Night Things: A Novel of Supernatural Terror (22 page)

Garrett seemed to share her premonition, and without a word spoken between them, their walking increased to a run.

Indeed, she was so convinced something was about to happen that she did not even know precisely when her fear turned into the awareness that she could hear the the snapping sounds of someone coming through the forest nearby.

But when she did, time dilated into that strange and dreamlike eternity that always typifies a state of panic.

And as she struggled to move through the slow-motion, thick-as-glass world of that eternity, the snapping turned into a thrashing sound.

And then suddenly the thrashing sound ended as a man burst out of the bushes before them.

Both Lauren and Garrett screamed—Garrett because he was convinced the man was Fugate and Lauren because she was convinced that the man, whoever he was, meant to do them harm.

But then Garrett stopped screaming when he saw the man was not Fugate.

And Lauren stopped when she realized the man was screaming also.

“Good God!” the man cried, placing his hand over his heart. “Who the hell are you?”

“Who the hell are you?” Lauren countered angrily, and then, because she was still not certain the man was harmless, she pulled Garrett up protectively against her.

“My name is Gordon, Harry Gordon, and I—” he started with terse indignation, but then he looked up at the house and back at them, and repeated the double take. “Hey, wait a minute. You don’t live here or something, do you?”

“We most certainly do,” Lauren returned with her own version of terse indignation. From the man’s behavior thus far she half expected him to continue his aggressive questioning, but instead, on hearing her words his face became bright scarlet.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was living here.” He started to back away. “Listen, I’m really sorry.”

“Well, wait a minute,” she said sharply. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

He stopped, and as he fidgeted with what seemed to be sincere embarrassment, she examined his features more closely. He appeared to be in his middle to late thirties and had sandy blond hair and soulful hazel eyes. She noticed also that he was pleasant-looking, although not exactly handsome, and his clothing was clean but rumpled in a way that seemed charmingly boyish. In fact, he reminded her a little of Gary Cooper.

“I just wanted to see the house,” he explained. He shifted his weight nervously, and in spite of his earlier aggressiveness, she noticed that there was actually something quite gentle and unassuming about him. “You see, I’m a writer. A newspaper reporter, actually. I work for the
Albany Courier.
They sent me up here to do a story, and, well, I’ve read so much about Lake House over the years, since I was in the area I decided to come over and take a look at the place.”

A wave of relief passed through her, but not wanting to seem too friendly, she tried to conceal how overjoyed she was at seeing another human being. “Well, you’ll forgive me, Mr. Gordon, for being so short with you, but you really did give us quite a jolt.”

Gordon began to loosen up a little also. “I’m really sorry. It really is all my fault.”

“Oh, that’s okay. We were a little jumpy anyway. You see, we’ve just discovered a little mystery. We’ve just found out that one of our workers has disappeared.”

“Oh?”

“It’s probably nothing. By the way, my name is Lauren Ransom.” She extended her hand. “And this is my son, Garrett. We were just going to go up to the veranda to have some lemonade. Would you like to join us?” She had suddenly begun to perceive Mr. Gordon as a ray of hope, and the notion that he might leave as quickly as he had appeared began to alarm her.

“Oh, that’s okay. I’ve really intruded on you much more than I should have already.”

“Oh, it’s no intrusion, really,” she said, hoping her eagerness was not too apparent.

He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets, and for a moment she was convinced he was still going to decline. But then suddenly their eyes locked, and although the look that passed between them was not quite flirtatious—for Lauren was still far too shellshocked from her debacle with Stephen to even begin to muster the wherewithal to flirt with someone—it contained enough of a spark, a pop of emotional electricity, to tilt the balance and persuade him to accept.

“Sure. Why not?” he said.

“How did you get up here?” she asked. “We didn’t hear a car drive up.”

“Oh, I rode a bicycle,” he returned, the sheepish Gary Cooper part of his personality coming out again as he pointed toward a clump of bushes in the distance. “I’ve got a car back at the lodge I’m staying at, but whenever I travel I always bring my bike along so I can get in some exercise. You don’t get much exercise sitting at a typewriter all day.”

Lauren looked and saw that leaning up against the clump of bushes was a blue Schwinn ten-speed. She also noticed for the first time that he was wearing a backpack and hiking boots.

“What lodge are you staying at?” she inquired as they walked up toward the house.

“Clearwater Lodge. Have you heard of it?”

She nodded.

Garrett, however, ignored the exchange. He was too captivated by Gordon’s passing reference to a car, for he realized that it provided them with a possible way of avoiding staying even one more night at the house.

He waited until Gordon had ambled ahead of them a few feet and then tugged surreptitiously on Lauren’s arm. “Let’s ask Mr. Gordon if
he’ll
give us a ride back to New York,” he whispered.

Lauren shushed him with mock annoyance and then, fearing that Gordon might turn around and see them furtively conferring, quickly extracted herself from his grasp. However, Gordon’s mention of owning a car had not passed by her unnoticed either. Unfortunately, she did not perceive it as the same solution to their problem as Garrett did. Not only was there the little matter of getting the three of them together in the same location as the car—with a bicycle as the only current mode of transportation—but even if she did come up with the courage to forsake all semblance of social etiquette and ask Gordon to drop whatever he was doing and volunteer to be their car service, she was not sure she wanted to. Despite what she had said to Garrett earlier about trusting people, she discovered that, for the time being at least, she really wasn’t ready to trust anyone. And although Gordon had not given them even the slightest reason to doubt his character, she would not feel comfortable asking for his help until she knew a little more about him.

When they reached the veranda, Lauren gestured for Gordon to have a seat and then went into the kitchen to get them some lemonade.

“Your son tells me that you write for
People Beat,
” Gordon commented when she returned.

“I used to,” she said, serving them and then sitting down. “Boy, I wish I could write for a publication like that.”

“Why, aren’t you happy writing for the
Albany Courier
?”

“Oh, sure, but when you work for a regional publication like the
Courier,
working for a national publication just seems more exciting.”

“Only because the grass is always greener on the other side. Believe me, I know lots of writers at
People Beat
who sit around and dream about moving out of Manhattan and working for some less hectic regional publication. I mean, look at me. I’m not writing for anyone right now, but I left.”

“I guess you’re right,” he said, smiling, and again she noticed that despite his ease at making conversation, he still seemed a bit nervous around her. This pleased her, for she had been feeling rather ugly as of late and it reconfirmed for her that she had not lost her touch and was still attractive to men.

She took a sip of her lemonade. “You said the
Courier
sent you up to this area to do a story. Do you mind if I ask about what?”

Again he blushed. “Oh, I always feel a little funny talking about what I write about.”

“Why?”

“Because my area of specialty is a bit strange. You see, I write about weird phenomena: haunted houses, people who claim to have been abducted by UFOs, that kind of stuff. But when I talk about it, sometimes people get a little uneasy. You know, they think that if you’re into that, you must be some kind of a nut.”

Garrett looked as if someone had just given him a B-12 shot. “Cool!” he squealed.

But Lauren was somewhat less than thrilled. “And are you?” she asked.

“Am I what?”

“Some kind of nut?” she finished, offering the question in as light and nonchalant a voice as she could muster. But the revelation had ruffled her a little.

For the first time a bit of fire flashed through Gordon’s eyes. “No, I’m not a nut. Believe me, I’m a pretty average and normal guy in just about every other way. I drink Budweiser. I love my mother. It’s just that I think there are some pretty strange things going on in this world that haven’t been explained yet, and I happen to believe it’s important we try to understand them.”

“Right!” Garrett agreed, nodding seriously.

Gordon instantly reverted to his more soft-spoken self. “Looks like your son here might be into a few of the things I’m talking about,” he said to Lauren, tossing Garrett a smile.

“I am,” Garrett said in the most thoughtful and adult voice he could affect.

But Lauren scarcely noticed. “So what was the story the
Courier
sent you up here to cover?” she asked with a trace of dread in her voice.

“Are you sure you want to know?” Gordon asked gently. “Yes,” she said unconvincingly.

He shifted in his chair. “Well, please understand that I don’t necessarily endorse what I’m about to tell you. I mean, I’ve talked to a few people who allege to have seen it, but I still don’t know quite what to think about it.”

“Think about what?” she pressed impatiently. “Apparently people have been seeing something pretty strange on the highways up here lately. We keep getting reports from drivers who say they’ve passed a hitchhiker on the road at night. Only the weird thing is, when they pass this guy, they say his eyes glow in the beams of their headlights. You know, glow like the eyes of an animal.” Lauren’s blood ran cold.

“Hey, my mom saw something like that!” Garrett exclaimed.

Gordon’s head jerked abruptly in Lauren’s direction. “You mean you’ve passed this guy also?”

“Not exactly,” she stammered.

“She didn’t see him on the road. She saw him out here in the yard!” Garrett announced.

The news seemed to disconcert even Gordon. “Is this true, Mrs. Ransom?”

Lauren nodded, but was still too busy assimilating the information to speak.

“Well, you know, it’s very strange for a human being’s eyes to glow like that. Usually, only animals that hunt at night have eyes that glow in reflected light. That’s because things with night vision have—”

“—an extra layer of cells behind their retinas to help them collect more light,” Garrett said, speaking simultaneously with Gordon and using almost exactly the same words. This caused each to look at the other with the jubilation of a kindred spirit.

“I know, I know!” Lauren shot back testily.

Seeing how edgy she was becoming, Gordon instantly backed down.

“Listen, we don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay,” she said, calming down a little. Gordon looked down nervously into his lemonade. “Do you think you might tell me a little more about exactly what it was that you saw? It would help me immensely with the story I’m putting together.”

“You can’t use anything I tell you,” she interjected quickly. “I mean, you can use it, but please don’t identify either me or the house.”

“No, that’s fine,” he said, reaching down into his backpack and pulling out a pad and pencil.

She told him everything she remembered about the figure she had seen standing in the fog, and after she finished, he fell into a long and meditative silence.

“Well, what do you think it was I saw out here the other night?” she asked.

He hesitated.

“Mr. Gordon, please, I’ve got to know.”

“This is just my opinion, but to be quite honest with you, Mrs. Ransom, I think you probably saw what I call an Incomprehensible,” he said solemnly. “By Incomprehensible, I mean a creature or being that cannot be explained by our current scientific understanding.”

“You mean you think I saw something supernatural?”

“Quite possibly.

“Come on.”

He took hold of both ends of his pencil and twirled it between his fingers as he leaned back in his chair. “Listen, there are some very strange things roaming the surface of this planet, things that our common sense tells us just aren’t possible. But they’re there nonetheless. Have you ever heard of Spring-Heeled Jack?”

She shook her head.

“Spring-Heeled Jack was a very famous Incomprehensible sighted frequently roaming the moonlit streets of London throughout the nineteenth century. The first account we have of him is from the 1830s when a young woman rushed into a police station one night and reported that she had been attacked by a man whose eyes glowed like balls of fire. As she described it, her bizarre assailant was also wearing some kind of helmet and a tight-fitting costume made out of oilskin, and in addition to his volcanic eyes, he was hideously ugly, had fingers that ended in claws, and spat blue-and-white fire.

“Needless to say, her story was greeted with skepticism until the man attacked another person, and then another. In the years that followed he was seen by dozens of different people, sometimes even by large groups of people. But whenever his astonished onlookers tried to run him down and corner him, he would laugh and escape by leaping over whatever building he happened to be nearest to, which is of course why he came to be dubbed Spring-Heeled Jack. His physical strength was so extraordinary and he terrorized London for so long that in the 1870s Queen Victoria even ordered the army to roam the streets at night and try to capture him. But it was to no avail. Reports of encounters with Spring-Heeled Jack continued to roll in until 1904, almost seventy years after his initial sighting. But then, for reasons unknown, the sightings stopped, and Spring-Heeled Jack was never heard from again.”