The House on Serpent Lake (Ghost, Romance, Fantasy) (13 page)

But she was awake. Dusk had settled and the house stood in shadows, reminding her of the photo in the library.

She stared into the shadows, fully realizing she was going to have to stay in that house alone.

Her steps faltered, but she made it to the porch. She broke out in a sweat. Wasn’t vision distortion another sign of a brain tumor? That nagging fear inched its way back into her consciousness and she nearly laughed at her earlier thought. Which would she rather have, a brain tumor or a ghost?

She sat on the swing, wondering what to do.

She didn’t know anyone well enough to visit in town and didn’t want to head back to Brainerd for a movie. Besides, she knew they were excuses to avoid entering the house alone.

Maybe she wouldn’t have to—at least at night. Maybe she could sleep on the porch. It was warm enough. And the night was beautiful enough to enjoy sleeping under the night stars.

The moon was rising above the far shoreline, its glow casting silvery reflections on wispy white clouds below. The gray night sky, the blackened tree-line shore, and the gray water with the sparkling silver reflections appeared magical, and Lindsay wished she were a photographer so she could capture the scene just as it appeared tonight. Maybe tomorrow before meeting Shirley, she would shop for a good camera, an easy one to operate, and she could paint from her photos.

Something sharp dug into her hip. Her keys. Her handbag sat next to them. She shifted again, still reluctant to open the front door and go inside.

This was ridiculous. She couldn’t spend all night on the porch. She needed a pillow. A blanket. The bathroom. And was she planning to stay on the porch the entire time Eric was gone?

Damn him! Why hadn’t he taken her with him? Even though he didn’t believe any of the things she’d told him, he should’ve known she was experiencing something strange and should have either stayed with her or insisted she go with him.

But he didn’t. And now she was sitting alone on the porch, afraid to go inside her own home.

But, she reasoned, if the house were truly haunted, if the ghost was real, he hadn’t tried to harm her. Instead, it—he, had shown affection.

Desire.

Still, it was unnerving and she wasn’t ready to face what might happen once she was alone.

How much longer could she sit outside?

A breeze rolled in from the water, raising the fine hairs on her arms. She shivered and wanted to go inside.

Would that scent surround her again? Remembering what had happened in the bathtub—and her response, was she fearful of what could happen?

In the rush to get Eric to the airport, she hadn’t let herself think about being alone. She felt safe on the porch, which was absurd since the porch was part of the house, but she had never noticed the scent there.

And now, she needed to go inside or sit out there all night and freeze.

Would her phantom lover return?

She had urged Eric to face what was happening. Wasn’t it time she did the same? She had to face her fears, face whatever was waiting for her inside that house.

Once in the foyer, she paused and inhaled deeply until the absurdity struck her. She thought of the old bloodhound in
Lady and the Tramp
and laughed
.
Still, she waited until she was sure she couldn’t detect anything unusual.

Feeling foolish, she locked the door, then dropped her keys and handbag on the hall table. After pouring a glass of wine, she took it upstairs to watch her bedroom TV, but felt restless and edgy. She’d love to relax in a tub of hot water, but after what happened last time, she didn’t dare risk it. Yet it would feel wonderful, and she’d have the chance to try her new salts.

She gathered her pjs and an old ribbon to tie back her hair, and drew her bath. The scent of lavender filled the air. In her robe, and feeling more ridiculous that she could’ve ever imagined, she stood and addressed the air.

“I don’t know if you’re here, I don’t even know if you’re real, but just in case, I’m asking you, begging you, to please go away. I’m alone in this house and I don’t want to be afraid. Please …”

She waited a few moments, glancing around the room at the ceiling, upper corners, expecting … what? A disembodied male voice saying he’d go away?

Absurd. The entire thing was beyond belief.

Nevertheless, she waited a few more moments, then slipped out of her robe and into the tub.

An hour later, she crawled into bed and picked up her book, but she soon realized she was automatically turning pages without even knowing what she’d read.

The quiet house was too quiet. She thought of turning on her CD player, but decided she didn’t want to get out of her comfortable bed to do it now. She glanced around the room, and not finding anything amiss, she went back to reading. Or turning pages.

A slight noise sounded from below. She listened intently for a few moments, then decided it was probably the refrigerator cycling.

What was Eric doing right now? Was he busy with Mark, or was he also spending a restless night?

She glanced at the clock. Only eleven? With Eric’s scheduled stops, his plane had barely touched down in Los Angeles. He hadn’t called, so maybe he was using his time alone to think about their marriage, but she wouldn’t bet on it. He’d seemed far too preoccupied with business.

If she went to sleep, this endless night would pass more quickly, so she turned off the light and sank into her pillow.

But she couldn’t sleep; everything was still. Too still. No crickets, no buzzing horseflies, no frogs with their croaking noises to each other. All the normal night sounds were quiet.

Then she heard it again.

A slight splashing from the lake, a sound like someone hitting the water in a belly-flop.

But no one would be swimming at midnight, would they? And certainly not in front of her property. It could be someone night-fishing. She couldn’t sleep until she checked.

She hurried out of bed and rushed to the window. The full moon rode high overhead, casing silver streaks on the inky water below. If she hadn’t been on edge, she would have thought it beautiful. Almost magical. The air felt soft, and because it was so still, she caught the fragrant scent of honeysuckle. Someone could be out enjoying the night, but after scanning the water, she didn’t see anyone on the lake.

Wispy bands of clouds drifted across the sky, veiling the moon into total darkness. Lindsay heard that strange slapping sound again. Just as the moon emerged in all its splendor, she saw something. She leaned forward, squinting in the darkness.

There, right in front of the property, a circle of bubbles appeared on the water as if a large fish had surfaced, then submerged again.

What could it be? Even the largest walleye ever recorded wasn’t capable of making a circle that large. It was almost as if a whale or dolphin had been swimming on the surface. But of course no ocean mammal would be in a north woods lake.

Maybe not a whale or dolphin. Maybe … even knowing it was nonsensical, she searched the water for lumps, bulges, or anything else she’d heard described about the Loch Ness monster, but clouds hid the moon again, and Serpent Lake became, once again, too dark to see anything. Just in case, she kept watching, scanning the water’s blackness for signs of Crosby’s famed lake creature. She had to make sure it wasn’t there, had to make sure she could sleep safely in that isolated lakefront property.

Finally, after minutes or hours, she turned from the window and padded back to bed.

A noise again. Her eyes popped open. Would this night ever end?

This time she heard a different sound, like a brief sizzle, similar to static electricity when touching someone after walking on carpet. The lights flickered.

Was the electricity shorting out? If so, an old house like hers could catch fire in minutes.

Alarmed, she got out of bed, padded barefoot to the door, and cracked it open. She stood listening; everything seemed okay. The soft night light in the foyer was burning steadily now, and the crickets had resumed their noise.

But there had been something else, some presence. She felt it in the air’s heaviness, then she caught the slight scent of Bay Rum. Even that seemed to be fading.

He
had been there, and while he had made no move toward her, she hoped whatever it was would stay away—at least until Eric returned. It was too much for her to handle alone.

Sometime later, after two glasses of wine, she lay back in bed and let her heavy eyelids close. The sharp sizzle sounded again, the stairway lights flickered, then her bedside lamp winked on and off, but she barely noticed as she fell deeply into sleep.

Chapter Twenty

He came to her when the moon was high, this time taking the chance of lying beside her sleeping form. This was the woman he loved, the one for whom he’d waited decades to return.

And finally, through some miracle, she was here.

With his head propped on his hand, he reveled in the sight of her, breathing in the familiar scent of lavender, allowing himself the luxury of feeling her warmth next to him. Although he ached to make love to her, to finally complete the love that had been interrupted so long ago, he didn’t want to risk frightening her again.

She sighed in her sleep, and he felt an irresistible need to touch her. Maybe if he were careful, she wouldn’t wake.

Barely touching, he tenderly traced the curve of her lips, her chin, then caressed the softness with his lips. He took his time, glorying in her body, savoring each touch.

She sighed, her breath fragrant with the fruity aroma of wine, but didn’t wake.

Promising himself he would just look, he lowered the sheet covering her, and softly, lightly, unbuttoned the pajama top, filling his gaze with the sight of her.

He couldn’t help himself. Her breasts were created to be caressed. Just large enough to fill his hands, he cupped them, watching carefully to see that she didn’t wake. When he felt safe, he licked one pink nipple, then the other before taking one into his mouth.

Her breathing changed, and he stilled his movements until she slept soundly again. Ever so gently, he lowered her pajama bottom, exposing the vee of her legs. Fine hair the color of new wheat covered his place of worship. How he wanted her, how he longed to be inside her, to feel every inch of her skin against his, but he wasn’t ready to risk frightening her further. She hadn’t fully realized who she was, and acknowledging him might be too much for her—yet.

But he could take his pleasure in another way.

He lowered his head and tasted the skin of her upper thighs.

She moaned and opened her legs.

He moved closer to the vee, the hairs brushing his nose, breathing in the womanly scent of her. With his lips and tongue, he gloried in his beloved, ready to worship her forever.

Wave after wave of pleasure filled Lindsay, and, gasping for air, she woke, the sensations so intense she thought she’d die of it. Never before had she felt anything so breathtaking. She turned to her husband, to embrace him, to tell him how wonderful his lovemaking had been, but no one was there. She fully woke and the realization hit her.

Eric was in California.

Someone just made love to her.

Had it been a dream?

But her body was still reacting, still throbbing in the aftermath of the most powerful orgasm she had ever experienced.

Pulling the sheet to her chin, she scooted back against the headboard, watching, guarding.

A strong wind whished through the house, and just below the sounds of branches brushing the house, leaves rustling, she heard something else, a resonance, a whisper floating in the air before fading.

“Remember … remember.”

The next morning she woke, so listless she could barely get out of bed.

Not bothering with her robe, she staggered downstairs and made coffee, standing by the coffee maker while it dripped. She downed the first cup so fast she burned her tongue, but it was only after her second cup that she could concentrate.

Last night had been a nightmare filled with mythical monsters. Not only a ghost, but also a sea monster. Had she been asleep and dreamed it all? A ghost, if there was truly such a thing, was ethereal, a spirit with no physical body, incapable of making physical love. So it couldn’t have been real. Remembering how she’d responded, she decided it must have been the female version of a wet dream.