Night Terrors (3 page)

Nothing.

My lungs burn. I start to slow down, kicks getting weaker. I can't do it. One more stroke with my arms, and that's it. I can't resist as my body is pulled back toward the surface.

My fingers brush against something warm. Josh's hand. I grab it, then his arm. Kick hard. A few seconds later, we both break the water, gasping, coughing. Josh's eyes flicker open, but he's too weak to swim. One arm across his chest, I slowly pull Josh back to the dock. Edward is still standing exactly where I left him. He doesn't make a move to help as we haul ourselves onto the dock. We lie there, exhausted, just trying to breathe. Starting to shiver from the cold lake breeze.

“That was dramatic, Dylan,” says Edward, “but unnecessary. I'm sure Josh would have found his way back to the pier.” He starts to walk away from us, then turns back. “Remember to report to Harvey once you've dried off.”

Josh and I can't speak. And I wouldn't even know what to say. Finally, the cold wind starts to bite. We pull on our sweatshirts and leave the docks for the cabin. As we walk past the boat bobbing gently against the dock, I look down and stumble a little.

“What?” Josh asks.

“Nothing,” I say. I don't want to freak him out more, so I just keep walking. I don't tell him that there wasn't even a gas tank in the boat.

I don't think Edward ever planned to go and get him from the water.

Chapter Six

I don't see Josh for the rest of the day. Harvey doesn't know what happened, I guess, and I don't know how to tell him. Don't know if I should say anything. So Harvey just splits us up, and we go to work. I spend the afternoon hammering storm shutters onto guest-cabin windows. Three nails across the frame at the top, three at the bottom. Seven windows per cabin. I try just to focus on the job, lose myself in the repetitive action of hammering. But sometimes, when I close my eyes, it's like there's a bunch of snapshots waiting for me.

The bump of Josh's head above the dark water, just as he goes under.

Edward staring out at Josh. Perfectly still, waiting. No, not just waiting—anticipating. Enjoying the struggle.

The pale glow of Josh's skin through the murky water as I try to pull him up. Just like Sammy looked.

I smash the hammer down, again and again, pounding nails into the frames of the windows. The sound rings out across the empty hotel grounds and into the forest.

Around midafternoon, Josh's voice crackles through my walkie-talkie, asking me to meet him in guest cabin three, Pineview. He sounds excited, so I jog down the looping path to meet up with him. When I get there, he's out on the porch, kneeling in front of a metal box. It's one of the live traps we use. In the middle of a park, you end up with a lot of wildlife coming through. We set up these traps inside the attics of the cabins to keep the squirrels from nesting up there. But there's something bigger than a squirrel banging around inside this one.

“Check it out!” says Josh. “He's pretty pissed.” I kneel down beside him and peer into the box. Two dark eyes surrounded by a mask of black look back at me. The raccoon hisses, and Josh and I both flinch.

“Whoa. How'd he squeeze into the trap?” I ask.

“I don't care how he got in there. How are we going to get him out?” says Josh. He's got a point. With squirrels, we throw the trap in the back of the pickup, drive down the road, then pop open the trap and watch them scamper away. Probably right back to the cabins, but whatever. A big, angry raccoon is a little different though. I don't want to be the one to open the door of the trap, that's for sure. I'd be liable to lose a finger. Or get rabies.

“Harvey'll know what to do. I think he said he was going to be in the office. Grab one end.” Together, we gingerly carry the long steel box down the path toward the main building. The raccoon doesn't appreciate the ride—there's a lot of hissing and thrashing around. But we get to the rear entrance without any damage to him or us. We leave the box outside while we search for Harvey. No sign of him. Until we walk by the closed door to Edward's office.

“Are they arguing?” whispers Josh.

“…standards. You need to be decent to them,” Harvey is saying. I can't make out all the words through the heavy door.

“Standards are exactly the problem, Harvey. They need to meet my standards, or they go. I have always been very clear about this.”

“That's one thing,” Harvey says. “But you're starting to go beyond the line. You know that.” Edward says something, but it's too muffled for us to make out. Josh motions for us to go, but I shake my head and knock on the door. The voices halt, then Edward opens the door. I can see Harvey slumped in the chair across from Edward's desk, just like the last time we were here. He looks tired, worried.

“Can I help you?” says Edward. He stares impatiently at me as I start to explain about the raccoon. Then his expression changes a little. He interrupts me.

“Where is it?”

“Outside,” I say. “We didn't know where to take it.”

“Fine. Leave it there. I'll take care of it later.”

“You will?” says Harvey from his chair. Edward turns to face him.

“Yes, Harvey. I do have some skills beyond management, you know. You all have enough work to do. I'll take care of it later.” I see Harvey's eyebrows lift, but he doesn't argue.

“Back to work, boys,” says Edward. He closes the door while we're still standing there. Josh looks at me and shrugs. As we walk away from the main hall, I can faintly hear the raccoon rattling his steel cage. The sound of something trying to escape a trap. For some reason, the sound stays with me as I pick up my tools and get back to installing the storm shutters on the windows.

The sun sets early at this time of year. By five o'clock, the woods around the cabins have become nothing but shadows. Too dark to work. I pack up my tools and head for the Swamp, stomach grumbling. We're responsible for making our own meals with a stock of supplies and a little campstove in the cabin. The main kitchen is locked up, shut down and off-limits. Or so I thought.

“Dylan, meet me at the kitchen loading dock,” Josh's voice crackles through the walkie-talkie. Not sure what's going on, I walk around the back of the main hall and stand outside the big metal rolling door of the loading dock. No sign of Josh. Then the door clatters up just enough for Josh to peek out. He smiles and motions for me to slip through.

It's pitch-black inside, but Josh has set up a couple of flashlights for light. The huge space gleams with long polished stainless-steel counters and big copper pots hanging on the walls. At this time of day, when there are guests, the kitchen is filled with a dozen cooks. Now there's just Josh, standing over two pans on the gas stove.

“How'd you get in here?” I ask.

“You work in the kitchen all summer, keys go missing. Sometimes I found them. And didn't return them.”

“Nice. Won't Edward figure out we're in here though?”

“No. Keep the lights off, the noise down. Clean up afterward. He'll never figure it out.”

I shrug. “That smells awesome. What are you making?”

“Just some pasta. I made enough for both of us. Hope that's okay.” My stomach grumbles. Yeah, it's more than okay. I was planning on cooking up my specialty—a peanut-butter-and-jam sandwich. The mountain of spaghetti and fragrant sauce Josh serves up is way, way better. We eat at one of the counters on a couple of stools. After I've cleaned my plate, I let out a satisfied belch.

“Where'd you learn to cook like that?” I ask.

“I just watched the cooks in here. Couldn't spend all my time focusing on scrubbing pots. I'd go crazy.”

“Maybe I was wrong about the artist thing—you should definitely be a chef.”

Josh smiles and shakes his head. Then I have a great idea for how to finish off the meal.

“Hey,” I say, “you want a beer?”

Chapter Seven

I snag the rest of the six-pack that Tom left for me from its hiding place under my bed. Then we head down to the Point. When the staff wanted to party and get away from it all, this was the place. Back up the main road, then down a deer trail to the clearing. We use our headlamps to light our way, our breath making little clouds in the cooling air. By the time we get to the clearing, the moon has risen. It throws a white glow on the trees around us. Josh and I work together to build a fire in the pit. Pretty soon we're slumped in a couple of broken-down chairs that Tom rescued from the maintenance shed. Beer in hand.

We don't say much at first. Just watch the fire and check out the stars. Then there's a flicker across the sky, and a wave of light. Then another. The aurora borealis, the northern lights, are coming out. I never saw them before I came up here—huge curtains of blue and white light that ripple across the sky.

“Better than
TV
,” I say.

Josh laughs. “I dunno. I'd be up for some channel surfing right now. I miss my cable.”

“So why did you stay up here?” I ask. “Edward clearly has a hate-on for you.”

“Yeah,” Josh says. He takes a big slug from his can. “I guess I thought he wouldn't be so bad. I mean, I stayed under the radar during the season, watched him tear up other people. He fired, like, ten guys in the kitchen. I just kept my head down. Now he's getting worse though.”

“So leave. Just walk away.”

“Naw. Then I'd have to go home. That's worse.” Josh drains his beer, then crumples the can and drops it to the ground. Maybe Josh and I have more in common than I thought.

“What do you mean?” I stare at him, watching the firelight reflect in his round glasses.

“I don't want to talk about it. Trust me—whatever Edward throws at me, it's not worse than what I've put up with already.”

“I'm not sure about that. Out on the dock, I think he was enjoying watching you go under.”

Josh looks at me a little uncertainly. “I saw him do this sort of stuff with other guys,” he says. “Like he said, he likes to test people.”

“I'm just saying, maybe you need to stand up to him a little more. You need—”

“Dylan, you think you got this all figured out?” Josh snaps, cutting me off. “You don't get it. I'm used to it, all right? My dad pulled shit like this on me all the time.” He yanks up one sleeve of his jacket, showing me his arm. There are little white dots—scars. “Cigarette burns. I get Edward, okay? You fight back, it gets worse. So you just…deal with it and move on.”

I just stare at his arm.

“You get it now? It's nothing new. Nothing I can't handle. So just shut up and toss me another beer,” says Josh. I reach down beside me, and my fingers close on the cool metal skin of the can. Then I freeze.

Someone is watching us.

At first, I think it's a weird shadow being thrown from the northern lights, or the fire. But it's not. I slowly stand up, my eyes fixed on the figure standing in the shadows just on the edge of the clearing.

“Who's that?” I ask quietly.

“What? Who?” Josh stands up too and tries to follow my gaze. “I don't see anything.”

But I can see him clearly. My height. Red jacket like mine.

“Is it Edward or Harvey?” says Josh. “It's got to be one of them. We're the only ones up here.”

That's it. Edward. Of course. He probably followed us to the Point, looking to bust us. Creepy psycho. I stand up.

“Hey!” I shout. Maybe it's the solid buzz I have from the beer, or maybe I'm still reacting to what Josh just told me, but suddenly I'm mad as hell. “Yo, Edward. Get over here!” I start walking away from the circle of firelight and toward the woods. The dark shadow stands there. Staring. Probably laughing at me. “Yeah, you! I'm talking to you!” My voice sounds crazy loud against the stillness of the forest night. I whip my half-empty beer can at him. The guy doesn't move a muscle. I start running toward him.

And then I'm standing right where he was. And he's gone.

Josh catches up to me. His breath makes clouds in the cold night air.

“How'd he do that?” I say. I fumble my headlamp from my pocket and click it on. The leaves and dirt are covered in a thin layer of frost. No tracks. No sign that anyone was there.

“You sure you saw someone?” asks Josh.

“I don't know,” I say. “I don't know what I saw.”

Chapter Eight

Maybe I should be grateful. It's a new nightmare this time.

Not the old one with Sammy stumbling toward me in the dark. This time, I'm the one who is underwater. My feet are stuck down in the cold mud and weeds. I'm staring up, watching oily sunlight play across the surface. My chest is empty, and I know I'm going to drown soon. But I'm not panicked. Instead, a kind of weird calm settles over me. Then I hear a hollow knocking sound echo through the water. I look around, trying to find the source of it. Nothing but murky blackness. The banging gets louder. I see someone, just on the edge of my vision. Someone like me, down here on the bottom. In a red jacket. Sammy? No. Maybe—Josh? Again, I don't think so. I suddenly gasp, lungs filling with cold water. The figure in the red jacket holds out his arms, trying to give me something. It's small, brown. A book, maybe? The knocking sound gets louder, coming from all around me.

I can't see. I can't breathe.

Noise slams me awake. Someone is banging and yelling on the door of the Swamp. I throw off my blankets and yank on some jeans. Josh is fumbling to put his glasses on, still tangled in his sheets. When I open the door, I see Harvey and Edward standing there. Both of them look pissed.

“Get your clothes on,” growls Harvey. “Follow me.” I don't think I've ever seen Harvey look angry like this before. Edward just looks smug. Josh and I pull ourselves together and head outside. We walk behind Harvey, his footsteps visible in the thin frost on the ground. The sun isn't up over the trees yet—how early is it?