Latham's Landing

by Tara Fox Hall

  Carolyn opened a cat carrier, then popped Raven the kitten in. It began wailing.

  “You’ll be fine,” Carolyn assured, shouldering her bag. She picked up the carrier. “I’m sorry, Raven. But where I’m going, you can’t come with me.”

  The place where Rob died is cursed. His death wasn’t an accident. It was deliberate. Anyone who goes near Latham’s Landing gets killed, or disappears. They say Rob’s boat overturned in a storm, yet the weather was clear that day, with no rain or strong winds forecast. He was murdered.

  The bible says an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life. You took him from me, Latham. Ghost or whatever you are, I’m coming to burn you down.

  “Can you see he gets a good home?” Carolyn asked hopefully, handing over the half-grown kitten in its carrier. “His name is Raven. I’d love to keep him, but I’m allergic.”

  “We hear that a lot,” the shelter worker said sadly, casting Carolyn an appraising look. “We’ll do our best, but we can’t promise anything.”

  “Here,” Carolyn said, peeling off a few hundreds. “This should help.” She also handed over a card. “This is my lawyer. If you can’t find a home for him, please call that number. I’ll try to make other arrangements. I don’t want him put to sleep—”

  “It’s obvious you care about him,” the shelter worker said, petting the kitten through the cage with her fingers. “Why don’t you keep him? There are shots you can get nowadays for allergies—”

  Because I’m going up against supernatural forces, Carolyn thought to herself. I’m probably going to die. And I’m not leaving him an orphan to fend for himself, and get stuck with a family that might not love him, like I was. “I really can’t. But please call this number, no matter which way it turns out. I’d love to hear you found him a good home.”

  “All right,” the worker said reluctantly, putting the money in a lockbox under the desk and pocketing the card. “You’ll need to sign this release form.” She picked up the cat carrier. “Come on, Raven.”

  Carolyn signed the form hurriedly, then walked out without looking back, wiping at her teary eyes. She had to be strong now, and see this through to the end. She had control of her family assets, thanks to her lawyers. Now that Raven was taken care of, there was only one more thing left to do, burn that evil mansion down to the ground. Latham’s Landing had killed Rob. She was going to destroy it, or die trying.

  “You want this for what?”

  Carolyn counted silently to five, then forced a smile at her priest, willing him to be accommodating. “I’m going to visit a relative that is a shut in, and she’s religious. She asked that I bring her some holy water, some wafers, and get a blessing for these.” She handed him two rosaries, two gold cross necklaces, and three rings that also had crosses engraved on them. “Can you please bless these objects, Father? I’m happy to make a donation for your trouble. I realize this is an odd request, but it’s very important to my aunt—”

  “Of course,” her priest interrupted, beaming as he beckoned to her. “Come in.”

  Caroline followed him inside his rectory, nervously shifting from foot to foot. The priest began setting each item down on the table, then commenced to thank God for creating the object, and implored God to empower the object that it could be used for his greater glory.

  Caroline listened, fidgeting. How do I know the priest is a true believer? Her life would be riding on his faith, if the stories of Latham’s Landing were true. He always acted like he truly believed, in the years he ministered to me and mom. I guess I have to believe in him, and pray for the best. She began to pray quietly, closing her eyes, reciting the words the priest said along with him.

  The priest finished each blessing, then handed the objects to Caroline, making the sign of the cross over each one. Then he also made the sign of the cross over her. “For your good health.”

  “Will you say a more detailed blessing over me, Father?” Caroline implored. “That I achieve my true purpose, and be delivered from all evil, to not be diverted or encumbered?”

  The priest looked at her strangely, then his expressions softened. “It’s wonderful to see a young person who is so eager to avoid temptation. Of course. Bow your head.”

  The priest recited the Lord’s Prayer over Caroline, asking God that she have his blessings, and be safe in all her doings, adding a little flair that Caroline found oddly strengthening.

  “Yea, though this young woman walk through the valley of the shadow of death, let her fear no evil. Let your rod and staff comfort her and be a weapon on her behalf against the evil that lurks in men’s hearts—”

  Let these also be my weapons against evil, Caroline thought silently, fingering the two boxes worth of ammunition for her inherited handguns in her loaded pockets. The hilt of a short dagger pressed into her side, where it was hidden under her clothes, just as the weight of the two unfamiliar guns in the front pockets of her stepfather’s NRA concealed-carry shirt made her shift uncomfortably. Maybe steel couldn’t kill ghosts. But whoever said ghosts were all that was waiting on Latham’s Landing?

  The priest finished, then made the cross over her a final time. “Go in peace. Godspeed.”

  “Thank you,” Caroline said gratefully. Repressing the urge to hug her priest, knowing he would feel the guns, she squared her shoulders and left. As she passed the collection bin, she dropped five hundred dollars through the slot.

  “You want what?”

  Why had she thought that getting magical help would be somehow less difficult than dealing with the church had been? “I want anything and everything you carry capable of warding off evil spirits, and I’m prepared to pay.” Caroline laid down five hundred dollars. “But what you give me has to work. I need to see clearly, to not be afraid, to not have anything evil be able to influence or hurt me. It’s a matter of life and death.”

  The woman in the earth mother garb looked at her oddly, then began pulling boxes down from a cupboard. She took several bags from each box and began packing them in a large bag. “There are many banishing rituals,” she said as she worked. “Pentacles are said to be able to trap evil spirits, and common remedies like salt and garlic are in a lot of stories.” She turned to Caroline. “But I can’t tell you that it will work. A true talisman to protect you will be most effective if you make it yourself out of things that are important to you.”

  Interesting. “Such as?”

  “A lock of hair from someone you love. A poem that has meaning to you. A picture that brings back a wonderful memory.”

  Caroline looked at her skeptically. “You’re talking about a gris-gris. I read about them. But I don’t believe in voodoo. I don’t think something I don’t have any faith in myself will be of much use.”

  The shopkeeper set the bag on the counter. “This is copal incense, whose sacred smoke carries messages to the spirit world. It should help you see more clearly and inspire divine insights. Here also is African violet, althea, angelica, basil—”

  “Basil?” Caroline echoed with cynicism.

  “Basil is a powerful tool against demons and unfriendly ghosts,” the woman insisted. “So are cardamom, cedar, citronella, frankincense, dragon’s blood, lemongrass, myrrh, peppermint, pine, and rose geranium.” She reached back into the cupboard and came out with ten bundles of dried leafy branches bound in bunches. “Sage, sandalwood, vetivert, willow, wisteria, and vervain are all key to banishing evil spirits. This should be more than enough to keep you safe from evil.”

  “What about evil magic,” Caroline pressed. “Do you have anything to break curses?”

  “Hmm,” the woman said, turning back to her cupboard and rummaging about. “Umitory is burned to exorcise evil entities. Juniper breaks curses and evil spells. So does Galangal.” She reached back into the cupboard and pulled out several more bags, then scanned in everything to the register and totaled the cost. “That will be $337.65.”

  Caroline paid the money, resisting the urge to tell her to double the
order. She’d likely cleared out the woman’s stock already. “But will they work? I just light them and as they burn they are activated?”

  “A good deal of magic is belief, and the will to see what you wish come to pass,” the woman said, giving her change. “Without that will and belief, all you are buying is incense.” She regarded Caroline. “If it truly is a matter of life and death, you need to think seriously about where your faith lies—”

  “Thank you,” Caroline said curtly, and walked out.

  “There,” Caroline said, tying the last knot in her friendship bracelet. She held it up, admiring it in the light.

  Caroline had made these for many friends during her years at the Christian academy. She had even made one for Rob when they were first dating that he’d worn until it fell off. But this one was special…God willing.

  The string bracelet was multicolored, a simple weave of ten strands of embroidery cord. But woven into the bracelet were ten strands of her mother’s hair, from the lock Caroline had saved when it began to fall out from the cancer.

  She tied it around her left wrist. I don’t know how strongly I believe in the church, or ancient mysticism. But I believe in this, with all my heart.

  It was a clear calm night. Carolyn watched the lake waves lapping the shore, then looked out into the blackness.

  The cursed house was out there, waiting. Latham’s Landing. It had killed Rob. It hadn’t been any accident. Tonight she was here to settle the score.

  She hefted the three 5-gallon cans and five 1-gallon cans of gas into the boat one by one. It had taken a stop at each station on the long journey here to not arouse suspicion. That last place she’d had to buy three, and the guy had taken her name. That didn’t matter though. By tomorrow, she’d have burned all that stood on Latham’s Landing down to the bare red granite.

  It was said if you went to the island, you never came back. That was fine. Without Rob she didn’t want to live. The fire within her raged, its fury poisonous. She would destroy the cursed house, or die.

  Hours later, Carolyn swam up to shore, then lurched through the waves, choking and sputtering. Coughing up lake water, she went to her knees on the shore, crawling back onto the dry land, her hair a Medusa’s nest, her clothes sodden.

  Nothing had gone as planned. The tides that she’d researched had been off, swinging her around the far side of the island where there was nowhere to dock. Stranger, she’d felt a wind on the mainland shore when she’d launched the boat, yet there had been none on the water.

  When she’d finally managed to get on the right side of the island, she’d run out of gas. Bewildered, she’d checked the tank to see it was empty. In the lightening sky, her suspicion was proven true. Her watch revealed that the night had passed in what seemed to her several hours. So she’d turned for the shore with the oars, cursing, figuring to come back the next night.

  That was when the wind had begun to blow.

  At first it was a soft breeze, lightly tickling her neck with wisps of her hair. Then it became stronger, the force intensifying until the boat was rocking in the choppy waves, her hair plastered to her skull from water and wind. Determined, she’d filled the tank with the spare marine gas she’d brought, then cranked the engine to life.

  Where the rocks had come from, she wasn’t sure. But the bottom of the boat had peeled away like a can opener had rent it, water spilling in to cover her feet. She’d jumped and began swimming, sure that she’d end up on the rocks herself, another victim of the island. Instead, she’d made it to shore, disheveled but alive, gas containers bobbing beside her in the waves.

  She turned to stare at the house, its red granite rock sparkling in the new dawn. “You haven’t beaten me,” she hissed, shaking her fist at it. “I’ll be back.”

  Bitter cold frosted the barren, leafless trees, making them shine in the afternoon sun. Drifts of snow lay piled in odd patterns, driven by the wind. There was the whine of a small engine growling louder.

  A lone figure appeared on the white landscape, its gloved hands clutching the steering wheel of the lightweight snowmobile, the sled behind moving slightly from side to side as the skis hit buried stones and sticks.

  Without pause, the snowmobile rocketed off the shore and went out on the cracked and pockmarked ice, its crusted surface cracking dangerously under the weight. The throttle whined as the speed increased, the craft closing the distance to the mount of ice and snow that was Latham’s Landing. The house was covered in drifts of snow and sheets of ice, the only discernible features trees, a large main house with several floors at the highest point, its entrance a lone small building perched at the far point of the isle.

  With a sharp pull, the figure eased back the accelerator, the skis skidding as the brake slammed down. The sled came to a stop, the machine rocking slightly.

  The figure checked its watch, then dismounted and began loosening the tarp on the sled.

  “Don’t move or I’ll shoot.”

  The figure stopped, then slowly put up its hands, turning to face his attacker.

  “Who are you?” Carolyn said with gritted teeth, pointing the handgun in her gloved fist at the strange man. “What do you want?”

  The figure awkwardly pulled off its helmet with his raised hands to reveal a short blond ponytail, and dark brown eyes. “I’m Helter.” He flashed a smile that didn’t reach his eyes as he moved toward her. “You’re not supposed to be here—”

  “You move an inch closer, and you won’t be here,” Carolyn snarled, holding her ground. “I said, what are you doing here?”

  “The same thing you are,” a hollow voice intoned. “You’re here to destroy us.”

  Carolyn whirled, pointing her gun at the slight figure approaching. But before she could sight in, the blonde man drew and fired his own pistol, shots speeding toward the small figure. The bullets passed through it harmlessly and hit the granite, small chunks ricocheting.

  The small figure laughed. It was a boy about ten years old. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said with a wide smile, his eyes alight with some inner fire. Then his grin split, revealing long pointed teeth. “Winters are desolate and we get so very lonely—”

  Carolyn fired, the shell bursting from the short barrel of her gun. Though her bullet also passed through the ghost, the malicious spirit screamed in pain at the impact and disappeared.

  Getting the bullets blessed had worked. Caroline let out a long breath.

  Helter looked at her. “Why did yours work and mine didn’t?”

  “Mine didn’t either,” Carolyn lied darkly. “The isle’s just toying with us.” She produced a box of matches, then walked onto a stone wall which stood near a wooden enclosed porch. “Get back. It’s going to go up with a bang—”

  “You’re burning the manse down?” Helter said, incredulous. “It’s stone—”

  “The inside is wood, and so is most of the porch,” Caro said, striking a match. “I just doused the outside with ten gallons of gas. That should start things going, no matter how damp the wood might be—”

  A sudden brisk wind came up, slapping the match out of her hand. The sun ominously faded as a cloud shielded its light, muting the sharp sunlight to a dim rosy glow.

  Caroline grabbed for a new match. “Damn it, it was just afternoon, it can’t be sunset—“

  “No,” Helter said, pointing to the west. “A storm is coming.”

  There was a rumble, and then a rapid lightening of air pressure, as if the tension had ceased. Then it began to hail, the chunks of ice quickly becoming bigger than quarters. They ricocheted off the snowmobile, denting the shiny metal.

  “We need to take cover!” Helter shouted to Caroline.

  “I’m not going inside a gasoline soaked wooden house!” she shouted back.

  Helter grabbed her arm, then hauled her along behind him as he ran to the porch. She shook him off as they stumbled up the stairs.

  “Are you crazy?” she said.

  “Do you smell gas?” he demanded.<
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  “We go in there and it’s all over—!”

  “Do you smell gas!” he shouted at her.

  Caroline took a deep breath, her eyes widening as she took in the dry unstained porch that moments ago had been wet and dripping with accelerant. “No.”

  Helter touched the weathered wood slats of the porch. “Because there’s no gas on here anymore. It either was somehow absorbed or it completely evaporated.”

  “How do you know this?” she yelled.

  “Because that’s been tried before,” Helter said in an ominous tone. “This house won’t burn.”

  Caroline stared at him, dumbstruck.

  Both of them stood, looking out at the snowstorm that was rapidly becoming a blizzard. “We can’t go back out across the ice in this,” Helter said. “We need to take cover here.”

  “We can’t go inside, either,” Caroline retorted. “You know it wants us to go in.” She waited for him to call her a liar, to tell her she was crazy for thinking Latham’s Landing was alive.

  “I agree,” Helter replied, to her surprise. “But we need to stay near it, or risk falling through the ice. Where’s your snowmobile? I’m assuming you didn’t walk out here dragging ten gallons of gas.”

  “It fell through the ice in the shallows,” Caroline said, flushing.

  Helter stared at her.

  “What?” she exclaimed. “I couldn’t see where the ice ended and the shore began, with all this snow. The pictures I saw were old, before the place had been modernized.”

  Helter looked away. “Dig into the snow here by that wall. We need to know if there is ground beneath it, or just more ice.”

  Caroline began digging in the snow with her hands. Helter took a long rope from his pack and tied one end to the porch, then the other around his waist. He trudged out into the now blinding whiteness, and was lost from view. A few minutes later, a dull roar began, then his snowmobile crept slowly into view dragging the sled, coming to a stop right near the porch.