Lineage(52)

The last thing he heard as his eyes finally shut with exhaustion was a loon—he was sure it was the same one he had heard earlier—wailing its call across the bay one last time as the moon floated, heavy and sodden with its silvery light, over the lake.



Lance awoke as if he had been shaken. His eyes blinked open and he stared at the ceiling of the bedroom. For an instant he struggled to remember where he was, his mind racing back to where he had fallen asleep, and then the realization that something had actually woken him became a certainty. His eyes shifted to the doorway.

A figure stood there, a deeper shade of darkness.

Lance sucked a breath in and blinked as he sat up in the bed. The doorway was empty, the rectangle showing him nothing more than the bare landing and the banister beyond. He listened, trying to hear over the sudden bass pounding of his heart on his eardrums. His muscles felt alive with the adrenaline that ran through them. He was about to climb out of bed when he heard what he had been listening for: the soft tread of someone stepping off the stairway and into the living room beneath him. Lance leapt off the mattress and crept to the banister overlooking the house below, crouching as he peered through the wooden railings.

Moonlight flooded the house with its gray touch. He could make out almost every surface by the light that streamed in through the uncurtained windows. He watched for movement and listened again as he tried to steady his breathing.

The unmistakable sounds of footsteps padded out of the kitchen to his right and headed toward the front entry. Lance stood and moved down the stairs, all the while keeping his eyes locked on the foyer, where the footsteps had gone. When he reached the bottom of the stairway, he paused and listened again for nearly a minute. The house ate up his hearing with quiet, as he made his way across the floor and began to flip switches for the chandeliers overhead. When he reached the entryway, he cautiously peered around the corner. It was deserted. Everything was just as he had left it and the heavy front door, which he expected to be wide-open, was shut.

A small fire extinguisher hung from the wall across from him. He pulled it from its hook and hefted it, trying to figure out how it could best be used to bludgeon an intruder.

He made his way through the rest of the house, checking closets and looking behind furniture. After inspecting the entryway, he flipped open both locks on the front door and opened it, revealing the shadowy yard. He watched for movement before flicking on the outdoor floodlight, bathing the surrounding vicinity in a urine-colored hue. He heard no scrambling feet or yells of alarm in the yard, and after another sweeping look, he shut the door and flipped off the light.

The rest of the house revealed nothing out of place and no shadowy figures hiding in any corners. Lance stood for a time in the kitchen, wondering if he should call the local police, but after further consideration, he decided against it. What would they do that he hadn’t just done? And since he was a newcomer to the community he didn’t want rumors flying around that the “big city” author had been scared to death on his first night away from his metropolitan life.

The thought of the small town having a laugh at his nerves presented a simple answer to the night’s events. It was a hazing. A town like the one that lay to the south was bound to be a conduit for rumors. As Lance walked back through the house flipping one light switch off after another, he became sure of it. Some locals, most likely kids, probably thought it would be funny to welcome an outsider into the fold with a little scare tactic, and he had an idea of whom he might talk to in the morning about the little visitation. A practical joke was one thing, but breaking and entering was quite another. Anger bloomed in his chest as he flipped off the last light, bathing the house in darkness once again. He breathed in and out, trying to quell the thoughts of rage that flooded his mind, and he almost didn’t notice the spot on the floor as he walked to the stairs.

It was a dull silver color and over three feet in length. It had an oblong, splattered shape, as if someone had tossed a large iridescent jellyfish over the upstairs railing and let it explode on the wooden floor. Lance knelt beside the spot and inspected it. The grain pattern in the floor beneath it was visible, and when he ran his hand over it, there was no change in texture. He looked up and stared at the moon hanging over the lake. Feeling as if he were still being pranked, Lance strode to the window and inspected the glass at the height and angle that the light shone through. There was no distortion or discrepancy in the glass that he could see or feel, but when he turned, he noticed his bulk was blocking out the spot on the floor. When he moved to the side, the spot returned.