Dark Shadows: Wolf Moon Rising

by Lara Parker

  His heart sank when he saw there was no storage area or collection of old furniture, only the wide apron and the looming expanse of the ceiling with its triangular opening.

  Shining his torch into the pool, David glimpsed an enormous rat floating on the leaves, its teeth exposed from under its gums and its long tail curled on the water. It was shrunken in death, but a single eye caught the glare as though it were still alive. David shuddered. He could not help remembering playing in the pool as a boy after it had been drained.

  That’s what Willie had been talking about—the accident. There had been a curve at each end perfect for skateboarding, his obsession when he was twelve years old. How many times had he dropped in from the edge, skimmed across the pool floor and up the other side? He could feel in his muscles the memory of pumping into the deep end, then up to the coping and grabbing the nose of his skateboard with one hand.

  Then something had happened. One of the kids had fallen backwards—he was flying up and out, tried to turn his board, and lost it. He could hear the boy’s cry and see him lying there, so still, while the other boys stood around not knowing what to do.

  A sour taste came into his mouth when he remembered that he had been the most skilled at catching air, and he had taunted the kid, who was something of a weakling, jeered him on as boys will do in a mean way, and that the boy had been panicky and misjudged the slant of reentry.

  When David lay in bed that night, he could still see the boy curled at the bottom of the pool, his neck at a weird angle. No one had blamed David, but he had never been allowed to skate the pool again. And why hadn’t they asked him what happened? It became one more secret of the family, never to be mentioned again.

  The pool was ugly and decayed, a dark cavern filled with frozen scum. Still, there must have been partying many years before and, in his imagination, he could hear the sound of splashing and laughter, and his vision blurred as he saw wavering lights shining down on the warmed and greasy water.

  The dripping persisted, growing louder and more repetitive, ping, plop, blip, and the rising moon slid fractured beams through the pieces of broken glass in the roof.

  Vague figures gathered in the corners of the room. Music from a jazz orchestra with a clarinet solo wafted across the grounds. A boy cried out, and a girl shrieked before she struck the surface of the pool with a splash. The laughing voices were seductive, and David walked closer to the edge and looked down with the light, half expecting to see swimmers.

  But there was nothing there.

  Chills crept over his body. That’s when he knew his imagination was getting ahead of him and he had better get the hell out of there before something weird happened. Willie was right; the place was spooked.

  Out of the edge of his eye he thought he saw something move in the shadows. His flashlight flickered, and he shook and smacked it to bring it back to life, before shining it once again into the far corners. He heard a crash, and there was another sound, a scratching, and footsteps scampering. What was it? It might be an animal, locked inside the building, a raccoon, maybe, or a squirrel, but all he could see were the changing shadows cast by the moon above the skylight shining through falling snow.

  When he turned to go, he thought he heard gunshots and a rasping sob, as of someone in pain, and once more David walked to the edge of the pool and looked down, shining the beam of the flashlight into the mud. He stopped and waited, listening to the sound of his own breathing, and he could hear his heart beating in his ears.

  Then he felt two hands press firmly on his back.

  “Hey!” He wheeled about, flailing at the air and cursing, thinking it would be Willie come to play a joke on him for sneaking into this place after dark. But he only stared wildly into empty space.

  Who was that? Did he imagine it? That was when he thought he heard gunshots again, but surely that was not possible. What he did see was a coyote that loped across the back of the deck, ran up the side of the pool, and trotted out the door. What the hell was an animal like that doing in here?

  He walked to the opening and looked out, but the coyote had disappeared. The snow was falling in the moonlight, and every flake was a tiny pinpoint of white whirling in a gyre. Once again he heard the howling, a long agonized wail that ended in a low rumble, the cry of an animal in great pain. And what was that? Were those screams? Coming from where? From inside the pool?

  He turned back again, walked to the edge, and looked down. It was empty of life.

  But then he felt the hands again, this time pushing harder.

  “What the—” He whirled, then teetered at the edge, his arms pinwheeling, and his toes barely clinging to the coping. When his head fell back he could see the moon quite clearly, piercing the roof like a stage spotlight. He fell with a cry, crashed into the wet leaves, and struck his head on the bottom of the pool.

  He did not know how long he lay there, half awake, half dreaming, listening to the mournful howls, at first far away, then closer, filling his ears with melancholy moans, until he woke up with his head throbbing and realized the moans were his own.

  He saw a face, Jackie’s face, leaning over him with a startled expression; her pale eyes glowed, and her dark hair fell across his cheeks. She whispered something he could not understand, and he struggled to hear her and to answer her before the howling began again, closer now, and sulking shapes glided along the edge of the pool, with bared teeth and bloodshot eyes.

  “David! David, are you in there?”

  He lay frozen, his heart beating in his ears. His clothes were damp, and he could not feel his feet.

  “David?”

  He tried to answer, but he was too weak to make a sound until he recognized her voice. How had she found him? He had not told her where he was going.

  “Jackie—”

  “David?”

  Struggling to his feet, he slogged through the debris to the shallow end, and managed to pull himself out of the pool. He tried to clear his thoughts but he could barely see from his head spinning.

  “Here…”

  “David? Is that you?”

  Jackie’s small shape appeared at the door. As soon as she saw him she came running, and she was panting as she reached for his sleeve in the dark.

  “David, it’s Barnabas. Something has happened. You must come help me!”

  “Why? What is it?” Something about her seemed creepy, like she wasn’t real. But he could feel her tugging at his jacket. What was that thing that had pushed him? Was it still in here? Groggy, he wondered again how she had found him here at the swimming pool.

  She grabbed his arm and shook it, shouting, “Come on. Hurry.”

  His lips were thick. “What happened?”

  “He … it’s … I think it’s my fault. I think he was attacked by coyotes.” Her voice was edged with hysteria.

  “Attacked? But how?” His head was clearing. She was talking about Barnabas. He wondered how she knew his cousin.

  “Oh, David, just come with me. He’s hurt. Bleeding badly.” She was crying, flesh and blood now, and finally he believed she was real. “Please help me. I have to get him back to the Old House.”

  She tugged him toward the door, and he followed limping, again wondering when she had met Barnabas and what he was doing at the Old House. His hands were numb and when he reached up to check, he could feel a lump forming on the back of his head. But he stumbled by her side, stopping to pull the snowmobile out of the snow and set it on the path.

  “Climb on,” he said, and helped her up on the backseat. He had wrenched something in his shoulder, and he shrugged to ease the pain. She balanced there as he adjusted his weight against her spooned behind him. Jerking the start cord, he thanked his lucky stars that he had fixed it earlier as the engine spun right up. He gunned it furiously to get it moving and warm himself at the same time.

  After they took off down the road, the headlight playing in the tracks he had left earlier, the pain subsided somewhat, and the skis cut a path through fresh
snow. He asked everything of himself, ducking behind the windshield, pushing in on the throttle, digging for speed, with the engine whining like a hungry beast. The snow had stopped falling; the moon lit the path as if it were daylight. The sky was like lace, and the trees were dancing.

  Jackie’s hands gripped him from behind as they were jostled together, her hair whipped around in his face, and he could smell its fragrance of musky woods and pine. Although he was chilled from his damp clothes, he was inflamed by her desperate need, and a great rush of excitement flooded through him along with a reckless yearning to be her hero at last.

  Seven

  They rode along the sea road until they reached the Old House, and then abandoned the sled in a drift. They were like lost children, Hansel and Gretel in the forest, as they searched the woods with only the light of the moon and the feeble beam from David’s flashlight. Jackie clung to his arm, and she held so tightly that her fingers dug into his flesh, but though it became uncomfortable, he did not pry her hand loose. The longer they walked, the more anxious she became, breathing hard and whimpering faintly.

  First they found the spot where some sort of scuffle had taken place, the snow disturbed and flattened with several red splotches. And then they saw him. Barnabas had crawled a few yards toward the back door of Old House and collapsed, his body a black hump frosted with white.

  Shouting, “Barnabas!” David ran to him, reached down, and pulled back the cloak, and Jackie gasped when she saw the deep gashes, blood spilled on the snow, so much blood, as though his whole body had emptied. His breathing was shallow, and he was unconscious.

  David leaned over. “Barnabas? Can you hear me?” There was no response.

  Jackie’s face was a white mask, and she looked like a terrified child, her eyes wide with dread. David’s heart sank in his chest. This was too much for them to handle alone. She whispered, “How bad is he?”

  “I don’t know. Did you try to move him?” She shook her head.

  David looked for a pulse, but the blood on Barnabas’s neck made his stomach convulse as he probed around. Finally, he felt a flutter. “I got it,” he said. “I think a heartbeat.” He felt like a bumbling paramedic who knew nothing he was supposed to know. He placed a hand under Barnabas’s head.

  “Could we lift him?” she asked.

  David spread out his jacket, and they made a clumsy attempt to roll him onto it, but his weight was too great for them both. They tried to drag him, and then, when they tugged on him again, he moaned, reaching out with one arm. They stopped, waiting. It was hard to look at him, he seemed so badly wounded, and then he groaned again and tried to say something.

  “Cousin Barnabas? Can you hear me?”

  “Yes … David … help me to stand…”

  With great effort, the two teenagers pulled him to his feet, and, supporting his weight, managed to stumble toward the Old House.

  He muttered something, “… the basement…”

  “Why does he want to go there?” said David.

  At first Jackie didn’t answer, breathing hard from the load, but then she managed in a low voice, “I think it’s better if my mom doesn’t see him.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh … I tried to talk to her earlier, but she was in bed. I told her Barnabas was hurt and she just turned her face to the wall. She’s probably hungover.”

  “Let’s get him in a warm place and then call the doctor.”

  Barnabas lifted his head. “No— No doctor—”

  “But, Barnabas,” David said, “you’re badly hurt. You have to go to the hospital.”

  “Please … no … take me inside…”

  The stairs behind the kitchen were treacherous, but David shouldered Barnabas’s weight, grimacing as the bloody shirt and cloak rubbed against his body. When they reached the basement, Jackie reached up and turned on an overhead bulb. Barnabas revived a little and looked around. His face was a mass of bloody wounds.

  “Over there…,” he muttered, and looked toward a gloomy area beneath the stair where boxes and cleaning supplies were stored. A casket stood against the brick wall in the back of the cellar, covered with dust. “There…”

  Jackie and David looked at each other, neither wanting to admit their surprise.

  “Why does he want to go there?” asked David, but Jackie had grown silent, a stricken look in her eyes. Then she whispered, a catch in her voice, “Perhaps he thinks he is about to die.”

  “He must be in shock, incoherent. We need to call an ambulance.”

  With a quivering hand, Barnabas reached for David’s jacket and grabbed the collar, dragging him down, crying out, “No! Tell no one! Do you hear me?”

  David could hardly bear to look into Barnabas’s eyes, ringed with red and pulsing with rage, but then the man released his grip and fell back. The weight being too much, David let Barnabas slip to the floor, and the wounded man closed his eyes with a gurgling sigh. Suspicions long suppressed materialized in David’s thoughts when he saw the pallor on Barnabas’s skin and the extent of his injuries, a deep gash in his cheek, scratches across his forehead, one eye swollen shut and his white cravat soaked with blood. How could he survive such wounds? His clothes prevented any inspection of his body but the presence of wet blood on the jacket suggested serious cuts. Barnabas would die if they didn’t get help, unless he was somehow … not human. David felt prickles on the back of his neck.

  “Barnabas, we must get you to a doctor,” he insisted. “I … think, I mean I’m sure … I can drive the Bentley, take you to the hospital—”

  “No, no doctors—it’s not possible. Please, let me be. Respect my wishes.”

  “Let’s take him over there,” said Jackie. “It’s what he wants.”

  David watched as Jackie, still silent and sensing something, crossed the floor to the casket and, with an effort, lifted the lid. The interior was plush and lined with red satin. David had never seen the casket before. He did not want to think about what it might mean.

  “You’re not thinking…,” he said. “Is it his casket?”

  She nodded, biting her lip, and then shivered, her eyes grave.

  Again, Barnabas moaned and then called out, “Julia…,” and David realized that it had been many days since he had seen Dr. Hoffman. He had thought she was away. He could find her and tell her Barnabas needed her help.

  “I’ll go back to Collinwood and look for Dr. Hoffman,” he said, starting for the stair, but then he turned back to the girl, afraid to leave her alone. Her anxiety was painful to him, her sadness deeply disturbing. He wanted to hold her, to console her, but he was afraid of her strange mood. She radiated a charge that was forbidding and made him feel helpless. Finally, he made up his mind to return to Collinwood and tell Willie what had happened. As Barnabas’s servant, Willie could keep watch through the night.

  “Jackie,” he said, “I’m going for help. You should leave him here and go upstairs. It’s not safe…”

  But then he stopped, and this time he stared at the girl dumbfounded. Jackie was on the floor, holding Barnabas’s head in her lap and silently weeping, her tears falling on his face. She pulled the cotton sleeve from under the cuff of her coat and dabbed the cuts, and, as her tears rolled from her cheeks and she blotted them, he thought he could see the lacerations cease to bleed and the skin close over.

  “Jackie, what are you doing?”

  But she seemed in a distant place, and he felt the pinch of being ignored. She did not know he was there, or did not care. She murmured something in a raspy sing-song voice, not the voice of a girl, but of a woman, sonorous and ancient. David was disturbed by a vague memory of a time not too far in the past when he himself had been close to death, and she had kissed away his wounds. But he had always thought it had been a dream.

  Now, as he watched her, he was troubled. She did not seem tender but obsessed by a foreign force moving through her, causing her to shimmer with a frightening power. “Jackie?” She still didn’t answer.

 
; Frightened now, he decided to go and fetch Julia, or Willie, someone who would get them out of this mess. Jackie was in a daze, oblivious, crooning some kind of spell.

  “Jackie…?” But she did not respond. Feeling stupid, he stumbled toward the basement stair, but before he started up into the kitchen, he stiffened.

  Someone was coming down, and he thought he was seeing a ghost.

  It was a figure in a long gown, a woman with yellow hair who moved silently, wavering a little. David was terrified, afraid to breathe, certain it was a some kind of supernatural creature, but as she drew nearer he could tell it was Antoinette, Jackie’s mom, who was sleepwalking, her hands reaching blindly in front of her, her hair tangled and falling about her stricken face, her wide eyes fixed in a frozen stare. Her green robe clung to her body as she moved haltingly, and her bare feet made no sound on the concrete.

  Jackie lifted up but said nothing, only sat with Barnabas’s head in her lap and looked at her mother, waiting for some explanation. Antoinette was not awake, her movements were slow, and she seemed to glide like a phantom rather than walk across the floor. When she spoke, her voice was low; David could not hear her, but Jackie rose as though bidden, and moved away.

  “Why you?” Jackie said, a hint of spite in her tone. “Why did he call you?”

  “Go away,” said her mother, and Jackie took a step back.

  Still staring blankly, Antoinette moved toward Barnabas, stumbled slightly, stopped, and pulled her hair back from the side of her face. When she reached out for Barnabas, David could see on her neck two deep wounds, leaking crimson, and his blood froze.

  In a daze, he followed Jackie upstairs to her room, but when she lay down on her bed, she began to cry, as if the night with all its perils had ended in grief. Not knowing how to console her, David waited until she became quiet and fell asleep, and then he covered her with a quilt and curled up in a chair beside her bed, deciding to spend the night. He tried to quell his own tremors. Who had it been in the swimming pool house? And who had attacked Barnabas? Why had Antoinette come down to the basement? And why did Barnabas want to lie in a casket? The answers to these questions were unfathomable.