Honeymoon

It’s a (literal) fairy-tale honeymoon for Tom and Rachel as they encounter fairies in the woods surrounding their idyllic lakeside cabin—until a threat from the real world awakens a sinister force. 

Honeymoon, Part One

The singing from the forest woke me.

            No words. Just a soft melody floating in the air like the clouds over the beach. I blinked, rubbed my eyes, sat up on my blanket, and looked over at Rachel. Sound asleep. Snoring quietly.

            I let her dream. It was our honeymoon, after all.

            The ceremony had come off without any disasters. Even the vampires got along. My brother shook my hand after I kissed the bride, Rachel’s friend Carrie hugged her, everyone applauded politely, and my mom waved from the front row, right next to her date, who behaved himself with her. Then we got to eat.

            Now we were in upper Michigan, in a cabin in Lake Huron. The water was warm enough for swimming and the cabin was far away from anyone likely to see us swimming nude. The nearest town was 20 miles away. The weather was perfect. Even the wi-fi was good. Even on our honeymoon, we still had to watch our shows.

            I stretched, pulled on some shorts and a T-shirt, and stood up. The singing seemed to flow from the forest right behind us, just 20 yards or so from the edge of the water. I followed the music up the sand, barefoot, cocking my head to make sure I was headed in the right direction. The main highway was half a mile away, and the nearest cabin was at least four miles off, so it wasn’t someone’s stereo blasting in the distance. Maybe a traveling band had set up in the woods to rehearse?

            Dirt mixed with the sand and in a few more steps the trees were shading out the sun. The singing felt like it was all around me now, 

Rising above my head and thrumming under my feet. 

            A few more steps, and the forest around me grew darker. Trees blocked the sun, and shadows fell all around me. I stopped, listening, as my eyes adjusted, and then, after a moment, I saw lights.

            They looked like fireflies at first, dancing in the air, but as my eyes got clearer I saw something more. I blinked, rubbing my eyes, and looked again, wondering if I was still asleep and dreaming. Lights darted in front of me, around. Lights with faces.

            Small and angular, in every color of the rainbows. And not just faces. Arms, legs, fluttering dragonfly wings. Smiles, shouts, laughter as they flew around the forest in every direct, soaring up toward the highest tree branches and diving down toward the damp dark ground. 

            They swirled around me, as if inviting me to fly with them, zooming in and then darting away. Some looked female, other male, some nonbinary. All seemed happy and joyful, just enjoying their carefree flight as they sang.

            I was sitting on a moss-covered log, and I realized had no idea how long I’d been there, watching and listening to them. Hours? Days, maybe? I remembered Rachel, out on the beach, and forced myself to stand up. My legs and feet felt stiff, as if reluctant to leave, and I waved a hand to the swarm around me.

            Some of them seemed to dip in their flights, as if returning my gesture. Most just went on with their singing and sailing through the air.

            Back on the beach Rachel was waking up. She smiled. “Hi, lover. Where have you been?”

            I sat down on my blanket without answering.

            After a moment she reached over for my hand. “You okay?”

            “Do you hear it?” I looked around. But the singing was gone.

            Rachel frowned. “Hear what?”

            Huh. I stood up. “Come on. There’s something you’ve got to see.”

            She pulled on her shorts and a top and followed me up the beach. 

            When I got to the edge of the trees I stopped and listened. No singing. I took a few steps forward, but the forest was different now. Sunlight flowed down through the trees. Bugs zipped in front of my face. The ground was rocky, and I wished I’d slipped on my sandals. I cocked my head, trying to convince my ears to listen harder for the song I’d heard just a few moments ago.

            Rachel grabbed my wrist. “You’re making me nervous.”

            “Sorry.” I shook my head to clear it. The forest I’d been in was gone, leaving a perfectly beautiful landscape that stretched for miles into the distance.

            I turned to her. “A few minutes ago, this was all different. I heard singing, and I came up here, and this was all dark and shadowy, and there were—” What were they? “Fairies,” I finally said.

            “Fairies.” Rachel’s hazelnut eyes searched my face, looking to see if I was serious.

            “I think so.” I gestured around us. “Small beings, with wings, glowing, flying around, and singing. Peaceful and happy. I sat here listening to them for—I don’t know how long.”

            “Okay.” She wasn’t skeptical. After all we’ve been through together—vampires, demons, shapeshifters, and dragons are only the tip of the list—fairies would be a relief. She closed her eyes. “Give me a minute . . .”

            In addition to being hot, and redhaired, and now my wife, Rachel’s psychic. Her ESP isn’t perfect, but she can almost always pick up at least a trace of the supernatural if it’s in the air. 

            Rachel held my hand for a moment, then dropped it. She stood perfectly still, breathing in the air, her head cocked. A smile curled her lips, but only for a moment. Then her face turned into a frown, and her eyes fell open.

            “I could feel them,” she whispered. “For a moment. But then—there was something there. Something they were afraid of.”

            I looked around. “Is it still here?”

            Rachel shook her head. “It’s hiding. They’re hiding too. It’s dangerous to them.”

            “What is it?”

            “I don’t know.” She shivered. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

Back at the cabin we had a snack, and then Rachel watched one of her reality TV shows on her laptop while I tried getting through Infinite Jest again. 

            The cabin was a pleasant change of pace from city life in Chicago. No police sirens, dirty sidewalks, potholes in the streets, buses and taxicabs and Ubers trying to run you down. After the past few years of Rachel going to college, me struggling to make a living as a P.I., and dealing with monsters as well as all the monthly bills, the quiet moments here were—quiet. Okay, it was a little boring but a positive kind of boredom. I could live with it for a few days. 

            After Rachel’s show was over we did some more, uh, honeymoon stuff, then took showers, got dressed, and went into town for dinner. The town had a McDonald’s, a diner, a coffee shop that served sandwiches, and a pancake house. We went to the diner.

            Rachel’s a vegetarian, but for a small town, the diner had a lot of options for her. I had a cheeseburger, and she had meatless chili with corn bread. We were reminiscing about the wedding—how I’d explained to my brother why certain guests couldn’t attend during daylight hours and his worried reaction about vampires sitting behind his wife and kids, and Rachel working with the shaman performing the ceremony on how to pronounce some words correctly so she wouldn’t accidently summon a naked androgynous fertility deity—when an argument erupted between two men at the counter.

            “—for 70 years, and these guys are already sending up architects and designers before anything’s been signed—”

            “—this economy we’ve got to grab whatever’s out there, because this town is dying—”

            “Because of all people like that who want to come in here and—”

            Rachel and I looked at each other nervously. One of the men was built like a bear; the other one was short and wiry. Before they could slide off their stools and start pounding on each other, the diner’s manager, a gray-haired woman in jeans and an apron, loomed over the counter at them, whispering fiercely and jabbing her finger at the door. After a moment the bigger of the two men shoved himself off his stool and stalked out. The smaller one slumped, shaking his head, and slurped some Coke through a straw.

            “What was that about?” I asked our waitress as she came to refill our coffee. 

            She was a cheery teenager with blonde hair in a ponytail. “Oh, there’s some development company who wants to buy up a stretch of the lakefront and build a big resort. Big money for the town, lots of jobs, but they’ll have to cut down lots of trees, new roads, more pollution—I don’t know. I’m getting out of here as soon as I graduate.” She smiled and walked off.

            I looked at Rachel. “Maybe that’s what they’re scared of?”

            She sipped her coffee. “It was a definite thing. A being, not just a threat or an idea of a threat. But it could be related.”

            Hmm. I ate a French fry. 

            “I know that face.” Rachel stole a French fry. “That’s your ‘I want to investigate something’ face. We’re on our honeymoon.”

            “You know what would distract me?”

            She rolled her eyes. “You’re a sex-crazed animal.”

            “Hey, we’re on our honeymoon, like you said. And who wanted to do it on the beach this afternoon? Twice?”

            “Shut up.” She glanced around, but no one was close enough to hear. Then she smiled. “I have needs too. You want to go back and investigate them?”

            “Now who’s a sex-crazed animal?” But I waved for the waitress for our bill.

            On a bulletin board near the door a big sign took over most of the space. 

 

TOWN MEETING

Discussion of Varner Sutton Ltd. offer

7:30

 

It was for tomorrow.

            Rachel scowled. “You really want to cut into our honeymoon to go to a meeting of—” She stopped, glancing around as a family trooped in past us. “Fine, civic-minded citizens of this fair town calmly discussing real estate?”

            I sighed. “When you put it like that, no. Forget it.” I held the door for her. “Let’s check out those needs you wanted to investigate.”

Honeymoon, Part Two

A few hours later, our investigations temporarily finished, I sat up on the couch and listened to the wind through the side windows. It whistled softly, gently brushing the shades back and forth.

            “Hey, husband, this is empty. Get me another beer?” Rachel nudged me with her toe. “Husband. That’s going to take some getting used to.”

            “It’s better than jerk.” I picked up her bottle and mine. 

            “Oh, that’s not retired. I’m just stuck with you now.” She chuckled.

At the refrigerator I popped two more open, then paused. The window over the sink was open, the breeze blowing the blue calico curtain hanging down. 

            I heard singing.

            Back in the living room I set the bottles down in front of Rachel. “I hear them singing,” I told her. “The fairies, or whatever they are.”

            Rachel took a swig, then stood up. “Let’s check it out. Let me—where are my clothes?”

            We pulled sweats and shirts on quickly and headed out the front door. I brought a flashlight.

            Lazy waves from the lake lapped at the sand. The sky was cloudy, hiding the new moon, but a few stars shone through, brighter than any you’d see in Chicago. We held hands as we made our way through the darkness toward the trees. 

            “I can hear it,” Rachel murmured. “It’s—weird.”

            I tripped over a tree branch in the sand and flicked on the flashlight, but Rachel squeezed my arm. “Turn it off. You’ll—I think it has to be dark for them.”

            We stepped cautiously into the trees, following the flowing sound of singing. All at once the darkness around us lit up like a Christmas tree in every direction. We were surrounded by fairies glowing in every color imaginable, sailing through the air like fireflies, singing softly as they rose and fell and circled the air around us.

            Rachel leaned forward, peering at the flickering shapes, a smile on her face as they rushed toward her and zoomed away. She held out a hand, and three of them came down and danced over her open palm in the air. Rachel laughed.

            We stood there in the darkness surrounded by light for a long time. Minutes, hours—time seemed to fade in and out, disappearing in the distance and then skipping back, only to spin away into the night. I held Rachel’s hand, feeling her breathe, and we exchanged smiles. I didn’t think about what we were seeing, where the fairies had come from, where they’d gone this morning. All I could do was experience of sensation of being in the middle of them, watching and listening as they soared and sang.

            Then the singing shifted. First it grew louder, more of a series of shrieks than a song. Then it dropped away, like the last few notes of a symphony. The fairies began swirling around us, faster and faster, and then they spun off, flying into the darkness in every direction.

            And then the darkness fell all around us.

            Rachel jerked my hand. “Tom?”

            “Yeah.” I fumbled for my flashlight, but dropped it. “Damn it.” I leaned down to run my hand across the ground in search of it, but Rachel yanked my hand. “Just come on. There’s something—”

            In the darkness something even darker emerged. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel the ground lurch under me and smell something foul in the air. I turned and let Rachel pull me, struggling to keep my balance over the uneven ground, the stones and sticks and loose dirt that threatened to send us sprawling on the dirt, all while the pounding behind us kept getting closer, closer, until I could feel hot breath on my neck as my heart hammered in my chest.

            Then we were on the beach again. The stars shimmered in the sky. The water stroked the shore in lazy waves. Rachel and I slumped to the sand, gasping for breath.

            “W-what was that?” I looked over my shoulder, afraid of what I might see, but the trees just stood there silently as if they’d been watching over the beach for centuries.

            She shook her head. “I don’t know. But it was bad.”

            “Yeah, I got that.” I looked at her. “You okay?”

            Rachel nodded. She rolled over to look at the trees. “It’s gone.”

            We sat on the sand for a few minutes, catching our breath. No more singing. Eventually we managed to get back to our feet, and we headed back to the cabin.

 

We slept late the next morning. We’d stayed up late talking about our experience in the darkness without coming up with any answers, and by one-thirty we were too tired for anything but sleep.  

            I was making breakfast at 11:15 when someone knocked on the door. On the porch stood a stocky woman in a police uniform, gray hair pulled back, holding her hat at her side. “Sorry to bother you,” she said. “I’m Sheriff McIntyre. I need to ask if you’ve seen or heard anything in the woods outside this cabin.”

            I moved back to let her inside. Rachel came out of the bedroom in shorts and a bathrobe. “What’s going on?”

            “This is my, uh, my wife, Rachel,” I told the sheriff. “We’re on our honeymoon.”

            “Oh!” She smiled. “Well, I’m sorry to bother you. Congratulations. But I have to ask you about the woods around this cabin.”

            “What’s going on?” Rachel asked again.

            “Well, there was a man found dead out in the woods about half a mile away.” McIntyre frowned. “His car was on the road out there. I don’t mean to alarm you. It looks like he was possibly beaten and mauled by an animal.”

            “Oh my God.” Rachel and I looked at each other. “What kind of animal?” I asked. “Bear? Wolf? Wendigo?”

            “We get a few bears, but they usually don’t bother anybody. What’s a wendigo?”

            We’d run into a not-so-mythical wendigo a couple of years ago. I didn’t try to explain. Rachel poured coffee and we sat down around the table.

            “Did you hear anything last night?” the sheriff asked. “It was a long ways away, but sound travels a long way in the woods at night.”

            Again Rachel and I glanced at each other. 

            Back home I usually tell the cops everything, even if vampires or demons are in the middle of it. But most cops in Chicago know who I am, even if they don’t take me seriously. Out here I didn’t know anybody, and I didn’t have a lawyer within easy reach. I opted for discretion. “No,” I said. “We were inside all night. Just—honeymoon stuff.”

            Rachel kicked me under the table. McIntyre smiled. 

            “Who was it?” I asked. “Someone from around here?”

            “No, he was with a development company. Some folks are talking about building a big resort around the lakeshore.” She grimaced. “Not a popular topic around town.”

            “Yeah, we overheard an argument about it at the diner last night. Is it going to happen?”

            She shrugged. “Don’t know. There’s a town meeting tonight about it. My guys are going to be working overtime. Hope it doesn’t erupt into anything. People are pretty hot.” She stood up. “Well, thanks for your time. Enjoy the rest of your honeymoon.”

            I finished making breakfast while Rachel showered and got dressed. “What’s on for today?” she asked, sitting down to her eggs. “Aside from the obvious, of course.”

            “There’s mini-golf up the road a few miles. And that restaurant in the next town.”

            “Sounds good.” She set down her fork and stared at me. “And you want to go to that town meeting tonight, don’t you?”

            I grinned. “It’s like you know me or something.”

            Rachel rolled her eyes. “You’re going to owe me. Big time. Before and after.”

            “As long as it’s not during.” I picked up my coffee.

            She smirked. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

Honeymoon, Part Three

In my early years as a reporter I covered plenty of city council meetings out in the suburbs, so I thought I knew what to expect. Taxes, garbage removal, sewers, bond issues, traffic, policing, and people not picking up after their dogs. 

            This was different.

            The meeting had one topic—whether letting Varner Sutton plant a big resort across the lakefront was a good idea or the worst thing ever. We were in the gym of the local high school, on metal folding chairs, with at least 100 of the town’s citizens seated around us. Many were older than Rachel and me, with weathered faces and rough hands. Some were younger, tanned, relaxed, and well-dressed. A few families had brought their children, who either sat silently next to their parents or played quietly in the corner. There was coffee, decaf, and hot water at the back. 

A long table sat on a platform in front, under the basketball hoop, with a large TV set up behind the chairs. Three men and a woman sat at the table. Signs identified them as the town mayor, the town comptroller, Varner Sutton executive VP Hugo Powell, and VS architect Carolyn Frye. The sheriff and one patrolman stood behind the platform, in front of the Exit sign and the door to the boys’ locker room. 

            The mayor stood up and called the meeting to order. He introduced the two Varner Sutton executives, and then the comptroller gave a brief overview of the town’s current financial situation: not dire, but far from robust. A dwindling tax base and a tendency for young people to move to nearby or distant cities after graduating high school was slowly bleeding the town dry.

            Then executive VP Powell stood up. Middle-aged and balding, he wore a suit but no tie, his crisp white shirt sleeves rolled up, trying very hard not to look like a rich corporate bigwig. “Thanks for being here and listening to us.” A laptop sat in front of him, and he pressed a key. The TV behind him came to life with the VS logo, followed by an aerial photo of one of the company’s resorts in Maine.

            Together with architect Frye, Powell went through a 10-minute presentation of Varner Sutton’s planned resort. It would have swimming pools, a golf course, tennis courts, boating, two top-tier restaurants, halls for conferences and more, giving employment to hundreds of people both during construction and after the resort was open for business. 

            The final image showed an AI-generated picture of the resort from overhead. It was hard to see from where Rachel and I were sitting, but I was pretty sure one of the tennis courts was located right on top of our honeymoon cabin.

            Then, with a nervous smile, the mayor opened the meeting up to questions and comments.

            For the most part people were civil. An older man asked about management jobs; a young woman asked about diversity in hiring. Many people wanted to talk about what the new jobs would pay.

            But some people were skeptical. One guy who identified himself as a lifelong hunter asked about protecting the deer population. A woman asked about air quality. Someone asked about pollution and fishing. 

            The group seemed evenly divided between citizens who were in favor of the resort and people who were against it, but only about half the crowd rose to speak. Toward the end an argument threatened to erupt between two middle-aged men on opposite sides of the gym; both of them favored the project, but they disagreed about the location of the golf course. The wife of one told him to sit down, and he muttered something as he took his seat again.

            Then an old woman raised her hand from a wheelchair, and the room grew quiet.

            “You all know me,” the woman said. “I’ve been here my whole life, and many lives before this one. Some of you are my friends. Some—not so much.” She smiled. “But we have friends all around us.” She paused. “We don’t always see them, but they’re out there, and in here.” She touched her chest. “Just—remember them. They remember many things we’ve forgotten. They will remember us when we’re gone. Remember that.”

            Few looked at the old woman, as if everyone was embarrassed by her. Or maybe ashamed. 

The mayor moved to adjourn the meeting, and people starting getting up, putting their jackets on, breaking up to talk to each other or walking up to the platform to talk to the mayor and the Varner Sutton execs. 

            Rachel pulled my arm. “Come on.”

            I followed her around a row of chairs until we reached the old woman, who was backing up in her chair. No motors—she was using her arms to push her wheels and swing herself around.

            “Excuse me! Hi.” Rachel waved as friendly hand. “I’m Rachel, and this is my boyf—my husband. Tom. We’re on our honeymoon. Could we talk to you for a second?”

            She looked up at us. “I’m Sophia. Sophia Broadtree.” She looked us over, peering mostly at Rachel. “Yes. Bring me a cup of coffee. Real coffee.” She pivoted her chair and wheeled off toward a corner of the gym.

            I brought coffee while Rachel dragged over two chairs. We sat in a triangle, and Sophia blew on her coffee, looking out over the crowd dispersing from the floor.

            “You said we have friends all around us.” Rachel leaned forward. “What did you mean?”

            Sophie sipped her coffee. “I think you know.” 

            Rachel nodded. “We saw them last night.”

            She smiled. “You can see things?”

            “Some things. Ever since I was a girl.”

            “Yes.” She nodded. “Same with me. My mother too, and her mother. First it’s whispers and shadows. Then it’s right in your ears and in your face. You can’t get away, until you learn to handle it. Yeah, we have friends in the woods.”

            She sat back in her wheelchair, looking up at the lights in the ceiling. “They’re hiding now. They used to be everywhere, but they slowly went into the darkness where they can be safe. They’re safe there, as long as the forest is safe.”

            “There’s something else there,” I said. “We felt it last night. Something—angry.”

            Sophia nodded. “There’s always something to balance the good. It’s out there. Waiting.”

            “It killed someone last night, though. Someone from the development company.”

            She closed her eyes. “They mean well.” She opened her eyes and nodded toward the Varner Sutton execs and the people standing around them. “But they don’t know what they’re dealing with. What’s out there, waiting for them.”

            “What can we do?” Rachel asked.

            Sophia shook her head. “Sometimes you have to let nature lead the way.”

            A young man walked up to us, followed by a little girl. “You ready, Sophia?” the man asked.

            She handed me the mostly empty cup. “My ride. My son-in-law and granddaughter.” The little girl climbed onto her lap, and the man smiled at us before wheeling Sophia toward the door.

            Rachel and I folded up our chairs and carried them to the rack by the bleachers. “What do you think?” she asked.

            I was looking toward the platform. “Just a minute.”

            Hugo Powell was talking quietly with the mayor, but he looked up as I approached. His smile was wide and almost sincere. “Hello? May I answer a question?”

            “Tom Jurgen.” I managed not to introduce myself as a P.I. from habit. “I’m just here with my wife, we’re on our honeymoon—”

            “Oh! Congratulations!” His smile brightened as he checked Rachel out. “Hope you’re enjoying yourselves.”

            “Yes, very much. I just wanted to know—I heard that one of your people was, well, killed last night out in the woods.”

            The mayor immediately looked around to make sure no one was close enough to listen. Powell’s face shifted to sadness mixed with sadness. And worry. “Yes. It’s tragic. Maurice Swenson, good man. Had a wife and two kids. Sad.”

            “What was he doing out in the woods at night?”

            Powell blinked. “I don’t—I don’t know. He wasn’t supposed to be there. He went out to check out a location in the afternoon. Nobody noticed that he hadn’t come back until late, and we called the sheriff then.” He pointed to McIntyre.  

            “What location?”

            “A, uh, small lake a few miles inland. More of a pond, really. We were thinking of turning into a water hazard for the golf course, but it’s sort of in the wrong place.” His eyes got narrow. “Why do you ask?”

            “Just curious. No idea what led him astray?”

            Powell shook his head. “They found his car on the road, that’s what led them to find the body. But the lake was on the other side of the road, so why he would have gone that way—I have no idea.”

            I thanked him, and we walked away.

            “He’s hiding something.” Rachel took my arm, which she almost never does, but she didn’t want anyone to overhear her. “He’s sort of conflicted about that guy, but relieved too. Like it solves a problem.”

            I nodded. “I notice things too.”

            “So what now?” She squeezed my arm.

            “Tomorrow we should go look for that lake.” I kissed her quickly. “In the meantime . . .”

            Rachel grinned. “If we’re going to play detective on our honeymoon, we have to keep appearances up, don’t we?”

            “Absolutely.”

Honeymoon, Part Four

We went out later that night looking for the fairies, but they weren’t singing. The woods were empty. After 20 minutes of sitting under the stars we went back.

            The next morning after breakfast I found the lake using Google Maps. “It’s called Turtle Lake, and, yeah, it’s not very big.” I pointed to the laptop screen. “It’s pretty close.”

            Rachel finished her coffee. “Okay, let’s go. Then I want to go play mini-golf again.”

            “Deal.” 

            Our cabin was about a mile down a long meandering road from the main two-lane highway to town. It was a nice day for a walk, a warm yellow sun in a sky with a handful of fluffy clouds. Rachel wore shorts. No cars passed us going up the road.

            One car sailed past us as we strolled up the two-lane highway after crossing. Finally we found a trail and hiked through the underbrush and trees for another mile. We were hot and sweaty by the time we reached the lake.

            Powell had been right. It was basically a large pond, about a hundred yards across but maybe 300 feet long. The water was muddy and cold. A breeze stirred the reeds sticking up from the surface near the shore.

            I swirled the water with my fingers, then looked up at Rachel. “Anything?”

            She was peering over to the trees on the opposite shore. She shook her head, then bent down to untie her shoes. “Give me a second.”

            Socks off, she grimaced and slowly stuck a tentative toe into the water. There wasn’t any sand—she had one foot on grass and the other foot in the pond. With a grimace, she stepped in with both feet and waded into the water.

            “It’s cold.” She shivered. She stood in the mud, first looking down, then gazing toward the center of the pond, her eyes unfocused. I waited. “There’s something here.”

            “Turtles?”

            She swirled one foot around in a watery circle, kicking up mud. “It’s old. And restless. It’s sleepy now, but it—” She jerked her foot up.

            “What?”

            Rachel planted both feet down firmly in the muck again. “I think it feels something.”

Then I spotted movement. Thirty yards away, a young man in a windbreaker and jeans was standing at the edge of the water. In his 20s, he was holding an iPad, maybe taking pictures of the area, but he was staring at Rachel and me. Mostly Rachel. I’m used to that, especially when she’s wearing shorts. At least he wasn’t pointing his iPad at her.

            I waved. “Hi there.” 

            The man waved back. He wasn’t going to talk to us, so I headed over toward him as Rachel made her way out of the water. “I’m Tom.”

            “Uh, I’m Ryan. You guys from around here?” He lowered his iPad nervously.

            “We’re here for our honeymoon. That’s my girlfr—I mean, my wife, Rachel.” I smiled. “You with Varner Sutton?”

            He blinked. “Uh, yeah. Just—checking out various locations. For when we’re ready to start construction.”

            I nodded. “Is it looking like it’s going to happen?”

            “Oh, it’ll happen.” He was a little more confident now. “There’s a majority on the city council. It’s going to go forward.”

            “Really? There was a lot of opposition at the town meeting last night.”

            “Oh, well, that doesn’t really matter, as long as the council—” He stopped, nervous again. “It’ll get done. Well, I’ve got what I need. Nice meeting you. And your wife.” He waved to Rachel.

            “Yeah, after that guy the other night, you probably don’t want to stay out here too long.” I hoped I didn’t sound like I was threatening him. I just wanted to see his reaction.

            Ryan looked over his shoulder, as if whatever had attacked Swenson was watching. “Y-yeah. I don’t believe the stories.” 

            “What stories?”

            He flinched, as if he’d made a mistake. “N-nothing. Just stories. I’ve got to go.” He turned and headed for the path to the road.

            Rachel walked to my side, carrying her shoes and socks. “What’s up with him?”

            “Varner Sutton guy. Scared. But he doesn’t believe the stories.”

            She cocked an eyebrow. “What stories?”

            I looked at the lake. “That’s what we have to find out.”

 

Sophia Broadtree lived alone in a small house on the edge of the town. She made us tea, and we sat in her living room, which had a large oil painting of Lake Huron on the wall, and a waist-high bookshelf crammed with hardcovers. No TV, but a radio on an end table.

            She carried the tea from her kitchen on a tray balanced carefully on her lap as she pushed her wheelchair. Rachel and I sat together on an old but comfortable sofa.

            Sophia looked us over, as if searching for something. “What can I tell you about—anything?”

            “Turtle Lake,” I said.

            She smiled. “It had a different name before. But there are turtles. I used to catch them down there when I was a little girl.”

            “When I was wading in the lake,” Rachel said, “I felt something down there. It was—it wasn’t evil, exactly, but it was menacing. I think it was the same thing that chased us the other night.”

            Sophia nodded. “The little friends used to be everywhere. That’s what I was taught, anyway. They had to hide when more and more people moved in, cutting down trees and building towns like this. They had to find a protector.”

            “In the lake?” I asked.

            “In the dark water. It’s not a fish or a giant turtle.” She chuckled. “It doesn’t touch the water. It just lies there, sleeping. Listening. It wakes when it’s disturbed, when it feels threatened. It hasn’t roused itself in a long time. Hasn’t needed to.”

            “Can anything stop it?”

            She shook her head. “Only the dawn. It lives in the dark. Nothing can pierce it there.”

“But it’s being threatened now. By this development.”

            Sophia shrugged. “If the town lets it.”

            “And more people will die? Like Maurice Swenson?”

            She closed her eyes. “Maybe.”

            “What happens to the—the little friends?” Rachel asked.

            She sighed. “They’ll find another place to live. Not as many of them. They’re—diminished. Someday there won’t be any left.” Her eyes flickered between the two of us. “Someday there won’t be any of us left.”

            Cheery thought, but I couldn’t blame her. “It sounds like they’ve got the town council all wrapped up. Even with a lot of the people opposed. It’s jobs.”

            “Most of my family has moved away.” Sophia sipped some of her tea. “My daughter and her family stay to take care of me, but once I’m gone . . .” She shook her head. “Who can blame them? This town is dying.”

We finished out tea quietly. Finally Sophia said, “I’m sorry—you’re on your honeymoon.  This should be a happy time for you.”

            Rachel shrugged. “We’re not kids. We’ve seen a lot.”

            “Well, I wish you happiness.” She smiled. “The world can be a hard place, wherever you are. Find happiness where you can.”

            

Out in the car Rachel crossed her arms. “Can we do anything?”

            “I don’t know.” I didn’t start the engine. “I’d hate to see the fairies—the little friends—wiped out. And more people die. But we’re outsiders. Would anyone listen to a couple of honeymooners from Chicago?”

            “Yeah, probably not.” She put on her sunglasses. “You want to go play mini-golf?”

            “Sure.” I started the car. “Unless . . .”

            She looked over. “What?”

            “The city council. That guy Ryan made it sound like they’re already in the company’s pocket. What if Varner Sutton is paying them off?”

            “Can you find that out?”

            “Well, I’m a detective.” I headed out the road.

            “Really? All this time I thought you were an unemployed rodeo clown.” She nudged my ribs.

            “That’s my fallback career.” I smiled. “Can mini-golf wait?”

            “I suppose.” But she grinned. “You’re sexy when you get ideas.”

            I grinned back. “Hold that thought.”

 

Three hours later I stood up and got a beer from the kitchen. Rachel looked up from the movie she’d been watching on her laptop. “Find anything, husband of mine?”

            I turned my laptop to face her. “The resort project was formally announced at a town meeting two months ago, but there were rumors around the town at least a month before that. But six months ago the mayor formed a small private corporation with three members of the city council and bought a bunch of land just off the lakefront from right where the resort is planned. Here—” I showed her a Google Map of the area with the mayor’s newly acquired land outlined, and a map from Varner Sutton laying out the boundaries of the resort.

            “Huh.” Rachel peered at the screen. “That’s not illegal, though. Is it?”

            “No, but it does give them an interest in the plan going through, aside from their supposed responsibility for the well-being of the community. But wait, there’s more.”

            She leaned forward. “Do tell.”

            I switched images. “This councilwoman—her name’s Jane Beaumont—has pictures of her recent vacation at a resort in Florida.” I showed her pictures of a middle-aged woman enjoying cocktails, dancing, riding a Jet-ski, and more. “Guess which resort?”

            Rachel’s eyebrows rose. “Varner Sutton?”

            “No, it’s called Happy Daze.” I zeroed in on a logo on one of her cocktail napkins: HDI. “However, it’s actually a subsidiary of Varner Sutton. It’s a pretty pricey spot, too. Council members don’t make much salary, and she owns just a small antique shop in town.”

            She nodded. “So what do we do? Wait for the next town meeting and leap up to point out fingers shouting, ‘J’accuse!’?”

            I grinned. “There’s that. On the other hand, the town has a newspaper. It’s a small weekly, but the editorials have been pretty negative on the development, so they might be receptive. And the city 20 miles away has a daily that seems to like poking the bear. I’m thinking a few emails might rip the whole thing wide open.”

            “And save the little friends.” Rachel smiled.

            “And save anyone else from whatever’s living in the lake.” 

            “Yeah, that, too.” She stretched. “We going to have dinner soon?”

            I closed the laptop. “I could eat. There’s an Italian place in the city we haven’t tried yet.”

            “Sounds good. Maybe if we tell them it’s our honeymoon we’ll get free tiramisu.” Then she leaned over and put an arm around me. “I mean, in a while.”

            I smiled and kissed her. “No rush.”

 

After, uh, working up an appetite, we drove up to the city. Before hitting the restaurant I stopped at the offices of the local newspaper. “You did this on purpose,” Rachel said as we took the elevator up to the editorial offices on the second floor. 

            “I might have had ulterior motives,” I admitted. “Saves us a trip in the morning.”

            She sighed. “I’ll allow it. You owe me later, though.”

            “Geez, I’m only one man. You have to give me time to—”

            The elevator door opened before I could finish. 

            It was past 5:00, but the publisher was still in his office. He was a young man, in his 30s, but his hair was already going gray, and his glasses tended to slip down his nose. “Peter Cousins,” he said, shaking first my hand and then Rachel’s, as if visitors were a rare and welcome distraction from work. “What can I do for you?”

            I told him first that we didn’t want our names attached to any story if he decided to publish it. He agreed, looking skeptical. Probably he expected us to report having seen UFOs or Bigfoot. But he paid attention when I went into what I’d found out about the mayor and the town council. I left out everything about the little friends, of course. He listened, nodding, and finally asked. “Can you back this up?”

            “I can email what I’ve got to you tonight. You’ll want to confirm it yourself, of course. I used to be a reporter myself.”

            Rachel nudged me. “He likes to remind people about that.”

            Cousins laughed. “It doesn’t pay very well, but at least the hours are lousy, right?” Then he groaned softly. “Yeah. Send me what you’ve got. I hate to look like the big city guy beating up on a small town, but this kind of sounds like something they should know about. If it checks out, I’ll assign one of my people here.”

            “Sounds good.” We stood up and shook hands again.

            “Is that Italian place downtown any good?” Rachel asked him.

            “Second-best in town,” Cousins told us. “I like the steakhouse myself.”                   

            Rachel grimaced. She’s a vegetarian. “Thanks.”

Honeymoon, Part Five

We had a nice dinner and drove slowly back to our cabin. 

A faint twilight lingered across the sky, and we decided to go swimming in the lake. That turned into a certain amount of, uh, celebrating our marriage again, and then we lay on the sand watching the stars come out.

Rachel pointed at a shooting star. “When I was a kid I used to pretend those were angels dying.”

“That’s kind of disturbing. Who killed them?”

“Aliens. From another dimension. I had a whole cosmology worked out. There were unicorns too.”

“Of course.” I held up a hand. “Quiet. I think . . .”

Yeah. The singing.

We listened for a few minutes as the waves beat softly on the sand. “Do you want to go see?”

“Let me get dressed. Not sure I want to meet them naked.”

We pulled out clothes on and made our way to the edge of the trees. One step we were on the beach; then next step, we were in darkness again, but surrounded by light in tiny colorful orbs flying this way and that around us. Sophia Broadtree’s little friends.

They were singing, their voices light and shimmering in the cool air. Two fairies chased each other from one tree to the next, zipping back and forth. A dozen of them flew in a circle, making a halo that rose and fell over the grass. The rest just darted randomly, flying everywhere and nowhere, singing their tuneless song.

We stood holding hands, listening, for five minutes, or maybe an hour.  And then, like the other night, the singing faded. Then stopped. The lights flying around us dimmed to nothing as the fairies abruptly fled or went hiding. 

Rachel’s hand tightened on mine as a low growl rumbled around us. We felt a hot blast of air over our bodies, like a dragon’s fiery breath, and then felt the ground quake under our feet. I was getting ready to run when a human shriek shattered the night air.

We looked at each other. I wanted to run. I remembered being chased by whatever it was in the woods that had ripped the Varner Sutton man apart, and I didn’t want to meet it face to face. But I also didn’t want to look like a coward in front of Rachel. Especially now that we were married. So I bit my lip and fumbled for my phone.

It cast enough light for me to see my feet in the dirt as another scream rose in the air. Closer. A a woman now. I didn’t know what I could do, but I had to try. 

I headed toward the screams, hoping Rachel would turn and go back to the cabin, but of course she followed. I didn’t have time to argue, and she wouldn’t listen anyway. We made our way as fast as we could over the uneven ground, trying not to trips over any loose branches or stones as the darkness spread around us.     

It took only a few steps to find them—Powell and Carolyn Frye, the architect. A dark hulking creature loomed over them, 12 feet tall or more, but I couldn’t make out much of its body. It was black as smoke. A dozen or more arms jutted from its middle, with sharp claws stained bloody. Two eyes glowed crimson on top of its torso as it stabbed at Powell’s body over and over, blood spurting from his neck and back as the claws jabbed and twisted at his flesh.

Frye was screaming. Powell’s head rolled back and forth as the creature clawed him, his eyes blank. Lifeless. I couldn’t help him, but Carolyn Frye was crawling away, his jacket ripped, gasping between screams. I darted forward and grabbed her wrist, and Rachel helped me haul her back, away from the monster.

What could I do? Only the dawn, Sophia Broadtree had said. I couldn’t fight this. I know how to stake vampires and exorcise demons, but this thing was out of my league. I hated to leave Powell, but there was nothing I could do with the creature tearing him apart.

So we helped Carolyn to her feet. She stopped screaming and just stared at Powell’s blood-soaked body, shaking, until Rachel gently pulled her away. 

The creature roared behind us, and I felt the ground shake. Rachel and I tugged at Carolyn’s arms until she got her balance and could run on her own, but by that time we could feel hot breath on our necks and the swish of claws slashing the air over our heads.

Carolyn stumbled. I grabbed her roughly, and Rachel shoved her shoulder. “Come on!” she shouted over the growling at our backs. 

We ran. The ground was unsteady, branches and stones sliding under our feet, and the air felt hot and menacing as we gasped for our breath. I thought I felt the bite of a claw jab at the back of my shirt and found that I really could run faster, half-dragging Carolyn with me as I kept an eye on Rachel. She glanced over, spotting me, and grimaced with disgust. At Carolyn, at the monster, at me—I didn’t know. I only wanted to get as far away as possible.

I saw light ahead of us. I felt like we’d been running for most of a football field, or longer, and my legs were wobbling with every step further. I bit my lip and put my head down, determined not to fall over, terrified of what would happen if it did.

Then we were out of the darkness. The beach lay before us, waves calmly lapping at the shore. I fell to my knees and Carolyn collapsed, gasping. Rachel crouched behind us, hands on her knees, and spit at the ground. “Wow,” she muttered.

I looked back. No sign of the beast. The beach was safe. For now. 

 

Back at the cabin we gave Carolyn a bottle of water as she caught her breath. “What—what was that?”

            Rachel looked at me. I sighed. “I don’t know exactly. But it’s something that doesn’t want your resort to tear up the community. Something that can’t be stopped. It killed Maurice, and now it’s killed Hugo. I don’t think it will stop.”

            She looked me over. She wanted to tell me I was crazy. I’m used to that. But after seeing Powell torn to bloody shreds, she couldn’t argue. She just nodded.

            “What were you two doing out there?” Rachel asked.

            Carolyn gulped some water. “Do you have anything stronger?”

            “Just beer.” I got her one.

            “Hugo was obsessed with what happened to Maurice. He didn’t want to talk about it because he didn’t want us to freak out. I thought he was being stupid, that it was just a bear or a wolf or something, but he wanted to come out here, he insisted. So I came with him to prove it was nothing. Except—” She gulped some beer. “Then it got dark. And that—that thing was on top of us. What was it?” she asked again.

            I shook my head. “No idea.”

            

We took Carolyn Frye back to her motel. I don’t know what she told her colleagues, but the next day Varner Sutton announced it wasn’t going ahead with the resort. We saw the sheriff’s car and an ambulance down the road, but Sheriff McIntyre didn’t come back to question us. Probably she didn’t want to hear what we’d tell her.

A day later, the city newspaper broke the story about the mayor and half the town council being in Varner Sutton’s pocket. I don’t know what the response in the town was—uproar? Rioting? Drag racing down Main Street?—because by then Rachel and I were packing to go home. 

            I was zipping up my suitcase when we heard a knock on the door. “Think the townspeople are here with torches and pitchforks?” Rachel asked.

            “I’ll try to die bravely while you escape.” I steeled myself for the worst as I opened the door.

But it was Ryan, the Varner Sutton man we’d met out at Turtle Lake. “Uh, hi.” He looked inside. “Can I come in for a second?”

“What can we do for you?” I asked when we were seated in the living room.

“I’m leaving. We’re all leaving, I’m the one of the last people left. People are pretty mad at us.” He rubbed his hands nervously. “I just wanted to say—when I met you out at that lake, well, after you guys left I stuck around. For a long time, until dark. Maurice said he’d heard something at night—a few nights before he, uh, it happened, and I wanted to see what it was.”

He crossed his arms, hugging himself. “I saw them. These little people, flying everywhere. Singing something I couldn’t make out. It was—like magic. Then I tried to catch one, like a firefly? In my hand. And then . . .” He took a deep breath. “I saqw something. In the lake. Just a shadow, but it was rising up, out of the water, and I—I ran. I don’t know what it was, but i—after I talked to Carolyn yesterday, after Hugo got—you know? I knew what it was.” He sighed. “I’m glad we’re getting out. And I’m glad I’m going home.” He stood up. “Just wanted you to know.”

We shook hands, and we watched him walk up the road to his car. Rachel put her arm through mine. “Nice of him to stop by.”

“I guess we did a good thing. Even if it cost the town a lot of money.”

“It could have cost them a lot of lives.”

I nodded. 

Rachel nudged me. “One last swim?”

“I packed our suits already.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why did we even bring them? We never wore them once.”

I grinned. “Good point. Let’s go.”

# # #

Psycho Killer

With their wedding coming up, Tom Jurgen and Rachel investigate a death connected to a drug that gives its users the power to kill with their minds.