The Haunting of Silver Creek Lodge Read online

  “This is an impressive library for such a small town,” I commented. “How does Silver Creek afford to keep up a place like this?”

  “It’s privately funded,” Charles said. “When Silver Creek was founded, the first families who settled here came from highly-educated backgrounds. They built this library themselves.”

  “Wow,” I muttered, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of knowledge around me. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

  “No one ever does.”

  Charles ducked into an alcove, and we emerged in a small cave made of books. A plush leather chair stood in one corner, along with a side table to rest your coffee on if you had it. This section of the library looked like someone’s private office. All that was missing was a desk and a fireplace.

  “All the books on pseudoscience are in here,” Charles said. He pointed to a stuffed shelf. “Ley lines over there.”

  “I’m sorry. Pseudo-what?”

  “Pseudoscience,” he repeated, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “Don’t you know what you’re researching?”

  “Not really,” I admitted. “That’s why I’m researching it.”

  Charles pulled a few old volumes from the shelves. “If you want to be a ley hunter, start with these. It’ll give you the lay of the land. No pun intended. Once you’re finished with those, I’ve got some old documents about Silver Creek you might be interested in. I keep ‘em in a humidity-controlled environment so they don’t get damaged. Let me know if you want to see them.”

  I accepted the stack of books, unsure of what I’d gotten myself into. “Thanks for all your help. Do you know a lot about ley lines?”

  “It’s a bunch of blather if you ask me,” he replied. “Happy coincidences. But who am I to stop people from following their dreams of hunting down magical places? Enjoy the books. I’ll be at the front desk if you need me.”

  As Charles left, I settled in the leather armchair and opened the first book titled The Lure of Ley Lines. Within minutes, I was completely absorbed.

  When I emerged from the library’s cave, it was with an arm full of additional books on ley lines and a wealth of fresh understanding.

  “Did you find what you needed?” Charles asked.

  “Yes, and I’d like to see those documents you were talking about sometime.”

  He scanned the books to check them out. “I’d be happy to show them to you, but they can’t be checked out. Would you like to come back tomorrow?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I zipped up my coat, balanced my books, and waved goodbye to Charles. Outside, it had begun to snow great big flakes. I leaned into the wind, determined not to drop any of my new research material. As I fumbled for my keys, voices floated across the parking lot.

  “I warned you,” a young boy called. “I told you not to talk about my mom like that!”

  I squinted through the flurry and spotted a pack of teenagers in the alleyway between the library and the courthouse. Bubbles, once more, was in the center. Hastily, I tossed the books into the passenger seat and closed the car.

  “Your mom’s a—”

  I came up being Bubbles and gently put my hand over her mouth. “Insults are for the petty,” I announced to the young teenagers. “Personally, I refuse to put up with them. Everyone, on your way.”

  The boy who Bubbles kept bothering glared at me. “Why do you always stick up for her? She’s a jerk. No one in school likes her. She’s the one who always picks fights. Not us.”

  Bubbles jerked free of my hand and said, “I do not!”

  “Yes, you do,” another kid added. “All the teachers know you’re a troublemaker. That’s why you’re in detention all the time.”

  “That’s enough,” I said. “I’ll handle Bubbles. The rest of you should get home before you catch pneumonia.”

  Grumbling, the teenagers went on their way. Bubbles tried to pull out of my grip, but I held her fast. I sank to my knees to be on her eye level.

  “Is it true?” I asked her. “Are you the bully?”

  Bubbles refused to meet my gaze. As she turned her head, I caught sight of a pattern of bruises around her neck. At first, I thought they were from the last time she picked a fight, but these were fresh. A memory flashed: Christine Higgen’s neck was covered in the same kind of bruises from when her husband tried to strangle her.

  “Bubbles, where did you get these?” I murmured, pulling her scarf down to get a better look.

  “Don’t!” She smacked my hand away, her lower lip trembling as she held back tears.

  “No,” I said firmly. “Who did this to you? There’s no way it was those kids—” The truth hit me like a brick to the face. “This is why you pick fights, isn’t it? To cover up the bruises you already have.” I gently tugged Bubbles closer. “Honey, who’s hurting you?”

  14

  Before I could get an answer, Bubbles slipped from my grasp, shedding her coat like a snakeskin. Ten seconds later, she was halfway across the parking lot, leaving me with nothing but her empty, expensive winter coat.

  “Go home!” I shouted after her, though I doubted she could hear me over the whistling wind. Shaking my head, I folded up her coat and went back to my car. I’d give it to her the next time I saw her in town.

  As I drove home, I considered stopping at the local police station to report Bubbles’s injuries, but instinct told me not to. Bubbles needed help, but I wasn’t sure telling the cops was the best way to give it to her. She was hiding the fact that she was being abused, and one of her parents or guardians was probably the culprit. Now that I thought about it, I’d never seen Bubbles out and about with family. All I knew about her was that she was a big Rebel Queen fan.

  Lily was waiting for me when I got back to the Lodge. She lingered on the porch steps and gazed at the ground as if wondering whether or not she could step farther from the building without disappearing.

  “Hey there,” I called as I got my books out of the front seat. “Haven’t seen you around today?”

  “Other people were taking up the energy.” She nodded at the stack of books. “I’m guessing you know something about that?”

  “Come inside. I want to share what I learned.”

  I left Bubbles’s coat in the car and stored my worry for her in a different compartment of my brain. Inside, I dumped the books on the kitchen table and put on a pot of coffee while I talked to Lily.

  “Do you know what ley lines are?” I asked her.

  She shook her head. “No idea.”

  I opened the first book I’d read to the introduction. “Some people believe these lines of energy crisscross over the earth, connecting important sites like Stonehenge and the Pyramids.” I rolled out one of the maps I’d taken from the safe room and traced one of the lines. “See these red dots? Each one symbolizes a special place, like a monument or an ancient site. If you notice, you can draw straight lines through the dots.”

  Lily studied the map. “So what? That could be a coincidence. Humans are built to notice patterns.”

  “That’s what Charles—the librarian—said, too,” I replied. “But I’m not so sure. Look at this.” I rolled out the map of Silver Creek and pointed to the asterisk. “When two ley lines intersect, it makes that place more powerful. Look at what’s under the asterisk.”

  She leaned closer for a better look. “It’s the Lodge.”

  “I think this building is positioned right over two intersecting ley lines,” I said excitedly. “I think that’s why you, Christine, Walter, and whoever else is stuck here. It’s something to do with the energy of the ley lines.”

  Lily wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know, Max. Doesn’t this seem a little preposterous to you?”

  “Are you kidding?” I asked her. “I’m talking to a dead woman, and you think magical lines of energy are preposterous?”

  She released a quick laugh. “You have a point there. Where did you find these maps anyway?”

  “They were hidden in the safe room.”

  He
r face paled. “You went in there?”

  “Yeah, Walter helped me open it. He’s the one that built the door. Why?”

  She stood up and paced across the kitchen, kneading her temples. “You shouldn’t have opened that door, Max. There’s a reason Earl blocked it off.”

  “Walter wouldn’t go in either,” I said uneasily. “He was scared of that room. Why?”

  Lily pressed her lips together.

  “What happened in there?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “But I do know I don’t ever want to go back in that room.”

  “Go back? You’d been in there before?”

  She placed her palms on either side of her head and squeezed like she was trying to compress her entire brain. “I don’t know. I don’t know!”

  Gently, I took her hands away from her head and gathered them in mine. I tipped her chin up to look at me. “Hey, everything’s going to be okay. I’ll figure it out.”

  “Can you promise you won’t go back in that room?”

  “I’ll keep it closed for now,” I offered. “But, I need to figure out whatever happened in there.”

  Lily’s breath shuddered, but she seemed to calm down. The shrill ring of my phone interrupted the comforting moment between us. I answered quickly.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Ms. Finch,” said Dr. Fitzgerald. “Simon is looking good. He’s ready to go home. You can come pick him up as soon as possible.”

  “Thanks, Doc,” I replied. “I’ll be there when I can.”

  As I hung up, Lily sniffled. “You have to go?”

  “I have to get Simon,” I sighed. “Can you hold down the fort?”

  “Like I have a choice.”

  Simon was up and about when I arrived at the hospital. My heart jumped with glee at the sight of him on his feet, even if he needed crutches to get around on his injured knee. When he saw me come in, his bruised face turned up in half a smile. Momentarily, we forgot about our dumb arguments. We were together again, he was safe, and that was all that mattered.

  Carefully, to not hurt him, I leaned against his chest and wrapped my arms loosely around his waist. He rested his chin on top of my head. I inhaled his familiar smell and almost cried with relief.

  “I missed you,” he murmured into my hair.

  I squeezed him tighter, and he released a short grunt. “Sorry!” I said, pulling away. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  To Simon’s chagrin, hospital policy said he had to leave in a wheelchair. I helped him into his coat and boots then wheeled him out to the parking lot. He hopped into the car without a problem. If his knee was bothering him, he didn’t show it, but Simon had always been a silent sufferer. He powered through pain, sometimes to the point of recklessness.

  “I called Keith already,” he said as we drove back to Silver Creek. “He’s ready to start working again tomorrow. I think I can keep to our original schedule, especially if Boyce comes through with his construction crew.”

  My grasp on the steering wheel tightened. “I’m still not sure I want to get Boyce involved. Isn’t there anyone else in town who might want to invest?”

  Simon tried to hide his scowl by turning toward the window, but I saw his reflection in my side mirror. “No, there isn’t. It’s a small town, Max. I don’t know why you’re so against Boyce.”

  “Really? Because I feel like I’ve told you a hundred times,” I snapped. “He’s too interested in the Lodge. He’s going to want more control.”

  “So we give him more control! Do you want to succeed or not?”

  “I want to run my own business without some random rich guy getting in the way—”

  “He’s not some random rich guy. He’s the mayor of the town.”

  “Unofficial mayor.”

  “Whatever, it doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter—”

  A deer stepped in front of the car. I screamed and jerked the wheel. The car plowed into a snowbank on the side of the road, and the deer bounded off into the dark forest.

  I gave myself exactly ten seconds to get my emotions together. Then I turned to Simon. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  He groped for my hand over the center console. I held his tightly.

  “I’m okay,” he said. “You?”

  “Just startled.”

  “How’s the car?”

  I got out and checked the front bumper. Thankfully, we hadn’t hit any hidden barricades or swerved into a ditch. The car was fine, just covered in thick snow.

  “We’re good,” I told Simon, getting back in. “Though it might take a push to get back on the road.”

  With one hand on the back of Simon’s seat, I put the car in reverse and eased on the gas pedal. The car groaned as it struggled to dislodge itself from the snowdrift. I gave it more gas—still nothing.

  “Come on, baby,” I said, patting the dashboard. “I don’t want to push.”

  As Simon braced himself, I stomped on the gas. The car lurched out of the snowdrift and slid back onto the road. A pair of headlights shone through the back windshield. Quickly, I switched into first gear and sped up. The headlights backed off.

  Simon squeezed my thigh. “Let’s try to make the rest of the night uneventful, huh?”

  It was one thing to try. It was another to actually succeed. The Lodge was about the worst place to house anyone coming home from the hospital. Without a real bed, comfort always seemed just out of reach. The kitchen had a working stove, but soup didn’t taste as good when you had to eat it out of a paper bowl or slurp it from a coffee mug.

  I layered the air mattress with extra blankets to make it softer while the tub in the working bathroom filled with hot water. Simon pulled off his shirt by himself, but I helped wriggle his pants off over the bulky brace around his knee. He held onto my shoulder and balanced on one leg as I eased him into the tub.

  He was so tall that his knees stuck out of the water. I washed his hair for him and soaped his back. He got the rest without issue. We didn’t talk, but that was for the best. We couldn’t speak without arguing.

  When he was clean, he stepped into a fresh pair of boxers and fell into bed. I played with his hair while his eyes drifted shut.

  “Baby?” he mumbled sleepily. “Can you get me those painkillers from my bag? My knee hurts.”

  I fetched the plastic bag the doctor had sent home with Simon and fished around for the bottle of medications. When I read the label, I winced—Vicodin.

  “This is a strong dose,” I told Simon. “I can get you some Advil if you’d prefer.”

  He held out his hand for the bottle. “My knee really hurts. I’d rather take the painkillers.”

  I didn’t give him the pills. “Simon, I’m not sure it’s a good idea—”

  “Are you the doctor?” he asked sharply. “I’m in pain. I want the painkillers. Why are you hounding me about this?”

  The contempt in his voice took me by surprise. He never spoke to me that way, not even when he was angry.

  “I’m hounding you,” I began shakily, “because you made me promise to stop you if I thought you were going to do something stupid. Like drink or take drugs you don’t need. Being completely sober was your idea, remember?”

  “I’m not Casey,” he shot back. “I can control myself. Plus, it’s not cocaine. It’s for my knee. I’m not going to suddenly become an addict because I take a dose of Vicodin.”

  He snatched the bottle out of my hand, uncapped it, and popped a pill into his mouth. Before I could protest, he swallowed it dry.

  “In case you forgot,” he said. “I’m not the one who died of an overdose.”

  “Simon, I know that. I just—”

  “Please go away. I’m too tired to fight.”

  I got up to leave, defeated once more, but I paused in the doorway. “Ever since we got here, you’ve dismissed my concerns. You refuse to listen to me. You push me away. I’m tired of pretending like nothing’s wrong. I know we’re in a difficult situation
. I know I’ve done and said some things that were hurtful to you. I’m sorry about that, but I can’t keep doing this with you. Please figure out what’s bothering you so we can talk about it together. Because if we don’t talk soon, I’ll wonder why we bothered getting married.”

  In the morning, I checked on Simon once, while he was still sleeping, to make sure he was okay, but let him do his own thing otherwise. When he got up, he avoided me like the plague. At breakfast, I noticed he skipped the Vicodin and took Advil instead. Maybe something I said last night actually resonated with him.

  He hopped around on his good leg like a baby bird with a broken wing and refused to ask for help. When he reached for a coffee cup, the crutch slipped out from under him and knocked his arm out of place. The mug went flying and shattered on the floor. I stood from the table to help sweep the fragments.

  “I got it,” he said and grabbed the broom before me.

  “Are you working today?” I asked.

  He grunted his acknowledgment. Giving me the complete silent treatment would have been slightly too immature for his tastes. Slightly.

  “Well, take it easy,” I advised him, pretending our discussion last night had never happened. The ball was in his court. At some point, he’d have to get over himself. “I don’t want to have to drive you back to the hospital.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I rolled my eyes and grabbed my coat. “Okay, see you.”

  He found his voice. “You’re going somewhere?”

  “Into town,” I said, getting my coat on. “I’m doing some research. For Rebel Queen.”

  “Oh.” There was a note of inquiry in his tone, but he didn’t follow up with a question. “Okay.”

  In the car, I let out a forceful breath but refused to get upset. Regardless of Simon, I had other things to do. First off, I wanted to get back to the library and check out Charles’s documents.

  “You’re back,” said the librarian when I arrived. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

  “Can I have a look at those papers you told me about?”

  “Sure thing.”

  He led me to a room that didn’t match the cozy scholarly vibe of the rest of the library. It was a white, sterile room with glass walls and shelves. Inside, the air felt oddly stagnant. Cautiously, Charles removed a single leather-bound journal from the shelf.