Night Things: A Novel of Supernatural Terror (10 page)

“I was more gentle this time.”

“Well, you weren’t gentle enough.”

“Maybe I’m just not cut out to play pool.”

Stephen remained determined. “No, try it again.”

He set the balls up a third time and again Garrett slid the cue through his fingers, but this time he was so circumspect about what he was doing and tapped the ball so gently that it rolled only a few inches before stopping.

Stephen looked at him with hawk eyes. “Are you doing this just to annoy me?”

The accusation caused Garrett to flush. “No, I’m really trying.”

Stephen continued to stare at him skeptically. “Then why aren’t you doing it right? It isn’t that difficult.”

This angered Garrett, for although he was trying to do what Stephen was telling him, he realized the reason he was failing was probably that his heart wasn’t in it. “I told you I didn’t want to play. I don’t like pool.”

Stephen seemed to have had about as much as he could take. “Do you know what would have happened if I had said something like that to my father?”

“Something like you didn’t like pool?” Garrett asked with confusion.

“No, not if I didn’t like pool. I mean what would have happened if my father was trying to teach me something and I told him I didn’t want to learn it.”

“No, what?” Garrett asked, fidgeting. Something strange had come into Stephen’s demeanor, and it made Garrett nervous.

Stephen sat down slowly on the edge of the billiard table, the strange quality in his demeanor intensifying as he kept his gaze intently on Garrett. “Let me tell you a story. I’m not from New York originally. I bet you didn’t know that. I grew up in a place called Charlevoix, Michigan. Do you have any idea where that is?”

Garrett shook his head in short, spasmodic movements. Stephen held up his hand. “Well, Michigan’s shaped like a mitten, and Charlevoix is way up here at the top. It’s a lot different in Charlevoix than it is in New York. It’s a place that’s mainly just forest, kind of like here. The winters are cold, and the people have never heard of things like
gelato
or F.A.O. Schwarz.

“Well, in Charlevoix, when fall came, one thing that just about everyone would do was go out hunting. Every guy, at least.”

He chalked the end of his billiard cue with a kind of lethal grace as he spoke.

“When I was little I used to long for the day when I was old enough to go off hunting with my dad. All during hunting season I’d get up at the crack of dawn when my dad got up. And I’d sit at the window for as many hours as it took for him to come home. When I got older he let me help clean his gun and practice shooting it. But he told me that I had to be at least twelve before he’d actually let me go with him.

“Well, finally the day came when I was old enough, and I dressed up in a red-and-black felt cap just like my dad wore, and a red jacket with a vest full of little pockets for the shotgun shells, and we went hunting together. It was great. There’s just no other smell like the smell of a Michigan woods with a nip of frost in it. We had this old hunting dog named Spark, and she ran to and fro trying to flush out a rabbit or something. And finally my dad spotted a squirrel up in a tree. Only as soon as the squirrel saw us coming it ran to the other side of the tree where we couldn’t see it. ‘This is it, son,’ my dad said. ‘This one’s yours.’ Then he went to the other side of the tree and made a racket with Spark to scare the squirrel back over to my side.

Stephen exhaled wistfully. “Well, I took aim and fired and the squirrel fell out of the tree with a thud. And you know what happened?”

“No,” Garrett said quietly. “What?”

“When I saw that squirrel with its eye popped out with a piece of rifle shot and blood oozing from a dozen other little holes in its body, I just went to pieces. I couldn’t believe that I had actually killed the thing. I cried my eyes out. And you know what my dad did?” From the sparkle in Stephen’s eye it was clear that whatever his dad had done, Stephen felt it was at least worthy of a “True-Life Accounts of Amazing People” piece in
Reader’s Digest.
“What?” Garrett asked, breathless with anticipation. “He made me go on until I had shot another. And then another. In fact, from that day on until hunting season was over, he made me go hunting every day. And he made me skin the game I caught and clean it. Before winter came I had bagged more small game than just about anyone else in the county. It didn’t matter how unpleasant I thought it was. My dad just kept pushing me.”

“But that’s awful!”

“No, it wasn’t, because, you see, my dad didn’t allow me to fail. He made me become one of the best hunters in the county, and I’ll always love him for that.”

“But you felt bad when you shot the squirrel. It was mean of your dad to make you kill another.”

“No! It would have been mean of my dad to not make me kill another. By making me go on, my dad taught me the importance of sticking with something, of not giving up until I had it conquered.”

Garrett continued to blink at Stephen, the logic of Stephen’s argument still eluding him. From the gleam in Stephen’s eye, Garrett could not help but think that Stephen had made up the story just to punish him for how halfhearted he had been in his attempt to learn billiards. But he did not know. He only knew that Stephen’s little story had left him more uncomfortable than he had been before.

After they finished dinner and were watching television on a portable set Stephen set up for them in the drawing room, Garrett’s mood took a turn for the worse. At first Lauren was mystified, but when it came time for them to go to bed and his uneasiness peaked, she finally understood why.

“Garrett, are you afraid to go to bed because you think you’re going to have another bad dream?” she asked as Stephen turned the television set off.

Garrett looked at her with wide, cautious eyes. “Maybe it wasn’t a dream,” he mumbled meekly.

“Well, whatever it was, is that why you’re being so funny about going to bed?”

He looked down sheepishly at the floor and nodded.

Under other circumstances his stubborn insistence in the matter might have angered her, but given everything that had transpired during the day she found herself somewhat disconcerted.

She looked across the room at Stephen. “Well, maybe if it’s all right with Stephen you can sleep in our room tonight.”

“Honeeey,” Stephen objected.

“Stephen, come on. It’s scary being alone in this big house.”

“But Garrett is almost a grown man now. Right, old buddy?”

Garrett merely gritted his teeth in silence. He particularly hated it when Stephen called him “old buddy.” He certainly did not want Stephen to know that he was too scared to sleep in his own room, no matter how scared he really was. He was about to say he
wanted
to sleep in his own room when Stephen piped up again.

“Garrett’s man enough not to let a bad dream get to him.”

“It wasn’t a dream!” Garrett snapped.

“So what are you trying to say—that the bogeyman really did come into your room?”

“Yes!”

“Well, if that’s true, if it was some sort of being from the beyond, I don’t see what the problem is. I mean, you’re the one who said you’d like to make friends with a creature from another planet. Here’s the next-best thing.”

Lauren began to get truly annoyed with Stephen. Why was he egging on Garrett at a time like this?

For his part, Garrett once again thought he detected a hint of malice in Stephen’s remarks, but the actual content of them reverberated through him like a thunderclap. For months he had dreamed of making contact with a being from another world, and yet he had been so frightened by his encounter with the thing, it had never occurred to him he might be letting just such an opportunity pass him by. He did not like admitting it, but Stephen was right. His own glib assertions about wanting to meet an alien life form meant nothing unless he was willing to back up his words with action. No matter how daunting a prospect it seemed, he had to sleep alone in his room.

Lauren’s eyes were now steely. It was the first time Garrett had seen her actually annoyed with Stephen. “Stephen, there’s a divan in our room. I think it’s perfectly okay if Garrett wants to sleep there.”

“It’s all right, Mom,” Garrett cut in.

She looked at him with surprise. “What?”

“It was silly of me to be afraid. I’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded.

“Okay,” she said.

But she was not appeased. Later, after tucking him in bed, she brought the matter up with Stephen again.

“I can’t believe what you said to Garrett downstairs.”

“Why not?” Stephen said with astonishment.

“Because he’s only a little boy. And you were trying to make him ashamed of being frightened.”

“Hey. He’s gotta learn sometime not to be afraid of the dark.”

“Maybe so. But when he’s frightened you shouldn’t be attacking him—you should be comforting him.”

“I didn’t attack him.”

“You didn’t comfort him. He’s your son now, too.”

“Look, I married you, not him. Just don’t push me too far with this father act, okay?” He glowered.

His words shocked her deeply. Her primary reason for marrying Stephen had never been that he was ideal father material, but she had always expected that over time a genuine affection would develop between the two. All at once she realized that perhaps Garrett had not entirely imagined Stephen’s animosity.

She stared at him in disbelief. “I can’t believe you said that.”

Perceiving her shock, he quickly tried to distance himself from the remark. “I didn’t mean for that to come out the way it sounded.” He put on a tired face and ran his fingers through his gorgeous mane of dark curls. “I’m sorry, okay? I spent four hours on the phone with Marty, and I’m just irritable and snappish. You know I think Garrett is a neat kid, and he and I are going to become very good pals.” He came up and took her by the shoulders. His bottomless green-gray eyes bored into hers. “The real reason I was so upset when you suggested he sleep in here is that I enjoy being alone with you so much.” He tried to kiss her, but she turned her face away.

“Come on, isn’t this better than fighting?” he coaxed as he nuzzled her ear.

She continued to resist, still stinging from his insensitivity, but he pulled her closer, kissing her and caressing her until she felt herself melting.

A part of her was still furious at him. But another part wanted nothing more than to be held and comforted, to feel the smooth expanse of his body against her once again. “We have to talk about this some more.”

“We will, we will,” he said softly. With movements as carefully orchestrated as those of a cat closing in on its prey, he turned her around and kissed her and then carried her to the bed. Within minutes he was inside her, rocking, undulating in the slow saraband of his lovemaking.

But when they finished she lay awake and for the first time she started to wonder if there was something about Stephen she wasn’t seeing.

She did not know how long it took her to fall asleep, but it seemed only minutes after she did that something woke her. At first she did not know what, and for several seconds she remained motionless. But then it came again, and she realized it had been a sound. Somewhere deep in the house there was a low creaking, like the mast of a ship swaying gently in the wind. Perplexed, she sat up in bed and listened, but as soon as she tried to focus in on the sound it ceased.

For a moment she was frightened. But then logic told her it was only natural for a house as old as Lake House to do some settling at night and creak and moan a bit. Still, something about the sound disturbed her, and she decided to look in on Garrett and make sure he was all right. Pulling her robe on, she strode toward the bedroom door. Once outside, she clicked the lights on and headed down the hall.

When she reached his door she opened it quietly. She did not want to wake him needlessly and was pleased when she saw he was fast asleep. But as she started back toward her room she realized she was thirsty, and, recalling that the water in the master bath was both tepid and a little rusty, she decided to go downstairs for some ice water.

When she reached the top of the stairs she turned on the entrance-hall lights, and she continued to turn on every light she came to, forging a blazing trail to the kitchen. After drinking her fill, she started back, but as she passed through the drawing room she noticed there was a full moon over the lake. She cupped her hands against the glass and saw that a mist had rolled in from the lake and covered everything in a gauzy blanket of fog. Even the lower limbs of the tamaracks were veiled in the ghostly pall, and in the soft bluish glow of the moonlight the forest seemed dreamlike.

Entranced, she continued to admire the scene for several seconds. Then suddenly an icy shiver ran up her spine. At first she was mystified, at a loss to explain why every nerve ending in her body was tingling with alarm. And then just as suddenly she realized. Although she did not know how, she knew without question she was being watched.

Panicking, she realized the only reason she was visible to someone outside was that she had turned so many lights on, and she quickly turned them off. But once again as she scanned the mist-enshrouded landscape, she could feel something staring at her, examining her with impunity, something watching her from the fog.

Not knowing what else to do, she ran upstairs, and when she reached the bedroom she flung herself under the covers. The force of her impact caused Stephen to grumble in his sleep, and she considered waking him. But then she realized she had no evidence to prove that her eerie sensation had been anything but nerves, and she decided against it. Still, it was some time before she drifted off to sleep again.

Several hours later, Garrett awoke uneasily too. However, he knew what had stirred him so rudely from his slumber. It was the thing. It was coming. Like a magnet to steel he felt its power as it coursed through the halls. When it neared his door he sat up in bed and told himself he was ready for it.

Only he was not. When his door burst open soundlessly, all the primeval fear that had gripped him the night before returned. Again he froze, unable to move. Only this time, because he was sitting he was able to see it more clearly. As it drifted toward him he saw its powerful arms and shoulders, but within its swirling depths he also discerned a heavily muscled torso and a pair of huge and sinewy hands. Once again it slowly circled the bed as if examining him for some unknown purpose, and when it turned he noticed it possessed the suggestion of a masculine profile. But still there was something paradoxical about its appearance, for everything that was massive about it was only occasionally given substance by its turbulent and vaporous form.