Latham's Landing (11 page)

“
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.

“
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.