The Island

by Clarissa Johal

  She closed the journal and stared at the ceiling. Reading about Nathanial’s family made her feel she invaded his privacy. Not that reading Fae’s personal journal wasn’t, but Fae was family, which made it feel not quite as awful. I wonder what Nathanial’s Christmases were like after the death of his parents? Probably about as good as mine. Tossing the journal aside, she curled up into a ball.

  * * *

  Emma stood next to the hospital bed. Her mother lay in a coma, looking fragile and empty. Old grief threatened to surface, and Emma stuffed it away. This is the past, she thought. I won’t grieve for the past. The scene changed. She stood at the entrance of the cave. A strange aching hunger seemed to emanate from within it. Her legs gave and she collapsed to the forest floor. The smell of earth invaded her senses. Trees swayed dizzily overhead. Her body felt leaden. She rolled onto her back and was no longer on the forest floor, but in the cave. The sound of rock grating against rock filled her with dread. Blackness. Something ran across her fingertips and skittered away. The sound of skittering turned into that of a heavy scuffle. Whatever it was headed back to her. Something bit her thumb. It moved to each finger, gnawing on them. The pain was intense, but she couldn’t pull away. The feral presence lingered beside her, growing and gathering energy. It slid across her body like snakes and then quickly dissipated like water. A beating sound filled the cave. Not like a heartbeat, but like the beating of wings. The noise became deafening. Currents of air swirled around her like water.

  Just when Emma thought she couldn’t bear the sound any longer, it stopped. Darkness. Her breath came in panicked gasps. The presence became tangible again, and she cried out. This time, hands slid up the sides of her waist and over her breasts. They continued over her collarbone and around her neck, thumbs pressing against the center of her throat. She opened her mouth to scream.

  She was jarred awake by a cry. The vestiges of her nightmare dissipated as she oriented herself. Nightmare. Emma let out a sigh of relief. The cry sounded again. A distant sound, high and wailing. A baby’s cry. Her heart quickened. Good god, surely that can’t be a baby?

  The fire in the stove had burned down, its embers lending a glow to the living room. Emma looked out the front window. The yard was still. She unlocked the door and opened it a crack. The cry drifted in with the breeze, faint but unmistakable. She ran through her mind which possible bird or animal could make the sound and came up with nothing. Characteristically, the island was blanketed with silence, almost like a vacuum. She stood, uncertain. After several minutes, the sound started again—the unmistakable high wail of a baby. She slipped on her boots and parka.

  Fog trailed like cobwebs in her wake. The mournful cry threaded through the trees, coming from the direction of the house ruins. In spite of a growing anxiety at what she’d find, she quickened her pace. If that is a baby, it’s still alive, and I need to get to it. If it’s not a baby…. She blocked out the possibilities of what else it could be.

  She approached the ruins and the sound stopped. Her heart raced. I know it was coming from here. The area held an unnatural heaviness. A branch cracked behind her and she turned with a start. Something dark darted through the trees.

  “Hello?” Her voice sounded muffled in the fog. Emma’s attention snapped to the left. The dark figure ducked out of sight. She took one step backward, and fled.

  Heavy footsteps echoed from behind as she plunged through the trees. They were catching up with her. Emma pushed herself to run faster, terrified she’d lose her footing on the uneven ground. The cabin loomed large, a haven in the thick fog. Stumbling across the cabin’s porch, she hurdled through the door and slammed it shut, locking it.

  Emma rooted her feet to keep from running around in circles. Straining to hear, she was greeted with eerie silence. Several moments passed before the baby’s cry started again. And this time, it sounded from right outside the door.

  The cry stopped, followed by scratching on the wood.

  That has to be an animal. The scratching from the bottom of the door gave way to a quiet knock toward the top. Emma’s heart lurched. That’s not an animal. Not one I want to meet, anyway. Another knock sounded, this time a little louder and in a two-one-one pattern.

  “Derek?” Emma let out a pent-up breath. “Oh, my god, you asshole!” She opened the door, ready to give him an earful.

  A flash of white made her take a step back. It wasn’t Derek. The tall and leanly muscled man who stood on her porch was pale, and disarmingly so. Dressed in nothing but a loin cloth, the glow from the fire inside reflected off his alabaster skin. Short, white hair, dampened from the rain, lay flat against his head. A wisp of pale stubble ran along his jawline. His eyes were reddish, though they seemed almost transparent. His eyelashes were white. He would have been uniquely handsome if it weren’t for a trace of something feral in his eyes.

  Albino, she thought as she composed herself. “Yes?”

  “Yes,” he repeated.

  The man emanated a warrior-like intensity that immediately set her on edge. Emma tried not to let her gaze roam over his naked torso, but it was difficult. What the hell? He must be freezing. “This is a private island. Are you lost?”

  “This is a private island.” The albino’s gaze dropped to the scrape on her cheek and he gave her a wide smile. Several of his teeth were slightly pointed, as if they had been broken off. “Are you lost?”

  Smart ass, she thought with a frown. “You woke me up.”

  “You woke me up.” His voice dropped to a guttural tone, mid-sentence.

  The albino’s breath plumed in the night air. Traces of it reached her face, stirring her memory. A chill crawled up her spine. The night I passed out from Derek’s tequila…he was there. He blew out my match. She gripped the door handle tightly.

  The albino’s eyes narrowed.

  A small, almost imperceptible movement in the core of his body caused her instincts to suddenly kick into high gear. She slammed the door shut and locked it. Shit, shit, shit! Emma backed away as the scratching sounded again.

  “You tricked me once, you freak. Not happening.” The scratching stopped. Several moments went by and all was silent. Frowning, Emma set her jaw and looked out the window. Her heart lurched.

  Twenty feet away, another man stood. Broader and darker than his counterpart, he also wore a loincloth. A small leather pouch hung from a string around his neck. His head was bowed. Long, dark hair hid his face and trailed down his back. The albino was nowhere to be seen.

  “You both need to leave,” she said loudly, her voice trembling. “This is a private island!”

  The man took a step forward, his head still bowed. “Forgive.” His deep and melodic voice carried through the thin pane of window glass. “We ask for your kindness.”

  Emma nervously scanned the front porch. As she did, the albino stood and stepped away from the door. Shit! He must have been crouched there.

  “We ask for your kindness,” repeated the long-haired man. The man spoke slowly, as if words were new to him.

  “My boyfriend is calling the authorities.” Emma tried to sound assertive as she could. “They’ll be here very soon.”

  “You are alone.”

  “I am not—”

  “Forgive my truth.” His voice was intimate in a way that suggested they knew each other. “But you are.”

  Emma shifted her weight so she could see both of them. The dark-haired man said something quietly. The albino completely backed away and joined him.

  “We do not mean to alarm.” The man’s hair blew in an errant breeze.

  She caught a glimpse of the lower half of his face, which seemed to be pulled into a grimace. Look at me, you bastard! Emma thought. I want to be able to describe you to the police when I report you.

  The man hesitated before grasping the pouch around his neck. “Come, Thim.”

  The pale figure he called Thim gave her a parting glance before loping over to him. They disappeared through the trees.

  Emma
made a run for her phone to call for help. Her jeans pocket was empty. Dammit! It must have fallen out when I was making my fort. Her gaze was pulled to the bedroom window. The latch was undone. She pulled the window shut and latched it. Emma backed into the corner. What did he mean by asking for her kindness? Maybe something happened to their boat and they had to dock, she thought. Kindness could be food. Or a place to stay…or clothing.

  “Who takes a boat out at night wearing nothing but a loincloth?” she murmured. What had the dark-haired man called the albino? Thim. “That’s an odd name.”

  Emma searched the bedroom for something to fight with, should it come to that. She eyed the front door with trepidation. They left. Nobody is breaking into the cabin. Stop being ridiculous. She crept forward and peered out the front window. The clearing was empty. Rooting around in the kitchen, she found a small paring knife. Feeling empowered, she clutched it to her chest and sank to the kitchen floor. I’ll wait for morning. Then, I’ll…. She let the thought trail.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  BY THE TIME THE SUN slanted through the front window, Emma was dry-eyed and exhausted from lack of sleep. Her strangled thoughts filtered through, one by one. If she stayed in the cabin, she was nothing more than a sitting duck. I’m a sitting duck, anyway, she countered. I’m out here all alone. Her phone was most likely lying near the fort she built. I need to call for help. She peeked out the window and was heartened to see the clearing was still empty. Her hand lingered on the doorknob. If there was any movement near the door, she’d slam it shut and lock it. And if they got in after that… I’ll put up a fight and they’ll wish they hadn’t. Clutching her knife, she slowly unlocked the door and opened it. The clearing remained silent and still. Her attention was captured by one of the hooks that previously held a bell. Her seaweed flag was jammed into it, flapping in the breeze. They obviously found my fort.

  Emma stole outside and hurried down the path toward the beach. The dock was empty. She continued down the shoreline, looking for a boat or a kayak the men may have left behind. As she approached her fort, she slowed. Moving as silently as the beach gravel allowed, she peered through the stacked driftwood. Her phone lay in the middle of a pile of shells, as if someone had placed it there. Switching it on, she was dismayed to see the battery was dead. She clutched it to her chest and ran back to the cabin. Slamming the door behind her, she locked it.

  Emma grabbed her charger to plug it in, but the electricity was out. “Dammit!” She paced the cabin, running her fingers through her long hair. Think, Emma! She tried unsuccessfully to ignore the growing feeling of panic that wormed its way into her gut. “The electricity has to come on again. And when it does, I’ll call for help. Maybe Nathanial or Gideon will get here before then,” she added, hopeful. She sank to the floor to wait.

  The day wore on with no sign of the albino or the dark-haired man. She’d been unable to find curtains and had hammered up her grandmother’s clothing instead. It wasn’t exactly ideal, but at least it afforded some privacy. By evening, the power was still out. She settled next to the pot-bellied stove with the paring knife clutched in her hand.

  “They’re gone, Emma,” she whispered to the empty cabin. “They stopped by to ask for help and you wouldn’t give it, so they moved on.” She huddled next to the stove with the intention of waiting the night out, but the past few days had taken their toll. Emma soon drifted into a tense and uncomfortable sleep.

  She was jolted awake at the sound of the knife hitting the floor. A wan light filtered through the curtain of her grandmother’s old-fashioned nightgown. Her neck hurt from the awkward position she’d fallen asleep in. Did I sleep all night? The thought left her rattled. She stood on aching limbs. Pushing aside the makeshift curtain, she saw the sun was just beginning to rise. Emma nervously chewed her lip. She didn’t like the idea of being trapped in the cabin until help arrived, but she liked the idea of being ambushed by the two men even less.

  “This is like being trapped with Fae all over again,” she muttered.

  She went to check out the bedroom window. Now she knew why Fae had kept her from straying from the cabin. She’d probably dealt with things like this too. That has to be why she wouldn’t let me explore. And why she didn’t want me to visit. She picked up Fae’s journal and tried to draw some comfort from it. If only she would have told me.

  Emma’s stomach growled. She couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten. She didn’t trust anything in the refrigerator; the power had been off for too long. She settled for a granola bar and some half-dried peppergrass. Sitting tensely at the kitchen table, she leafed through the journal’s pages. A passage caught her eye.

  October 4, 2002

  I’ve not had a very good week. I can’t sleep. I keep hearing scratching at my doors and windows. I nailed the window shut. Whatever it is, isn’t happy at all. I heard it crying last night. I was too scared to see what it was. Something wants me in the woods, I can feel it. It calls to my while I’m sleeping. I feel as if it’s watching me.

  Emma’s stomach did a flip-flop. She shook her head, dismissing the thought. “It can’t be the same men. That was twelve years ago and they don’t look any older than me.” Flipping through several pages, another entry caught her attention.

  April 7, 2004

  Emma and I had a fight today. The girl insisted on exploring the island and I had to send her home. It was for her own good. I know she doesn’t understand.

  “You’re right, I didn’t,” she said in a small voice. She scanned a few pages further.

  April 10, 2004

  I found Peter’s son, Nathaniel, washed up onshore. He was alive, thank goodness, but no sign of his parents. I fear the worst for them. When he finally came to, he babbled about something in the water. He said it pulled his father under. Most likely, it was a shark. I think the poor boy was in shock. A rescue boat showed to pick him up. I grieve for his loss. I didn’t know his mother very well, but Peter was a good man.

  January 2005

  Nathaniel showed up with supplies today. I was surprised, as I didn’t expect to hear from him again. Such a change in his demeanor, but grief will do that to you. He’s decided to put off going to university and take up his father’s fishing route. I tried to talk him into changing his mind, but he wouldn’t hear of it. The boy is lost. I see it in his eyes.

  April 2006

  I have such a difficult time sleeping. Woke up in the middle of the night and found I’d taken down the bells from my windows and emptied the bowls of sea water. The bells were in the garbage, of all places. There’s really no reason to leave them up other than to honor Peter’s memory. Putting them back will take more energy than I have right now. I’ll do it later.

  The entry was followed by several random dates and sentences, almost as if Fae had tried to write but couldn’t. Emma turned to the last entry.

  February 2007

  There are times when I emerge from a haze to discover I’m not where I want to be. Sometimes, I fear for my sanity. It feels unsafe here. I wonder if the other owners of this island had the same feeling. In a moment of clarity, I decided to visit the mainland library and do some research on the island’s history. I’m unsure why, perhaps I needed to get away for a bit. I found some interesting information. I started to call Avery from the library. I thought maybe we could have lunch together and I could ask his opinion on my findings. It’s been a while since we’ve talked. Well, more than a while. Two years. As soon as I dialed his number, I felt a pull I couldn’t explain to return to the island as quickly as possible.

  Spent the evening re-reading the history of the island and its owners. I’m unsure what to think of it, but I do find it alarming. Perhaps I’ve been away

  The sentence was left unfinished. A note scrawled at the bottom of the page caused a chill to creep up Emma’s spine.

  I woke beside that pile of rocks. I think there is something under them.

  Her heart pounded. She’d seen something in the corner of the ca
ve. Something she hadn’t investigated and probably should have. Could Fae have fallen and become trapped? The thought made her sick. The police had combed the island looking for Fae’s body…at least she thought they had. What if they hadn’t seen the cave? She, herself, had walked by it several times. The thought nagged at her. Locals say the island is cursed. She pulled out the articles Paisley had found and leafed through the years of tragedy the island had endured. One incident after another, it appeared nothing had ended well for any of the island’s inhabitants. The island isn’t cursed, she scolded herself. Unsafe, perhaps. Her thoughts churning, Emma slipped the articles back into the box. If it weren’t for those two men, I’d check the cave again. She chewed her lip and peeked outside. It’s not a good idea right now. Once help arrives, you can check then. If that was Fae, it’s too late now. Something close to grief pricked at her insides. It was an unfamiliar feeling in association with her grandmother and left her uneasy.

  The day wore on with agonizing slowness. There was nothing for her to do other than to pace, stare out the windows and wait. She burned the last of her wood stash and layered her clothing. A bitter cold settled into the corners of the cabin. By early evening, the chill became unbearable and she made a dash outside to grab some wood.

  The forest was disarmingly silent. She gathered as much wood as she could carry and ran back inside. Throwing a log into the stove, she doused it with her remaining lighter fluid. The electricity has to come on by tomorrow. That, or somebody will come for me. A panicked thought hit her. What if Gideon forgot to call Nathanial? She clenched her hands and gazed into the fire. Please, don’t let them forget I’m here.