Emma Wooding’s Subaru Outback pulled up just under two hours later. I opened the front door before she could knock.
“This is my wife Rachel.” I closed the door. “She assists me.”
“I’m psychic,” Rachel said as they shook hands.
We’d gotten dressed and shared a can of soup, both of us were too nervous to eat more than that. I offered to fix something for Emma, but she shook her head impatiently. “Where’s this Lodge?”
“Let’s think this through,” I said. “Sit down and we can—”
“I’m going whether you two come or not.” She took a step back toward the door.
“We’re not going to try to talk you out of it,” Rachel said. “We just ought to have some sort of a plan.”
Emma hesitated. She was in jeans, boots, and a fluffy down vest over a plaid shirt. After a moment she shrugged out of the vest and dropped it on the sofa. “Okay. You’re probably right.”
In the kitchen I poured coffee and got us all water. “We were in the Lodge today,” I told her. “Talked to a few people. There’s a room with a fireplace and a big rat and it looks like there’s a big meeting room behind that.”
“The vibe is very masculine. And secretive.” Rachel planted her hands around her coffee mug. “They take Ventikkan very seriously. And they’re afraid of him.”
She stared at Rachel, then at me. “Is this for real?”
“I’ve seen some strange things,” I told her. “And what I’ve heard around here makes me think we should take it seriously.”
Emma nodded, thinking. For a moment I thought—hoped—she’d change her mind and drive back home. “Okay. I still want to go to this Lodge. Will it be dangerous?”
“I don’t know.” I looked at Rachel.
Rachel sighed, irritated. “I didn’t get the feeling that the people we met there today are particularly violent. But Dwight—he was here last night, and he felt like he was barely holding it in. And there was—something with him. I don’t know what, we didn’t see it, but something potentially dangerous.” She was choosing her words carefully, trying not to scare her too much, but working to keep her cautious.
Emma bit her lip. “I really want to do this.”
I didn’t want to, but I wanted to find out what was really happening in Linewood, in the Lodge. So I was ready to help her. “Okay.” I took a long swallow of water and stood up. “Let’s go.”
The street was empty except for a few cars parked under dark, broken streetlights. Amber light glowed behind the blinds of the Elwood Lodge.
Emma Wooding walked with Rachel and me to the front door. Her thick down vest was zipped tight, right up to her throat.
“Are you armed?” Rachel asked, as if picking up the presence of a weapon, or the false sense of security it offered.
She nodded. “It’s my dad’s. Don’t worry, I won’t take it out or anything unless I really have to.”
Arguing would only waste time and raise the tension level. I tried the door.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t locked. The fireplace was alive with orange and white flames that flickered over the walls. Two lamps provided a little more illumination.
Pablo Jackson stood up from one of the armchairs, his neck and shoulders stiff. “Meeting night. No visitors.” He peered forward, recognizing me and Rachel. “Members only,” he told the three of us.
Emma stalked toward him. “I’m Emma Wooding. My father was Greg Wooding. Do you know him?”
Jackson took a step back. “It’s members only,” he repeated, nervous now.
A murmur of voices rose from somewhere behind the unmarked door. It was loud enough to make Jackson look away from us and glance at the front door, as if the shout was some kind of warning.
Emma frowned, and then she headed for the door. Her feet trembled a little but she kept her pace even when Jackson tried to pull her arm. She shook him off, and he saw me and Rachel right behind her and backed away—probably more afraid of Rachel’s fierce expression than of me.
Emma pulled on the door, then pushed it open, and after a quick breath for courage she darted inside. I was behind her, Rachel beside me, Jackson standing beside the door looking scared, as if he was going to get fired.
The door opened into a short hall with closed doors on one side—PRIVATE, and CLEANING SUPPLIES—but the voices were coming from an open door at the far end. Emma led the way as Jackson mumbled warnings behind us.
Through the open door we walked cautiously down a short wooden ramp. I felt a breeze from outside through sliding screens that surrounded a large circle. A fire pit that was blazing in the center, and an opening in the roof above let the smoke out. Torches mounted in the wood floor cast a flickering yellow glow over the air.
Twenty men or so sat in metal folding chairs scattered in a loose semicircle around the fire pit. They didn’t notice us at first. They were all watching Dwight Harrison, who was standing on a wooden platform beside the pit, the fire burning next to him.
He was wearing jeans and work boots, shirtless, but over his shoulders he wore something that looked like a bearskin, with black, matted fur. He held something in his hand—a tree branch? A bone? Something dangled from the end of it, but I couldn’t make it out in the flickering firelight.
He sounded like he was speaking in some forgotten language. The men around the room were watching him as if he was preaching a sermon, but they actually didn’t look as if they understood a word of it. Harrison didn’t notice us at first either, but after 10 seconds or so he stopped and peered through the darkness. “Who’s there? This is private!”
People turned. Some looked hostile, others just nervous. Jackson stepped forward and tried to put a hand on Emma’s shoulder, and that seemed to get her fired up. She pushed his hand away and stalked forward.
“You killed my father!” Emma shouted. “You killed Greg Wooding! You killed him as some sort of sacrifice to that—that thing out there!” She pointed toward the forest beyond the screens. “His family founded this town! My family!”
She stopped in front of the platform, looking up at Harrison. “You were scared, weren’t you? Scared of Greg Wooding. Because he was going to take this away from you, he was going to burn this place down!”
“Uh-oh,” Rachel whispered.
I’d been afraid of something like this. I depend on clients, of course, to pay my cable and internet bills, but sometimes they can spiral out of control. It was understandable—they’d killed her father—but it could also be very dangerous. Especially in a roomful of possible murderers.
I stepped forward. “Be careful,” I whispered. “They outnumber us.”
Emma glanced around, as if she’d forgotten all the other men around us.
I looked back at Rachel. She rolled her eyes. Rachel is pretty fearless, and she knows Krav maga, but she’s not stupid. A roomful of these guys was more than any of us could handle.
Emma seemed to suddenly realize that maybe she’d pushed too hard. But, as if it was too late for her to back down, she jabbed a finger at Harrison on the platform. “You! Are you just going to stand there, or answer me? Well?”
Harrison stared at her. For a moment I wondered if he was lost in his delusions of grandeur as Master of the Lodge and wouldn’t deign to respond to an interloper. Or if he was just high on the fumes on the torches. Then he leaned forward, a humorless smile warping his face.
“Do you question King Ventikkan?” He held out the thing in his hand—a bone with what looked like a dead mouse tied to one end. “Do you challenge him?”
She snorted. “A giant rat? Do you guys really believe in that?”
The men around her stirred, murmuring, grumbling. “Get out,” one muttered, his tone menacing. But another one whispered, “Lady, leave—now! Please?” Others just looked frightened. Of her? Of Harrison? Or Ventikkan? I couldn’t tell.
Again I looked at Rachel, who was next to me now, looking back into the Lodge. “We should maybe get out of here.”
“Not without her.” I was angry with Emma Wooding, but I couldn’t just leave her surrounded by a bunch of Ventikkan-worshipping cult members, whether the giant rat was real or not.
“Then do something.” She punched my arm.
Yeah. But before I could try to talk any sense into my client, something moved in the darkness behind the blazing fire pit. Like the shadows gliding around Harrison outside the cabin the other night.
Emma saw it too, and froze.
Harrison started shaking the bone in his hand, chanting something in that unknown language as the dead mouse bobbed up and down. The men in the room started standing up and shoving their chairs back.
The shadows behind Harrison came forward, and I could see them more clearly. They looked like dogs—or wolves. Black, with paws like a mastodon, and teeth that didn’t seem to all fit in their jaws.
They circled Harrison, as if protecting him. Or as if they were ready to strike at his command.
I put a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “We have to leave.”
She was staring at the dogs, but she nodded. “Yeah. Maybe this wasn’t such a good—”
Behind me Rachel yelped, and I felt her hand on my arm in a grip like a tiger’s claws. “Uh, Tom?”
I turned. Pablo Jackson was gone. But one of the sliding screens had opened, and something big and hulking scuttled forward on four thick, stubby legs. It had beady yellow eyes and smelled foul and rancid as it breathed.
The man had scattered, some of them through the door back into the Lodge, some huddling together next to the building. Harrison stayed on his platform, holding his bone, as Emma, Rachel and I tried to figure out which way to turn.
The thing rose up, and in the flames flickering from the fire I realized what was standing in front of us, whiskers trembling, its nose darting around as it sniffed the smoky air.
Ventikkan. The king rat.
Apparently it was real. Up until that moment I hadn’t been 100% certain. Yes, I’ve seen a lot of strange supernatural things in my life, but I like to think I’m not gullible. The whole story could have been a legend, or a scam.
But it was right in front of us. Damn it.
Emma unzipped her down vest, and a moment later she had a handgun in her fist. It was heavy, and her wrist shook as she lifted it, looking around, uncertain about where to point it—the wolves, Ventikkan, or Dwight Harrison.
I put a hand on her shoulder. “Hold on before you start shooting.” I didn’t exactly blame her—I was wishing I’d brought my own handgun from home, where we keep it locked it a closet—but I didn’t want things to escalate.
Harrison seemed to ignore the gun. He held his bone staff high in one hand. “Choose your champions, intruders! The princes of the woods . . .” He gestured toward the two wolves beside him, “or the king of the Lodge! Choose!”
I shook my head and took a step forward, hoping I didn’t look as scared as I felt inside. “Dwight? You don’t have to do any of this. You know that, don’t you? Just let us go and go back to your club—”
“No!” Emma turned on me. “What about my father? You want to just run away and let him keep doing it?”
“I want to not get Rachel killed by a giant rat or torn apart by supernatural wolves.” I put a hand on her wrist. “Just don’t—”
One of the wolves howled and leaped off the platform. I planted its huge paws on the floor in front of us, growling menacingly. We stepped back, but the giant rat was right behind us, its eyes gleaming. Maybe I should let Emma start shooting.
“Choose!” Harrison demanded again. “Take your allegiance! Are you with the Lodge? Or are you its enemy?”
Rachel clamped a hand on my shoulder. “Tom? We need to do something. That thing—all of these things want to start eating us.”
“Yeah.” I looked at Emma. “Give me the gun.”
She blinked, but after a moment she handed it over. I didn’t know if she’d ever fired one before, but I have. Mostly on monsters. But a few times on humans. When I didn’t have a choice. And I didn’t think I had one now.
I didn’t think a bullet would stop Ventikkan, or that I could hit any of the wolves when they were charging. But maybe the gun would scare Harrison into making the creatures back off. Maybe—if I had to shoot him—they’d run, or disappear once he was dead. I hoped I didn’t have to kill him, though.
I swung around and aimed at Harrison. “Call them off, Dwight! Right now!”
Harrison laughed.
My finger was on the trigger when someone shouted behind me. Jackson. “I tried to stop them! I tried—”
I risked a look away from Harrison, over my shoulder, and saw two figures push their way through the door. One of them was Sara Cartwright, in a wheelchair, with Tessa pushing her, grunting as she maneuvered the chair’s wheels down the ramp.
“Dwight Harrison.” Sara Cartwright’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried. She looked at the giant rat, her upper lip curling with disgust, and then at me. “Put the gun down, Mr. Jurgen. There are enough ghosts in this town without making more.”
Harrison stared. His eyes flickered, and he leaned forward, making sure he was really seeing her. “Sara? You’re not welcome here.”
“I’ve lived in this town longer than you. Longer than any of you. My family lived here before this Lodge was built.”
“Your family built that house to hide from the town,” he said. “You’ve been hiding there ever since.”
“We’ve been watching over the town. You’re not the only one offering protection about the creatures of the darkness.”
The wolves around Harrison quivered, as if eager to attack something. And Ventikkan’s head darted around, sniffing the air as if it could smell our fear.
“Protection?” He laughed. “King Ventikkan is all the protection we need.”
“He’s your protection,” Sara Cartwright said. “Protecting your power over this town.”
“And who protects you?” He jabbed a finger at her, and the two wolves sprang forward, ready to pounce. One of Ventikkan’s thick legs shuffled up and down.
Sara Cartwright smiled. “I’m not here alone.”
“It’s just you and your bitch niece,” Harrison snarled. “And I am—”
Suddenly the fire in the pit swirled and rose like a spear, and the torches swayed as if a cold wind was blasting through the screens. For a moment everything went black—black as a shadow over the sun—and then the light came flaring back, casting harsh shadows across the room.
Dozens of people stood around us. Shadowy, translucent, their bodies shimmering, glowing, swaying back and forth as they stared at us with sightless eyes, murmuring softly in words drowning each other out.
Rachel put an arm around me, holding me close. “Ghosts,” she whispered.
Emma joined us. “W-who are they?”
“These are the people of Linewood,” Sara Cartwright said. “The people who died to save you. Who can’t leave, stranded here, between heaven and hell, watching you.”
Harrison peered through the sea of half-hidden faces. “I don’t know—who any of these people are. I only—I did it for Linewood! I did it for us!”
“You did it for yourself,” she said. “You did it because you wanted power. It’s time you saw what you created.”
The ghosts moved in. The wolves fled into the darkness, and Ventikkan seemed to slither backwards, its whiskers twitching.
Harrison looked at me, trembling, and reached out, as if begging for the gun in my hand. Maybe he wanted to try shooting at the ghosts. Or at Sara Cartwright. I held Rachel tight and shook my head.
The ghosts closed around Harrison. He tried to turn and run, but his legs collapsed, and he tumbled to the platform, cursing, and then the ghosts were all around him, dark shadows enveloping him in black smoke.
I looked at Cartwright. Her eyes were closed, but Tessa, behind her, was watching as if she were in a theater and the show had reached its final battle scene. Was she seeing something we couldn’t? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
Then the ghosts faded. Harrison lay on the platform, curled up, shaking, and the two wolves circled him, jittery and whining. I looked around, but Ventikkan was gone. Thank God.
I looked at Rachel. “You okay?”
She nodded but didn’t speak, as if the experience had overwhelmed her. I turned to Emma. “How are you?”
She blinked, breathing hard. Then she pulled away from me and staggered toward Sara Cartwright’s wheelchair. “Sara? Ms. Cartwright? I’m sorry, but—but—”
Sara Cartwright’s eyes opened. She looked tired. “Y-yes? You’re—who?”
“Emma. Emma Wooding.” She was crying. “I have to ask—I’m sorry—my father?”
She sighed, and Tessa looked angry, ready to wheel her away, but Cartwright lifted a hand, weakly. “No, wait.” She rubbed her eyes and forced a smile. “Of course.” She closed her eyes again.
Harrison flinched, as if he could feel something in the air. Rachel bit her lip, but she pulled away from me to turn toward Emma.
Standing in front of her now was an old man, with a gray beard and receding hair. His jeans and heavy blue jacket were dripping, as if he’d only just emerged from the cold lake, but he smiled at Emma, and murmured words only she could hear.
She nodded, then stepped forward to embrace him, but her arms closed over empty air and then wrapped around her own body. Greg Wooding’s ghost was gone.
Emma wiped a hand across her eyes. “Thank you.”
Sara Cartwright nodded. “Let’s go, Tessa.”
Her niece nodded. Then she glared at me. “You’re lucky.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
“It was time,” Cartwright said. “Maybe I should have done it long ago. But it was time for the Lodge to end.”
Tessa backed her up, turned her around, and pushed her through the door into the Lodge.
The space was empty. All the Lodge members had fled. Only Harrison remained, still lying on the floor, mumbling incoherently. The wolves had vanished.
“Should we do something?” Rachel asked.
“Call an ambulance, maybe,” I said, looking at him. “Once we’re out of here.”
We made our way up the hall. Out in the main room we found Pablo Jackson, leaning over his desk, close to hyperventilating. I tapped his arm. “You all right?”
He jumped back. “Are they gone? Is everything—gone?”
“Yeah. Except for Dwight. You should probably call an ambulance for him.”
“Okay.” He rubbed his face. “Okay. I just—okay.”
We left him.
Back at the cabin we sat in silence.
“Are you okay?” Rachel asked Emma after 10 minutes.
After another few seconds she nodded. “I think so. I didn’t expect—I didn’t think it was all real. That giant rat, and then—my father.” She had a glass of wine, and she gulped it. “I’m sorry. For a while I kind of wondered if you were delusional.”
“I wonder that all the time,” Rachel said.
“I’m just glad we got out of there okay,” I said.
Emma yawned. “I can’t drive home tonight. Can I sleep on the sofa?”
“It’s your cabin,” I said. “You could make us sleep on the sofa.”
She smiled. “That’s okay. Just be out of here by six tomorrow morning.” More wine. “Just kidding.”
The wind kicked up, rattling the windows and shaking the curtains.
Emma looked around nervously. “Are we safe?”
“I think so.” But I checked the lock on the door to make sure.
# # #
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