Night Things: A Novel of Supernatural Terror (8 page)

After finishing the breakfast dishes and seeing Stephen off to ready the generator building for the job applicants, Lauren decided to do some exploring of her own. However, she was still so fascinated by some of the rooms she had already seen she decided that the first thing she was going to do was take another stroll through the first floor.

Again what drew her attention as she wandered through the rooms were the many treasures the house contained. In the butler’s pantry she lingered admiringly over the large collection of Georgian silver and Meissen porcelain, and in the Moorish-styled billiard room she was astounded to find what appeared to be an authentic Sung-dynasty vase. But as she continued on, what started to strike her as odd about the house was how strangely anonymous it was. The rooms were opulently furnished; even the smallest details had been carefully thought out and attended to. But nowhere was there any sign the house had ever really been lived in. There were no portraits of Sarah Balfram or any other members of her family. Even the pages of the books in the library were still uncut—obviously no one had ever actually used the library as a place to read.

Unsettled by the discovery, she went upstairs via the servants’ entrance off the kitchen. Wandering through some of the servants’ rooms she searched for some sign they had once been inhabited, but again she found nothing. There were no old letters stuffed behind any of the mirrors, no stray coat hangers left in any of the closets, no old magazines, no medicine bottles, not even any lining paper in any of the bureau drawers.

Still, there were other signs the house had been used. Floorboards had been rubbed smooth by the passage of feet, and carpets had started to go threadbare in what appeared to be the most heavily trafficked areas. But why, she wondered, had none of the house’s inhabitants ever really left a personal mark upon the place?

Spurred on by this question, she decided to go deeper into the house, but quickly became lost in a crisscrossing of hallways with no avenue out but a narrow set of stairs. After going down them she found herself in the front entrance hall of the house and saw Garrett sitting solemnly on the main staircase. She smiled at him, but continued to look up at the house perplexedly.

“So the house dumped you out too,” he said.

She looked at him confusedly. “What do you mean?”

“You were walking around upstairs and got lost, and the only way out was to come down that set of stairs and into the entrance hall, right?”

“Right, but so?”

“So, the house did it. It doesn’t like people walking around too much in it. It always sends them back downstairs.”

She looked at him skeptically. “Are you trying to tell me the house is alive?”

He sighed patiently. “No, it’s not alive. It’s the way it was built.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Garrett. Why would Sarah Balfram build her house that way?”

He greeted the question with utmost seriousness. “That’s just it,” he said staring contemplatively up into the house. “Why
did
she do it?”

Before she could react further, the sound of a car arriving distracted her and she went out onto the pillared veranda to see who it was. A young man in a checkered shirt was stepping down from a dilapidated pickup truck. Although she had heard no other sounds of people arriving, to her surprise she saw that a small crowd had gathered near the generator building. By a tree an older man smoking a pipe had apparently arrived on a bicycle. Two other men, brothers it seemed, stood by an old Ford Mustang, and a man with disheveled black hair and the whitest skin she had ever seen seemed to have come on foot.

She decided to go find Stephen and see how things were going. As she started down the front steps of the house she noticed Garrett was tagging along beside her. However, before she had reached the doors of the generator building she felt a little sting on the back of her neck. Slapping the area instinctively, she looked at her hand and saw a tiny black smudge, all that apparently remained of a mosquito. Within moments the spot at the back of her neck started to itch, but before she could scratch it she felt another bite on the back of her arm, and then another on her leg. She looked around at the gathering of men and was chagrined to see that none of them were similarly afflicted.

“You need some Deep Woods Off,” the older man smoking a pipe advised.

“What will that do?”

“Keep ’em from bitin’. It’s what I use.”

By this time Stephen had come out of the generator building and was watching what was going on. “Where can I get some Deep Woods Off?” she asked.

He took a languid puff on his pipe. “The nearest place to here is Clearwater.”

She looked at him perplexedly.

“It’s a great camp that’s been turned into a lodge,” Stephen interjected. “It’s about twenty miles down the road. There’s a gift shop there. I guess Mr. Foley means you can get some there.”

Mr. Foley nodded.

“Well, will you take me there?” she asked, looking at Stephen.

“Honey, I can’t. I’ve got to take care of this. But why don’t you go?” He reached into his pocket and tossed her the keys to the Porsche.

“Which way down the road?”

“That way,” Mr. Foley said, waving his hand to the right.

She looked at Garrett. “Do you want to go?”

He nodded.

“Then come on,” she said, scratching herself furiously and heading for the car. When they reached it she opened the door, but before she could get inside Stephen had run up beside her.

“Hey, don’t I get a kiss?”

“Well, I guess,” she said, putting on a fake pout.

They kissed, but as she started to turn away he stopped her. “So did you enjoy last night as much as I did?” he said with a sly smile.

“Of course I did, silly.” She giggled and poked him in the ribs.

Stephen suddenly jerked his arm away from the car and screamed.

“What is it?” she said, jumping in the same direction.

“Bug,” he returned, and when she followed the line of his gaze she saw that on the hood of the car was one of the largest spiders she had ever seen.

He looked around for a stick and then approached the spot on the car where the spider was sitting.

“Don’t kill it! Don’t kill it!” Garrett yelled as he ran around to their side of the car. Picking up a stick of his own, he coaxed the spider onto it and then tossed it gently into the bushes. “Spiders eat other insects, so it’s good to have them around,” he informed them.

Lauren noticed that Stephen was annoyed and seemed about to say something. But before he could speak, Garrett had started up again. “You know, a spider’s blood is green, and since they don’t have circulatory systems like we do, it just squishes around inside them.”

The remark caused a wave of gooseflesh to rise on Lauren’s arms, and from the disconcerted look on Stephen’s face she realized it had had a similar effect on him. Stephen just shook his head and walked away. “See ya later,” he said.

“Why do you do that?” she asked after they had gotten in the car.

“Do what?”

“Say such creepy things?”

He looked at her confusedly. “What creepy things?”

“Like about that damn spider!” she exclaimed, but she could tell from his expression that he had no idea what she meant.

As they drove away from the house he piped up again. “So why do you think Sarah Balfram did that to her house?”

“Did what?”

“Designed it so that when you try to walk around in the upstairs it always sends you back downstairs?”

“Nothing made me go back downstairs!” she snapped. “I just decided it was the easiest thing to do.”

“But that’s just it. Each time you go through, something happens that makes you realize it’s the easiest thing to do. She did it on purpose, Mom, I can tell.”

She exhaled loudly. “Okay, Garrett, suppose she did do that. Why would she do such a thing?” This question caused him to lapse into such silence she became a little uneasy. She knew him well enough to know he didn’t take challenges lightly.

For the next several minutes she tried to put everything out of her mind and concentrate on enjoying the scenery. As they traveled, she realized how truly isolated they were at Lake House. Several roads turned off the highway, but none gave any indication of leading to other houses. There weren’t even any other cars on the road. She was just about to comment on it when finally they passed a small dirt road with a crudely painted “Keep Out” sign posted beside it.

It was another twenty minutes before they saw any further evidence of civilization in the form of another sign that read: “Clearwater Lodge—Next Right.” Pulling into the driveway, Lauren was pleasantly surprised to see that Clearwater Lodge was quite a big place. Like Lake House it sat on the edge of a sparkling lake, but here any similarity ended. Instead of gothic, the lodge was built in the traditional Adirondack lodge style, sprawling in every direction. It was also crawling with people: backpackers heading up mountain trails, boaters, children in life preservers splashing in the shallows of the lake, and picnickers sitting at tables under the spreading canopy of the trees. The sight of so many people made Lauren feel good.

She parked the Porsche in a concrete parking lot outside the main pavilion, and they both got out. Inside, the lodge looked very much like a big-city hotel. The entrance hall had been converted into a huge lobby, and bellboys assisted new arrivals with their bags. Beyond an arch to the right she saw a display of stuffed toy animals, and she knew she had found the right place.

“Come on, Garrett,” she said, gently steering him by his shoulder through the crowd.

Walking in, she saw that the store was filled with all the sundry items one expected in such establishments: souvenirs, toiletries, travel books, candy bars, camping supplies.

Seeing a display of comic books, Garrett raced off to the opposite side of the store as Lauren went up to a plump, rather cow-eyed girl standing behind a nearby counter. On her blouse she wore a button that said, “Hi, my name is Amy and I’m here to help you.”

“Excuse me, do you sell Deep Woods Off?” Lauren asked.

With almost mechanical efficiency the girl reached up to a shelf behind her and withdrew a green aerosol can. “Sure do,” she said, sliding the can across the counter to Lauren.

“How much is that?” Lauren asked.

“Two ninety-five.”

Lauren reached into her purse for her wallet.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” the girl said. “You can just give me your room number and I’ll put it on your bill.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Lauren said. “I’m not a guest here.”

“Are you campers?”

“No, we’ve rented a house here for the summer, a lodge really. It’s called Lake House.”

The girl’s already sizable eyes opened even wider as she snapped out of her professional demeanor. “Lake House! You’re kidding. What is that old place like on the inside, anyway?”

“Oh, it’s quite nice really.”

Taking Lauren’s matter-of-fact response as an invitation to become even more familiar, the girl leaned forward amiably on the counter. “Is it really as strange inside as they say?” Both her question and her chatty air made Lauren a little uncomfortable. “It’s a little strange around the edges,” she said, repeating the same line Stephen had used. “But most of it is quite livable.”

“Gosh,” the girl said.

For some reason her incredulity annoyed Lauren. “Why, does that surprise you?”

The girl fluttered her large eyes and became a little flustered. “Oh, no. It’s just that I’ve always associated Lake House so closely with what happened to Sarah Balfram that...” She stopped as if it had finally occurred to her she might have strayed across the fine line between customer relations and impertinence. “... well, that I never really thought of‘livable’ as a word someone might use to describe Lake House.” She said the last line quietly and with a trace of trepidation, but whatever indignation Lauren felt previously was suddenly replaced by curiosity. “What do you mean, what happened to Sarah Balfram? You mean about her fiancé jilting her?”

“Jilting her?” The girl snorted. “Who told you that? Her fiancé was murdered.”

The words struck Lauren like lightning. “You mean he was murdered in the house?”

“So they say.”

Lauren scanned the store nervously and was relieved to see Garrett was still glued to the comic-book display. She was glad he was not hearing what the girl was telling her.

“You mean you didn’t know about Sarah Balfram’s fiancé being murdered before you moved in?” the girl asked with disbelief.

“No,” she said feeling a bit foolish. She wondered if Stephen knew. “Do you know which room in the house he was murdered in?” she asked.

The girl shook her head. “That I don’t.”

Lauren fingered the collar of her blouse nervously. “Do they know who killed him? I mean, it wasn’t Sarah Balfram, was it?”

“Well, there’s a mystery to that,” the girl said, her eyes sparkling. “You see, they say Sarah Balfram built the house when she was young with money her mother left her. Of course, at that time I guess she was already considered a spinster, and added to the fact that she was nutty, everyone assumed she would live out her days as an old maid.”

“You mean she built the house before she got engaged? People considered her crazy even before she got jilted?” The girl nodded. “Yeah, but they say she was a strange kind of crazy. Clever crazy. I mean, I guess she was smart enough to give lectures and stuff and people would come and listen, but I don’t know what she talked about. Weird stuff. Anyway, apparently it drove her dad nuts that she spent so much money on building such a crazy house, but I guess the two of them never got along anyway, and so he just stayed in New York and lived his life and she stayed up here and lived hers. Only that all changed when she met this guy Oelrich.

“Oelrich had a reputation in New York for being a sort of creep. You know, he just wanted to marry some woman for her money. So when Sarah Balfram accepted Oelrich’s proposal her father evidently came up here to try to stop her. According to the story, he shot Oelrich.”

“What do you mean, the story? Wasn’t Josiah Balfram ever brought to trial?”