The People in the Lake

by E Randall Floyd

  Bit buried her head in a pillow on the sofa and started crying. “He wants us to die, doesn’t he?" she wailed. "He wants to just leave us up here so we'll freeze to death and die!”

  Laura sank down next to her daughter and caressed the back of her head. “No, sweetheart, Brad doesn't want us to die. He'd be here if he could.”

  “Then why isn't he coming tonight?”

  Laura sighed. She wished she knew.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  "IT’S FREEZING, MOM,” Bit cried. “I want to go home.”

  Laura sat with her daughter at the dining room table munching on crackers and cheese. The Bulova radio-controlled clock over the mantel had just struck eight p.m..

  “We will,” Laura said, smearing another cracker. “Just as soon as your father gets here.”

  “Brad's not my father.”

  Laura knew that tone. She'd heard it many times before. “Sweetheart, you know I don’t like it when you talk about Brad that way. He loves you very much.”

  “No he doesn't. If he did, he'd drive up here tonight and take us home."

  Laura waited for Bit to calm down, then leaned forward and said, "This was your idea, remember? You wanted to come up to the lake house. So, Brad arranged it with Danny so we could have it the whole month for Christmas.”

  “But he promised to take me sailing," Bit whined. "If it hadn’t been for Paul, I couldn’t have even done that!”

  “Bit, please…”

  “I hate him,” Bit raged. “I hate him! I hate him!”

  She jumped up from the table, limped upstairs to her bedroom.

  ⸙

  BIT LAY ON HER BED, sobbing. Why was Brad being so mean to them? How could he leave them up here alone at the lake for so long? He had promised to go hiking with her, to take her sailing, to sit around the fireplace with them roasting marshmallows. They’d been at the lake more than a week now, and all she’d been able to do was sit around inside this gloomy old house watching it rain.

  She was sobbing so loud she almost didn’t hear the scratching sound outside her window. She raised her head and glanced up.

  Something was just outside the door to the deck, scraping, pawing against the glass.

  ⸙

  BIT WIPED HER EYES, got up and tip-toed over to the sliding glass door. She drew back the curtains and peered out. She could see fog drifting past—fog so thick and granular she could hardly see three feet beyond the door. Using her sleeve, she wiped a circle in the glass so she could see better.

  Outside, barely discernible in the drifting fog, something floated into view. That something was a shapeless cloud of roiling mist that seemed to burn green from within. Terrified, yet fascinated at the same time, Bit pressed her face closer to the glass. She watched anxiously, mesmerized, as the green, glowing cloud billowed cold and wet against the glass. The rolling mass puffed and swirled, casting wispy patterns and radiant colors.

  It was like watching a big glob of cotton candy, Bit thought, and while she watched, the mysterious green cloud began to change.

  All at once Bit found herself staring into the pale, ghostly face of a strange boy. The boy, fully formed, hovered only inches away outside the door, yet she felt the cold chill of his grave inside her own room. The boy's eyes burned black and were as cold as the night, yet they shone like diamonds from hollow, sunken sockets.

  She knew who it was even before he opened his mouth and whispered to her through the glass. It was Luke, Mason’s older brother. Mason had warned her that Luke was unhappy and hated the living. The intruders had killed him first, in full view of his mother and sisters, after he had gunned down the big intruder with his dad's shotgun. The others had stormed in, slashing his throat with a knife and laughing at him as he bled to death in the back corner of the cabin. Then they had cut off his head and nailed it above the fireplace. After that, they had kicked open the door to the backroom, raped and brutalized his own mother—even one of his little sisters—before beating them all unconscious with their fists. Finally, before firing the cabin, they had taken all the bodies out into the woods and buried them alive.

  "I know who you are," Bit said softly, her lips touching the cold glass. "You're Luke, Mason's brother. What do you want?"

  “Help,” the boy said, only his voice was so low and muffled Bit could barely understand it.

  “What did you say?”

  “Please help us.”

  The boy spoke in the same funny dialect that his brother Mason had.

  “How?” Bit asked.

  “The water…”

  Bit leaned against the glass. “What about the water?”

  “It hurts. It burns us all so bad.”

  Tears formed in the corner of Bit’s eyes. She couldn’t imagine Luke and his family being in so much pain. But what could she do? She was only a little girl. Her lower lip trembled as she said, “I’ll try to help you, Luke. Just tell me what to do.”

  “It must go…”

  Bit pressed her face even harder against the glass, so hard her tiny nose flattened out.

  “Make the water go away,” the boy on the other side of the glass continued, “make it go away so we can rest…finally git some rest.”

  Bit squeezed Teddy hard. She didn’t know what to do. Should she go upstairs and get her mom? Maybe she’d know what Luke meant about the water. But that was probably not a good idea, because he would probably be gone by the time they got back.

  Bit opened her mouth to speak, but before the words could come out, Luke uttered, "We wait…” A ghostly hand emerged from the pulsing fog. One skeletal finger pointed in the direction of Bear Gap Lake.

  ⸙

  IN DEATH, LUKE BULLARD had never found peace. Later, after the cold black waters of the lake poured over the remains of him and his family, the spirit of Mason’s older brother had risen in anger. Hatred continued to burn within him, a hatred that had known no bounds.

  Until now.

  At first Bit wanted to scream in fear as she watched Luke’s shapeless form float in front of her. But the longer she watched the dead boy's translucent body hover outside the window, his curled fingers snatching and clicking against the glass, the less frightened she became, the more she understood.

  The hatred Mason had warned her about no longer seemed to possess his brother’s spirit. Instead of burning fury, Bit sensed a warm energy radiating through the glass door. In fact, the boy seemed to be smiling.

  Strangely, Bit's fear began to fade.

  No longer afraid, Bit reached out and touched the cold glass with her fingertips. The glass gradually warmed, and that warmth tingled her fingers, spread throughout her body like a warm bath. It was an exhilarating feeling, and Bit knew in that moment she would never again have to fear the people in the lake.

  Then, as silently as it had appeared, the apparition began to dissolve, to fade and drift away, gradually blending with the eerie roiling fog. The last thing Bit saw was a green shimmering halo circling the boy’s pale, haunted face.

  Then it was gone.

  Unable to tear herself away from the door, Bit looked farther and saw five other figures waving to her from down on the beach.

  Then, all at once, they, too, were gone.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  LAURA SENSED, RATHER THAN heard or felt, the presence next to her bed. She opened her eyes and gazed into the darkness. It took a couple of seconds for her eyes to adjust to the gloom and focus in on the form leaning over the bed.

  "Bit?" she called out, finally recognizing the dark form standing beside her bed. She rolled over and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "Are you all right, sweetheart?"

  At first the girl said nothing. Then, clutching the teddy bear close against her chest, she said in a soft, detached voice, "I saw the other boy."

  Laura sat up and blinked. "What other boy?"

  Bit hesitated. She squeezed Teddy and said, “Luke. Mason’s older brother. He touched me through the glass door.”

  It took a lo
ng moment for Laura to process her daughter’s words. When she did, she got up and wrapped her arms around Bit. “Sweetheart, are you sure this wasn’t just another dream?”

  “I saw the others, too," Bit said. "They’re dead, Mom, just like Mason said. They’re all dead.”

  “Bit, you’re scaring me.”

  “They’re in pain, Mom, the lake water burns them.”

  Laura couldn’t speak. Her mouth was open, and the words were there, but nothing came out.

  “I saw them, Mom,” Bit continued. “Don’t you understand? They were real. Luke told me they are no longer sad because they know we're going to help make the pain go away…to them find a new home.” Then: “It was the bells, Mom, the bells ringing in the water that woke them up from a deep sleep.”

  Laura took her daughter’s hand. “Show me,” she said. “I want you to show them to me, sweetheeart.”

  Bit shook her head. “You can't see them now, Mom. They're gone. And this time I don't think they'll be coming back."

  Laura stood facing her daughter, uncomprehending. How could Bit remain so calm, so detached and unafraid in the face of so much high strangeness?

  That night, as Bit slept soundly next to her in bed, Laura lay awake, eyes fixed on the glass door and the creeping mists beyond, utterly unable to sleep.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  LAURA WANTED TO SLEEP, but she couldn’t shut down. Her eyelids sagged, heavy and bloated, but they wouldn’t obey her command to close. Her body sputtered and trembled in the dark, like a high-octane engine that had simply run out of gas.

  Sometime later, as she floated warm and snug in that delicious twilight state between sleep and consciousness, she became aware of a new sound—a tinkling clatter, like glass shattering. Groggy, her first instinct was to imagine it was only part of the dream, and she resisted the urge to move. Part of her clung to the dream, not wanting it to go away, because she dreaded waking up to another day of cold and unrelenting terror.

  When she heard another noise—like footsteps crunching around on the back deck outside the kitchen—she bolted upright in bed. Her eyes sprang open wide, piercing the gloom of her bedroom like fiery strobes as she contemplated the uninvited noise.

  ⸙

  DOWNSTAIRS IN THE KITCHEN, a gloved hand reached inside the broken glass pane in the back door and unlatched the lock.

  The door slid back on its hinges, and a burley figure swathed in black stood in the doorway, quietly surveying the kitchen.

  The figure blended with the shadows, like ink on ink, and stepped quietly across the threshold.

  ⸙

  LAURA REMAINED UPRIGHT in bed, coiled and tense, every fiber of her being on high alert. She felt Bit’s warm body next to hers, heard the soft rhythms of her breathing. She didn't want to move. Part of her was still wandering warm and snuggly inside the dream.

  Outside the sliding doors, rain slashed against the glass, drove steel-like pellets onto the deck. Thunder rumbled low over the mountains, lightning flickered and danced.

  L:aura couldn't get her mind off the sound she'd just heard—like crystal shattering--coming from the kitchen. It would have been easier to simply dismiss it as part of the dream, to slide back under the covers and return to dreamland. But Laura knew that would be unwise.

  Suddenly she was wide awake. The horrifying thought occurred to her that somebody might be at the back door trying to break in. Or maybe they were already inside the house.

  Laura got up quietly, so as not to disturb Bit, grabbed the flashlight from the bedside table and crept down the hallway toward the stairs. She moved quickly down the carpeted stairs toward the living room where the low embers of last night's fire cast eerie shadows on the walls.

  Entering the kitchen, she became aware of a cold draft. Startled, she swung the light around and saw the back door standing wide open. She froze when she looked down and saw the floor littered with glass shards.

  ⸙

  BAFFLED AND TERRIFIED at the same time, Laura aimed the flashlight at the floor where she saw wet footprints—huge footprints—leading from the open doorway.

  Backing up slowly, she spun around in time to see a tall, masked figure, completely clad in black, lunge toward her from the shadows, one black-gloved hand clutching a long, gleaming knife.

  Laura dropped the flashlight and screamed as one strong hand caught her hair and swung her around hard against the wall. Still screaming, Laura kicked wildly, blindly, both arms flailing out of control, her fingers clawing empty air.

  But the strong hand tangled in her hair held tight, shaking her head so violently she thought her neck was going to snap any second. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the glint of a curving blade near her face.

  Laura felt her strength waning, but knew her only chance was to fight back. She kicked left and right, hoping to land a solid punch somewhere on the masked intruder before it was too late. In desperation, she raised one knee and thrust forward. The sharp jab connected hard, forcing the attacker to loosen his grip.

  Laura ducked and veered, somehow managing to twist out of the attacker's grasp. She staggered away, slipping and sliding across the wet tile floor like a drunken ice skater. Regaining her balance, she scrambled toward the darkened hallway.

  As she rounded the corner, she heard a whoosh—then glanced back in time to see something long and gleaming tumbling toward her through the dark. She ducked, just as the blade of the long knife landed with a thud in the wall inches above her head.

  She reached the stairs and used her hands and knees to pull herself up the carpeted steps. Behind her, heavy footsteps lumbered up the hallway.

  ⸙

  LAURA WAS HALFWAY UP the stairs when she felt the attacker's hand close around her ankle. She kicked back, but the grip was too firm. Using both hands, she tried to drag herself up the stairs, but the weight of the intruder held her back. She clawed and grasped at the carpet, willing herself forward as the assailant continued to tighten his control of her legs. In one final, frantic lunge, she reached for the railing. Her fingers coiled around one of the spindly posts, and she held on for dear life.

  But Laura was no match for the attacker's vice-like grip. She felt her fingers slipping, peeling back one after the other. If she let go, Laura knew she would die. Then, what would become of her daughter? She couldn’t bear the thought of anything bad happening to Bit.

  Something inside forced her to hang on, not let go.

  As the last ounce of strength drained from her body, Laura finally succeeded in slipping one of her arms free, and when she did, she twisted around and drove her elbow hard into the masked assailant's face. The soft crunch of bone almost sickened Laura. She cocked her elbow again and brought it down a second time, so hard the attacker groaned, abandoning his hold. Laura took advantage of her attacker's pain to roll out from under him. But in doing so, her legs got tangled up with her assailant's, and they both tumbled to the bottom of the stairs in a spindly heap of arms and legs.

  Panting and flailing, Laura was the first to disentangle and lurch to her feet. Using only her bare foot, she kicked the attacker square in the face, knocking him backwards.

  But the attacker did not stay down long. Like a black corpse rising from the dead, the intruder sat up and glared through the mask at Laura.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Laura noticed the black ceremonial pot Paul had brought her back from Denver resting on the table next to her. Without thinking, she grabbed the heavy pot with both hands and swung. The thick, black-fired clay urn slammed into the side of the attacker’s head with a sickening clunk. The pot shattered, but the black-clad figure toppled over backwards and lay silent and still.

  Swaying like a cobra over the prostrate attacker, Laura waited to make sure the attacker was not getting back up. When she noticed the dark pool of blood oozing beneath the attacker's head, she finally relaxed.

  Satisfied, she dropped the pot and staggered away.

  Chapter Fifty

  LAURA S
TUMBLED INTO her bedroom where Bit slept and went straight to the closet. After ripping off her torn and bloody gown, she slipped into a sweater and jeans, then pulled on a thick parka. Turning, she hurried to Bit's room, grabbed warm clothes and the MagLite, went back and shook Bit awake.

  "What's going on, Mom?" Bit asked sleepily.

  "Mommy doesn't have time to explain, sweetheart. Just get dressed. We've got to hurry."

  Still dazed, Bit crawled out of bed and dressed. "Where are we going, Mom?"

  "I'll tell you later."

  "Can I take Anastasia and Teddy?"

  "Yes, but hurry."

  ⸙

  HAND IN HAND, Laura led Bit down the stairs, mindful of each creak in the wood, each flash of lightning tattooing shadows on the walls of the house.

  “What is it, Mom? Where are we going?” Bit whispered. She held the dolls close against her chest.

  “Never mind right now. Just follow me.”

  They came to the bottom of the stairs and Laura stopped. “Close your eyes," she commanded, not wanting her daughter to see the intruder she had just knocked cold and senseless—perhaps even dead—lying on the floor. "Don’t open them until I tell you to.”

  They rounded the corner and Laura froze in her tracks.

  “Oh, God, no,” she heard herself moan.

  The back door was still standing wide open, allowing the rain and wind to whistle through.

  More troubling was the fact that the attacker was gone.

  Where the body had once lain, Laura now saw only a pool of dark blood.

  “How’s your knee, sweetheart? Think you can make it to the car?”

  “My knee’s fine, Mom. But why are we going to the car? You know it won’t start.”