Latham's Landing

by Tara Fox Hall

  Mac had gone to the nearest big city, and asked around for the closest massage parlor. When he arrived that night, he asked to see the owner, saying he was looking for work. He got an attempted beating instead.

  When his attackers were all lying bloodied on the ground, a battered Mac got up, spat out some blood, and asked again for the owner. This time, he talked to the man about what he was looking for in a job, and told him his qualifications, all of them. That same man, Charter Collins, hired him on the spot. He’d been transporting women for Collins ever since.

  Maybe transport was the wrong word. New girls came in all the time on trains and in trucks. Mac didn’t ever see them. His business was with the older girls, the ones that were too drugged out or diseased to work, the ones that tried to run away too many times. His job was to make sure that they vanished just as magically as they first appeared in this country, and weren’t trouble for anyone.

  That’s where the island came in.

  The first time had been an accident. The girl was already dead, and he’d come here just meaning to dump her into the water, figuring that the fish would nibble her enough so when she was found she wouldn’t be identified. Seemed stupid now, in retrospect. None of these girls had any kind of papers. They were completely disposable, with no one to care when they turned up dead. The kind of girls he liked best.

  Mac had come in low, meaning to dump the body right near the island, figuring it would wash into the shallows there and decompose. But an odd draft of air hit the left side of the helicopter as it banked, nearly sending Mac crashing into the side of the decrepit mansion. When he tried to straighten, another draft had hit the other side, stabilizing the copter but bringing it far too low. Then Mac had glimpsed the granite driveway behind the house.

  He’d set down the copter easily, hell, he’d glided in like a dream. And while Mac sat there with the blades spinning, recollecting himself, he’d seen the sudden surprise storm racing across the lake, black thunderclouds boiling with stabs of lightning.

  Mac had tried the radio, but there was only static. He’d gotten out of the copter, grabbed the girl’s body, and carried it into the house, slamming the door after them just as rain began pounding onto the roof.

  He’d set her corpse down in a corner, then went looking for an old chair to curl up on. But there was nothing in the whole stupid house except a few old kids’ toys and a tiny stained mattress in one upstairs room. Finally, he’d made his way back to the main room, and looked out the front door. The storm was still raging, but he’d discovered a bunch of driftwood on one end of the porch. Bringing it inside, he started a fire with some old peeled off wallpaper and some of his matches. Then he sat huddled before the fire in his coat, glad that it was summer instead of winter.

  That night was a long one for Mac. He’d dreamed extensively. God, such dreams! He’d never had anything like them before. And when he woke, he was so excited he sought out the body of the dead girl in a kind of mad craze, to act out some of the amazing things he’d dreamt about. But the body in the corner was gone. Only the bloody blanket remained in a semi-sodden mess.

  Excited as he was, that freaked Mac out enough that he left right then, fighting the remnants of the storm to take off, and almost crashing on the rocks when the copter took a dive as he took off to rise. He’d bent the legs slightly on the right side on impact, shearing off some tree branches, but he’d gotten aloft.

  Mac was glad to be alive. Afterwards, he’d come back and done a little research on the isle he’d landed on. Damn place was reputed to be haunted and the scene of multiple deaths ‘by misadventure.’ Locals said plainly that if you went to Latham’s Landing you never left again. But he’d left okay. Mac counted himself lucky, and went back to his transport business, dumping the bodies when he’d finished with them in the state land a couple hundred miles away from his apartment, just like he’d always done. He stayed away from the island, even taking an extra ten minutes to go out of his normal route to avoid it on his weekly trips for Collins.

  But the dreams from that night on Latham’s Landing haunted him. And the more time went by, the more Mac thought he understood that it was a certain kind of man that could come and go from Latham’s Landing. A man like Latham himself had been. A man like Mac was.

  He’d come back again, once he’d figured that out. But this time, he’d brought a live girl, not a dead one. That first time…

  Don’t think about that, Mac told himself quickly. You didn’t understand things then. Think about the next time, after that. That time was perfect.

  The second run with a live girl had been a grand time. He’d set her free, then hunted her through the old house, lying in wait around corners to slash at her with his knife, listening to her scream again and again until she lost her voice. He killed her there right on the main stairway, as a kind of grand finale. Afterwards, he put her in the same corner where he’d put the first dead girl, built a raging fire, and again went to sleep before it, praying for sweet dreams.

  The visions had come again, brighter and more lurid than ever. Mac had woken exhausted, but also happy and sated for the first time in…hell, he couldn’t remember ever feeling that good before. The house seemed to draw all the pent up anger out of him, and make it into fantastic dreams.

  Again, the dead girl in the corner was gone when he awoke. But the bloody blanket this time was neatly folded.

  Mac had been coming here ever since, every few months. It was close to two or three years now. And in that time, he’d noticed a few…changes.

  Mac had seen the new building rising up at the back of the main house six months in. It grew bigger every time he came back. Yet there were never any human tracks outside in the dirt or inside in the dust, either, other than his own and his various victims. Mac had never seen any animals on Latham’s Landing, not even a mouse, or a rabbit. The only animal tracks he’d ever seen here were deer. Those little bugger’s hoof prints were everywhere in the dirt, especially in warm weather. But whomever had designed the new building knew the way the wind was out here, and had left him ample space to maneuver to and from the granite pad. That was all that mattered to Mac.

  And there were other kindnesses, too… Mac uttered a low sound of pleasure. Yes, you just had to be the right kind of people for Latham’s Landing.

  There was a muffled crying from the backseat.

  “We’re gonna have fun tonight,” Mac said under his breath. “All of us.”

  Caroline was so relieved to see Helter come back, she gave him a pass for his macho bullshit earlier. “Did you find anything?”

  Helter told her about the boat, and the boathouse. “It looks fine, but we’d better go while we can. Just take the snowmobile over the land and—” He stopped suddenly, then looked at her curiously.

  “What?” she said finally.

  “How did you get to the island?” he said, taking a step back. “You were here when I got here. You said you took a snowmobile. But there were no tracks on the ice when I came across.”

  “Because I came from the other direction,” Carolyn explained, indicating her car. “You came from the opposite side, when you appeared.”

  “That’s where the ice is reported to be thickest,” Helter said arrogantly. “I didn’t want to die.”

  Caroline narrowed her eyes, even as she flushed again. “Well, the ice wasn’t as thick where I came ashore, and I stopped the snowmobile too soon. It fell through the ice.”

  “Yet you had the gas to try to burn everything?” Helter said, reaching for his gun. He drew it and pointed it at her. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I’m telling you the truth!” she shouted.

  “Then how did you get the gas on shore without being wet?” he retorted.

  “I tied them all together,” Caroline said urgently, her hand clutching her cross. “The first time I came, it was summer and my boat sank. The containers all floated away. I wanted to have them together if the snowmobile fell through the ice, not just to g
et the job done, but to make sure I didn’t go under the ice. The containers are plastic. They float!”

  “So you do want to live,” Helter said with a ghost of a smile. He safetied his gun, then holstered it. “Didn’t you give a thought to freezing to death? That water might look pretty but it’s got to be cold enough to give you hypothermia.”

  “I didn’t care, so long as I destroyed this place,” Caroline said tiredly. She sat down on a large rock, her shoulders slumped. “But all my plans were for nothing. I never thought that it couldn’t be burned—”

  “It’s going down in a pile of rubble,” Helter assured her. “Just stay here and I’ll be right back—”

  The whine of a boat motor approaching shocked him into silence. There, coming across the water, was a blond woman in a boat. Her light hair was cut in a short bob, her expression friendly, her face absent of any makeup. She looked dressed to go hiking in the fall, a light blue rain jacket tied around her waist.

  “Is she real?” Helter said disbelievingly.

  Caroline stared, shading her eyes from the bright morning sun. “She looks real.”

  “Looking real isn’t the same as real out here,” Helter said ominously. “Be on your guard.”

  “She’s real,” Caroline said with confidence, waving to the woman with both arms.

  “How do you know?” Helter asked curiously.

  “Because there’s a dog with her.”

  The boat’s motor stopped offshore, and the woman threw in an anchor. “Is it safe to come closer?” she called. “I heard there were bad rocks near the shore.”

  “Yes! Stop there.” Helter waded out into the water, almost to the boat. With a lunge, he pushed off, swimming the last few feet. Taking hold of the boat, he pulled it into the shallows where he could stand up.

  “Thanks,” the woman said brightly. “I’m okay to get out here. I don’t mind getting my feet wet.”

  “Ma’am, I need you to take Caroline Stone here to shore right now,” Helter interrupted. “We were both snowmobiling, and hers fell through the ice in the thaw.”

  “I’m so sorry,” the woman said to Caroline, her expression worried. “It’s so lucky you survived.”

  Caroline managed a smile.

  “What about you?” the woman said to Helter. “Shouldn’t we all go to shore now? I can drop you off, and we can talk—”

  A disquieting feeling seeped into Caroline. This woman showing up, just as Helter was about to blow up the house. Had the house sent her to stop them? “Why are you here?” Caroline said brusquely.

  “That’s a long story,” the woman said perkily. “First off, I’m Barb Usher. I’m a paranormal researcher.” She held out her hand.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Caroline muttered under her breath, shooting a look at Helter. Neither of them made a move.

  Barb was unfazed as she took back her offered hand. “I was planning to wait until spring, but when I saw we’d had this surprise thaw, I wanted to take advantage of the abnormal weather—”

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Helter shouted at Barb. “Start your motor and take Caroline off this island. She needs to go home—”

  “I’m not going home until I see this house made into rubble,” Caroline hissed at Helter. “And you aren’t going to be doing anything with a witness now, are you?

  Helter glared at her.

  “Is there some problem?” Barb asked in confusion, looking from one of them to the other.

  “What are you going to say?” Helter whispered harshly to Caroline, putting his back to the woman. “Explain in detail how your plan of arson didn’t work? That we heard some animal howling outside the tent last night? Neither of us is supposed to be here!”

  “Hey,” Barb called again. “Can I come onshore or not?”

  “Sure,” Caroline said, ignoring Helter. “But throw me a rope so we can tie your boat to the nearest tree.”

  “Why not tie it to that dock behind you?” Barb replied, pointing.

  Caroline looked to her left, following the woman’s gesture. Yes, there was a tiny decrepit wooden dock just in sight, opposite where Helter reported finding the boathouse. Caroline stared at it, a shiver passing through her. Had it been there all along, buried in the snow and ice?

  Helter took the rope from Barb, and began walking out into deeper water. As soon as it was shoulder height, he swam, guiding the boat after him. Caroline followed on the shore, keeping a close eye on their supplies from her vantage point while she also tried to watch Helter, worried at some moment some monster would emerge from the depths and drag him under.

  When Helter reached the small dock, he waded ashore, then tied up the boat and offered his hand to Barb.

  Barb gingerly stepped off the boat onto the dock. “Thanks.” Her dog, a Golden Retriever, bounded out, then began sniffing wildly on the shore, moving rapidly back and forth. “That’s Cooper.”

  “Sorry for how we must seem,” Caroline called awkwardly from shore, petting Cooper as he passed her several times in his relentless sniffing. “We spent the night here in the winter cold and woke up to summer. We’re dead tired.”

  “I saw that,” Barb said consolingly. “But you don’t have to worry. I called the police.”

  Caroline blanched, her expression horrified. “What?” Helter managed.

  “I called the police,” Barb repeated brightly. “I found your SUV this morning on the shore, Caroline, and called in the VIN number from my cell. When I saw the snowmobile trailer you had, and an empty container of gas floating in the water, I worried you’d somehow gotten stuck out on the ice last night and something bad had happened in the sudden thaw. So I reported it, because I was worried.” She checked her watch. “They should be here in about an hour or less.”

  Helter swore, then began to pace.

  “Is there something going on here?” Barb said directly to Caroline, her expression finally losing its persistent joyful outlook.

  “Why are you here?” Caroline said coldly. “The truth. Now.”

  The last vestige of false cheerfulness vanished from Barb’s countenance. “Here,” Barb said, putting down a micro recorder device on the porch steps. “Listen to this.” She flipped the switch.

  “At first I thought it was a bear. The thing had to be eight feet tall. First the eyes were low and then they rose up—”

  “Who is that?” Caroline said.

  “Lenny,” Barb said. “A hunter who ran into these things one night in the woods.”

  “What things?”

  “Shut up and listen,” Barb said flatly, all her perkiness vanishing.

  Caroline was irritated, but pushed her feelings aside, listening.

  “It was fast, real fast. It came at me and I ran. When I got to my car and looked back, it was there in the trees, eyes shining at me.” Pause. “And there wasn’t just the one pair. There were five, at least back last fall.”

  “How long ago was this?” Caroline asked.

  “Two years ago,” Barb said urgently. “Please, just listen.”

  “They killed that kid. I know there was no body found, but I tell you, he was dead. They got him. That aunt of Kelsie’s, she made those things. The other aunt confessed it was going to eat his soul—”

  “He’s crazy,” Helter said, looking at Barb like she was probably crazy too.

  “—that thing is out there, and it’s been killing right along. Don’t know how many are out there now. I stay out of the woods after dusk.”

  Barb shut off the micro recorder.

  “Okay, tell us why we shouldn’t think he’s crazy,” Caroline said quickly to Barb.

  “Or you are,” Helter muttered under his breath.

  “I’m not crazy,” Barb said. “Lenny witnessed these things attack another hunter and kill him. He escaped because the girl, Kelsie, came upon him hurt and she helped him. The things didn’t attack her.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because her aunts made them to protect her.” Barb switched to anot
her digital file, then hit play.

  “We had to look after her. She was our sister’s only granddaughter.” Pause. “Sylvia did the spell to create the guardian, the Husterman. Some of the writing was faded. She did as well as she could. Something came out wrong. Sometimes when it feeds, a new one is created.”

  “Fuck me,” Helter said under his breath. “This is just a stupid ghost story someone sold you on—”

  “Hustermen are just shadows. You can see their eyes in the dark, but they have no real shape, only a mouth to feed and eyes to see. They are only there when it’s dark. They feed off flesh and souls. They punish evildoers. They are also just shadows, as in righteous ones seeking to mete out justice. They don’t see distinctions, only black and white.”

  Barb stopped the recording. “That continued until a year ago, when Kelsie’s Aunt Sylvia had a heart attack. She survived, but something changed. The creatures began attacking anything in the woods at night, not just those up to no good.” She hit play.

  “I saw the skunk too late. I got the dogs away from it, but they’d been hit bad. I looked for the skunk, but it was gone. So I took both of them by the collar and went into the woods—”

  “Who is this?”

  “Kelsie,” Barb said. “The granddaughter who was supposed to be guarded by these Hustermen.”

  “I couldn’t see anything, it was too dark. We were a good half hour late doing the walk. We got about ten yards into the forest when I smelled a rank animal smell.”

  “There were no footsteps, no branches breaking. Something was just suddenly there waiting for us, like it had stepped out from behind a tree. The dogs went berserk, growling and barking. I couldn’t hold them. I heard a rush of wind. Nothing touched me, but there was this terrible sense of menace. I ran, yelling for the dogs.”

  “We made it out of the woods, but Teal had a bloody chunk out of his left ear.” Pause. “I’ve never been afraid in my woods before. But now…I’m scared to go back there.”

  Barb clicked off the recording.