I believe in God.”

  “Have you ever seen God? Touched God?

  “Of course not. But ghosts are different.”

  “How can that be? They’re both in the spiritual realm.”

  “I can feel God’s presence. I know He’s there. I pray to God. I don’t pray to ghosts.”

  Phyllis closed her eyes and smiled. “You sound just like me thirty years ago.”

  She opened the door and stepped outside. Turning, she pursed his lips and gave Laura a curious stare. “Believe what you want, dear, but know this: whether you believe in ghosts or not, there’s something wrong up here, something unnatural, black and evil. My advice to you is to be careful. Remember where you are. Up here in these hills, the old ways still dominate. There’s no getting around that reality.”

  She headed for the steps. The rain had slackened significantly, and the wind had all but sputtered out. “Just remember what I said, and you’ll be all right,” she said before walking away.

  The old ways.

  What on earth had she meant by that?

  Laura started to call out to Dr. Coleman, to thank her again for coming to her aid in the storm—and especially to warn her about the bear, but she was already gone, swept up by the skittering shadows.

  As Laura closed the door behind her, it suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t told Phyllis about the moldy jam.

  Chapter Thirty

  LAURA AWOKE TO BRIGHT sunshine—and an empty bed.

  She clearly remembered crawling into bed next to Bit last night and snuggling against her soft, warm body as she drifted off to sleep. She sat up, thinking Bit might have gone to the bathroom. When she didn't hear anything, she suspected the girl might have gone downstairs for a glass of water.

  Laura felt a stabbing sensation inside her chest when she recalled the previous night’s events—the footsteps on the deck, those shadowy figures down on the beach, her mad scramble down to the lake, that ghastly skull, and bumping into Phyllis in the middle of the storm.

  She suddenly wondered: what had Phyllis been doing down on the beach in that awful storm, anyway?

  Most of all, she remembered the skull, that gleaming white obscenity leering up at her from the storm-tossed sand.

  "Old bones wash up out here all the time," she remembered Phyllis saying.

  She also recalled her saying that things up here in the mountains were not always what they seemed. Or words to that effect.

  Bit—where was Bit? She looked at the clock and saw it was almost noon. Bit would be starving. What kind of mother was she to sleep in so late?

  Frantic, she threw back the covers and jumped into her robe. Breakfast. She had to get something going in a hurry. She flew into the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face and dried quickly. She caught a glance of her face in the mirror—the tousled hair, rumpled gown, dark circles under her eyes. She groaned, then turned and hurried down the hall toward Bit’s bedroom.

  Thinking Bit might have gone to her bedroom during the night, she pushed open the door and called out: “Bit, honey?” She noticed a pile of blankets topped high on the bed. She stepped closer, calling her daughter's name. When she didn’t get an answer, she reached down and shook the covers. “Okay, sleepyhead, time to rise and shine,”

  Anastasia and Teddy tumbled out from under the covers—but not Bit.

  The bed was empty.

  Laura's heart sank. It wasn’t like Bit to go wandering off without her dolls. She ran to Bit’s bathroom.

  Empty.

  When she couldn't find her anywhere else in the house, Laura assumed she must have gone outside. But that was a no-no, strictly against the rules, ever since the bear incident.

  Cold panic gripped Laura as she raced frantically to the front sliding glass doors and looked out. In the bright noonday sun, the yard resembled a moonscape. Downed limbs and twisted clumps of debris cluttered the grounds as far as she could see. A blast of cold air seeped into her bones. Rubbing her arms, she cranked her head outside the door and read the thermometer: 38 degrees.

  As she stood in the doorway shivering, Laura noticed something moving far out on the lake. Shielding her eyes from the bright glare of the sun, she spotted a blue and white object gliding slowly across the choppy green surface. In a flash she realized what it was—a sail, a big white sail with a diagonal blue stripe flapping in the stiff breeze.

  Looking harder, she recognized Paul. He crouched low at the helm, bundled in a navy blue windbreaker, his thick brown hair flying wild against the cutting wind as he steered the little boat across the lake.

  Huddled next to him was Bit.

  “Oh my God,” Laura gasped, a tight knot forming in her throat.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  LAURA SLOWED LONG enough to throw on a sweater and pair of boots before dashing outside. She scrambled across the debris-littered yard, clomping through icy mud puddles and bounding over twisted limbs and downed trees as she hurried for the beach.

  A stiff wind sliced in from the lake, stinging Laura's eyes and chilling her to the bone.

  The thick sweater and boots she had flung on before leaving the house did little to shield her from the stubborn cold that slapped and clawed at her face.

  She had to get to her daughter. The poor baby was probably freezing out on the open water. Laura hoped she was at least wearing something warm.

  Inside, she seethed at Paul. What right had he to take her daughter out on the lake without her permission?

  Really.

  What kind of man would do such a thing, especially in this weather?

  Laura continued to fume as she hurdled over the rocks and sprinted across the beach to the edge of the water. Stopping at the frothy shoreline, she jumped up and down, waving her hands and screeching like a mad woman. “Bit! Bit!” she yelled, her voice cracking in the raw wind.

  Out on the boat, Bit and Paul saw Laura standing on the shore and waved back.

  “Uh-oh,” Paul said to Bit. “Looks like we’re in big trouble.”

  He tacked the boat around and started steering it toward shore. The wind fought back, continuing to tear at the big blue-and-white sail, but the little boat held its course.

  From the shore, Laura watched the craft battling the waves. She held her breath, gasping at each wave that splashed across its plunging bow, each crackle of the flapping sail. How could such a little boat survive such a beating?

  Only when the boat skidded to a stop onto the sandy shore did Laura relax.

  Paul hopped out first, secured the line, then grabbed Bit in his arms and waded ashore.

  He saw the look on Laura’s face. “Your daughter’s quite the little sailor,” he quipped, hoping beyond hope that humor would defang the beast.

  Ignoring Paul’s attempt at humor, Laura bent down and swept Bit up in her arms. She was already turning ice-blue “What do you think you were doing out here?"

  “Sailing,” Bit replied.

  “You’re freezing.”

  “No I’m not. Paul gave me his scarf, see?” She unwrapped a long blue and yellow woolen scarf from around her neck. “Isn’t it nice? It was his when he was in college.”

  Laura didn’t care much about the scarf. She glared at Paul. “How dare you take my daughter out on a boat without asking my permission!”

  Paul slumped. “I’m sorry, Laura…”

  Laura stiffened. “Just what do you think you were doing?”

  Before Paul could answer, Bit smiled and inte
rjected: “You were asleep, Mom. We tried and tried to wake you up.”

  “We really wanted your permission,” Paul added.

  Laura was beside herself. “But you did not have my permission, Paul,” she raged. “How could you do such a thing?”

  “We didn’t want you to worry,” he explained.

  “Worry? What do you know about worry, Paul? You don’t have an eight-year-old daughter going on eighteen!”

  “Mom,” Bit said, stepping between them, “why are you acting so weird? It was almost one o’clock. You were still asleep. Paul and I thought you looked tired and didn’t want to wake you.”

  Laura was speechless. The image of Paul skulking around her bedroom while she slept gave her the heebie-jeebies.

  An almost uncontrollable rage flared through her. For one brief moment, she felt like slapping Paul.

  Instead, she turned to Bit and snapped: “Let’s go home, young lady, now! I've got to get you into some warm clothes and then something hot to drink.”

  She saved her worst anger for Paul. “As for you, that was the most thoughtless, inconsiderate thing I have ever seen,” she huffed. “And most dangerous. Please don’t bother coming to our house again.”

  Laura snatched Bit’s hand and dragged her away, leaving Paul standing alone by his sailboat at the edge of the lake.

  Thirty-Two

  "DON'T YOU THINK you over-reacted just a little bit, Mom?" Bit asked. She was sitting in front of the fireplace, slurping down a bowl of steamy soup. "Paul didn't mean any harm. He was just trying to be nice to me."

  Laura huffed. "I don't want to discuss this right now. When you've finished with your soup, I want you to march upstairs and clean up your room."

  "But, Mom..."

  "Not another word," Laura said.

  ⸙

  THAT NIGHT, LAURA SAT ALONE at the dining room table, blankly staring at her cell phone. It lay next to her plate, a tiny, slender black box that linked her to the outside world—and to Brad.