Night Terrors (2 page)

I shrug.

“No, no, no.” Tom pushes himself back upright. “You're young—you need to fly free. Go home. You want to be up here with just Harvey and Edward? Stuck in the woods for another week?”

“I don't know. I wasn't planning on it. But I could use the money.” The reality is, I have no plan for after I leave this place.

“It's not worth it and you know it. You think Edward is bad when he has fifty staff to torture? Think about what it'll be like with just you in the cross-hairs. You know he used to be head chef of the kitchen before he was promoted to manager? Ran the kitchen like it was the army. Drills and everything.
Ca-razy
stuff. Apparently, the owners told him to tone it down when he became manager. But you've seen what he's like.”

Yeah, I have seen Edward in full military-sergeant mode, screaming at a server until she cried. So far my strategy has just been to do the job and stay out of his way. But Tom is right—I won't be able to hide from Edward now.

Tom leans back on his bed. He smiles like he's been saving the best for last. “If that's not bad enough, it's nasty up here when everybody leaves. Bears move back in. Weather turns cold fast. It could even kill you,” he says in a dramatic voice.

“You're full of it,” I say, chucking a sock at Tom.

“No, seriously,” he says. He drops his voice, even though there's no one else in the cabin. “Last year, I hear that they were closing up and a kid went missing. Never found him. They hushed it up—not good
PR
for a five-star resort. But I figure he was eaten by a wolf.” He leans in. “Or a sasquatch.” He cackles at my expression, finishing off his beer. I laugh too.

“At least you won't be here,” I say. “I'll think about it, all right? Thanks for the warning.”

The truth is, it's not that I want to stay. Or care about the money. It's that I don't want to go home. Before I left, everything at home reminded me of Sammy. Didn't help that my dad was drinking more, always picking fights with my mom over tiny little things that didn't matter. My friends were no help. They talked constantly about graduation outfits, whose party was the best, who got laid last night. The most important stuff in the world to your average eighteen-year-old. Stuff I just didn't care about anymore. In fact, I didn't care about anything or anyone. And the nightmares kept coming back. Almost every night.

So I ran away, hoping I could leave all my problems behind.

That's not quite true. I'm too responsible—or too lame—to just take off and hit the road. I did the next best thing. After I graduated last June, I found a job in the middle of nowhere. Ravenslake Lodge. A big rambling hotel in the center of a national park, built way back in the 1930s. My parents thought it would be healthy for me to take a year off before I went to university. Get a change of scene. Although I think they really just wanted me out of sight, where I wouldn't remind them of Sammy.

I give Tom a final fist bump, and he gives me the rest of his six-pack as a going-away present. I crunch along the gravel path past the other cabins, past a cluster of hotel staff walking down to the parking lot to meet the bus. I find Harvey at the maintenance shed, fixing a broken screen door laid out on a pair of sawhorses. He turns and lays down a pair of wire clippers. He pulls off his work gloves to shake my hand.

“Dylan. You come to say goodbye?” he says, his deep voice booming through the shed.

“Nope,” I say. “I want to stay on.”

Chapter Three

The bus leaves a cloud of diesel behind in the gravel parking lot as it pulls away. I see Tom waving from the back window—a big smile, and then he gives me the middle finger. Class act, that guy. The bus is almost around the corner when Harvey puts a big hand on my shoulder.

“Let's get your stuff moved into the Swamp,” he says.

“Swamp?” I ask. We start to walk back up the hill.

“Yeah. It's old and a little run down. You'll stay there while we close up everything else. I'm sure you can tough it out for a week.”

We walk past the staff cabins and down a little trail, away from the main part of the resort. The resort is laid out like a bunch of half circles, with Raven's Lake running along the one edge. The main hall, with the kitchen, dining room and offices, is the inner point of the circle. Then there's a half ring of guest cabins. Small houses, really, with all the luxuries. Finally, a half ring of staff cabins, the maintenance shed, the generator. All the stuff that keeps the place running but the guests don't want to see. And then, outside of all those semicircles, the Swamp. It's tiny, way smaller than the regular cabins, and it looks like it must be fifty years old. Hopefully, the roof doesn't leak.

Harvey goes to unlock the door to the Swamp, but it's already open. We walk into the small space. This is going to be like living in a garden shed. There are two beds, one on each side. The wall above one mattress is covered with pieces of paper, mostly pencil sketches of superheroes. A guy with long dark hair in a ponytail is pinning another drawing to the wall. He turns, stares at me and Harvey. He looks a little like John Lennon, with his long hair and round glasses. Doesn't say anything. I recognize him—Josh, a dishwasher. Tom called him “Silent J.” No surprise, then, that Josh mostly kept to himself.

“Hey,” I say, taken aback. “I thought it was just me helping out.” Josh looks awkward. Harvey speaks up.

“Naw, Josh volunteered as well,” says Harvey. “Figured I could use two pairs of hands.” He studies me, then asks, “You're all right with sharing the cabin, right?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, whatever. It's fine. I just didn't know.” I throw my duffel onto the other bed, and Josh turns back to his drawings.

“Good. You two meet me in Edward's office in ten minutes. We'll go over the work.” Harvey clomps down the front stairs. I unpack my bag in silence, not sure what to say to Josh. He finishes sticking pictures on the wall, then pulls out a sketchbook and starts drawing. This could be a long week with Silent J, I think. Maybe I shouldn't have stayed. Maybe should have found another way to avoid going home. As if he's reading my mind, Josh suddenly speaks.

“Go,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“We need to go,” he says. “It's been ten minutes.”

“Oh, right,” I say. “Thanks. I lost track. Yeah, we better go check in at the office.”

We leave the Swamp and walk over to Edward's office in the main building, dry leaves swirling across the paths.

“Those drawings,” I say. “Are they all yours?”

“Sort of. I mean, they're all copies of Golden Age heroes, not original ideas or anything. But basically I'm copying Stan Lee and Steve Ditko.” It's the longest I've ever heard him speak, but it might as well be another language. He sees my confusion and mumbles, “Yeah, the drawings are mine.”

“You're pretty good,” I say. “You could sell them.”

“I don't think so,” Josh says. “They're just for fun. But thanks.”

We come around the back of the main building. Wooden timbers frame the staff entrance, an old, ornate double door inlaid with carvings of moose, beavers and bears. Inside, the carpeted hallway has more wilderness stuff on the walls—a couple of oil paintings of forests, the head of a deer with massive antlers. The doors to the offices are all closed and locked except for Edward's, which is half open. We pause at his door, unsure if we should enter.

“You're late,” comes Edward's voice from inside. “Please note that this will be the last time that you are late for me.” I push open the door, and we see Harvey in his big brown overalls, filling a chair across from Edward's desk. We walk in and stand awkwardly in front of them. Edward's office is pretty sparse. A few books on a shelf behind his big oak desk. There's a worn bundle of cloth on the shelf as well. I recognize it as a knife roll, the kind chefs use to store their best knives. On the wall are some certificates and a few awards for cooking.

“Go easy on them,” says Harvey. “They were just getting settled.” Edward glares at Harvey, then stands behind the desk.

“Harvey, easy is not a word that is appropriate here,” he says. “Protecting this hotel against six months of winter is not an easy task. I expect all of you to work to your utmost. These will be long days, and there is much to do as the weather worsens. Harvey, what is the first order of business?”

Harvey checks a clipboard with a long list on it. He quickly describes a bunch of tasks. Installing storm shutters on all the cabin windows. Storing the floating docks in the boathouse. Painting. Sanding.

“That's a lot to do in one week,” says Josh.

“Yeah,” Harvey agrees. “We're gonna need to give'er. I'll head down to the maintenance shed now and get the supplies ready for you. We've still got a couple hours of daylight today. We'll get a good start on it.” He slaps me on the shoulder as he walks past. I turn to follow him, but Edward stops me.

“Wait,” says Edward. “Both of you. I want to clarify something.”

He walks slowly around his desk until he is in front of Josh, then stops. His eyes flit between Josh and me. Distantly, I hear the muffled thump of the heavy wooden door closing as Harvey leaves the building.

“Josh, look at me,” Edward says.

Josh lifts his eyes from the carpet to meet Edward's glare, then looks away.

“I said, look at me,” Edward repeats firmly. “As far as I can tell, for the entire summer you were a shadow on the wall of this hotel. What did you do for us?”

“I washed dishes,” mumbles Josh.

“That's right. You washed pots and pans. A monkey could do that job, Josh. So I'm quite unclear why Harvey allowed you to volunteer.”

“He worked as hard as anyone else,” I say. If anything, all Josh seemed to do was work. He never partied with the rest of the crew.

“I didn't ask you, Dylan. But let's find out if you are correct. Let us have some proof that Josh is worthy of working here. We'll accomplish one special task before you go and see Harvey.”

Chapter Four

Edward leads us down to the resort dock and right to the end of the pier. The lake is flat and gray, a reflection of the clouds above. On the other side of the lake, some of the trees still have red and orange leaves on them, forming a bloody slash on the horizon. Small waves ripple across the surface of the lake as a cold wind blows across it. I've avoided coming down here all summer. Being close to the lake makes me nervous and tense, even though I know it's not the same as the river in my dream.

“There,” says Edward, pointing at the raft. It's a wooden platform, floating about a hundred and fifty feet offshore. “Swim out to the raft and untie it. I'll bring the boat around, and we will pull it to shore.” Josh looks at the dark water. He doesn't say anything.

“Why not just drive out together?” I say, and I point to the hotel boat, a little inflatable rubbing gently against the pier. “The water's pretty cold.”

Edward spins to face me.

“Did I ask for your opinion? I said that I wanted proof. That Josh is willing to work hard. He needs to learn to do what it takes,” he says. “Perhaps you would care to join him in the water?” I look away from Edward and out across the lake. My stomach clenches. I shake my head.

“It's okay, Dylan. I'll go get my swimsuit,” says Josh. He starts to walk back toward the Swamp, but Edward puts a hand on his chest.

“No time. You heard Harvey. We have a great deal to do,” says Edward.

“In my clothes?” Josh looks to me, then back to Edward. He looks scared, confused. We both know that Edward has a reputation for being mean. For humiliating staff like this. But nobody objects because they don't want to lose their job. Same with me. I don't want to make myself a target. So I shut up.

“Quickly,” repeats Edward, his voice a little louder. “Now, Josh. Do as I say.”

Josh flinches, then pulls off his sweatshirt. He carefully takes off his glasses and puts them on top of the sweatshirt. Then he kicks off his shoes and, leaving his jeans on, clumsily leaps into the water. I hear him gasp as the cold water closes around him. For a moment, he hangs on to the side of the dock. He looks at me, blinking nearsightedly. I think about just reaching down and pulling him back up. Ending this. But then he starts to swim out to the raft.

A minute later, I can tell he's in trouble. He's obviously not a strong swimmer to begin with. The weight of his jeans, the temperature of the water—they're both dragging him down. He's maybe a third of the way to the raft when he goes under.

I wait for him to come back up. He'll come back up. Josh said he could do this. He wouldn't get in the water if he didn't think he could do this. My heart is slamming in my chest. Josh's dark hair rises up and breaks the surface of the water. I can see him gasping, thrashing. He turns to look back at the dock. At us.

And I swear, for a moment, I see Sammy in the water. Not Josh.

I blink and he's gone again. There are only waves where he was a second ago.

I can't let this happen again. But I can't move my feet. I'm frozen in place, unsure. Terrified of getting in that cold, dark water.

I turn to Edward, shouting, “Go get him! Get the boat! Don't you see? He's in trouble!”

“In a moment,” says Edward quietly, staring steadily out at the lake. “This is a test of character.” I realize that he's enjoying this. He's got a weird look in his eyes, like he's hungry. Like he can't wait to see what happens. And I suddenly know that Edward wants to see Josh hurt. I don't get why—I don't get what sick game he's playing. But if I don't make a move, Josh might not make it.

It's up to me.

Chapter Five

It's as if that realization unlocks me. Unfreezes me. I rip off my sweatshirt and hit the water, massive strokes chewing up the water as I churn toward the raft. The water is so cold that it hurts to breathe. But I don't stop. When I get to where I last saw Josh, I dive down. Everything goes silent and black. Except there's a part of my brain yammering away, telling me I'm going to die. Telling me that I let Sammy die. That I'm going to screw up again. But I keep diving, hands flailing in the darkness, reaching out.