After Dark (3 page)

“Turn the lights off!” Miles hissed, crouching down. “They'll know we're here.”

“What's he talking about?” Hal asked.

“He says there's someone chasing him!” I shouted. At the other end of the room was a tall bookcase, so filled with books that the shelves were sagging. Beside it was a door that I figured led into the rest of the inn. I considered marching through it and leaving Miles and Hal behind, but I didn't want to leave them unsupervised.

“I'm out of here,” Hal mumbled, and he headed for the door outside. Apparently he didn't have a problem leaving
me
behind.

“No! Don't go! You've got to stop him,” Miles said, grabbing my shoulders. “Please, he's in real danger.”

“Look, I don't have a sweet clue what's going on right now. If you want to stop him, be my guest, but I'm staying out of it. You realize he's got a shotgun, right?”

“It's paranormal activity!” he cried, as Hal opened the door. “Humanoid creatures, three of them — very fast and very aggressive.”

Either Hal didn't hear him or didn't believe him — or he just didn't care — because he went out and slammed the door shut.

“No!” Miles croaked, rushing to the door and throwing it open. “Come back! Please! It's paranormal activity!”

Hal didn't stop; he just kept clomping across the backyard, slowly disappearing into the darkness.

“Paranormal activity?” I asked.

“He could die out there.”

“Go after him if you want.”

Miles looked out at Hal, who was almost at the trees now, and then shut the door. “We've got to turn the lights out,” he said and flicked them off.

The room went pitch-black.

“What now?” I asked. “Do we just stand here in the dark for the rest of the night?”

He didn't get a chance to answer because the door in the far corner creaked open.

“Who's there?” Miles blurted, bumping into me, and then the lights came back on.

I don't know if it was Hal's shotgun or all that talk about paranormal activity, but I was pretty worked up by that point, so I was half expecting to see a psychopath dressed in overalls and carrying a chainsaw standing on the other side of the room. Instead of a psycho, though, it was just my mom standing in the doorway, wearing green pajamas and looking tired.

“What's going on down here?” she asked.

“Oh, just standing around in the dark,” I said. “By the way, thanks for leaving me out in the truck.”

She wiped her eyes and yawned. “You were dead to the world when we got here, and you're too heavy for me to carry up to bed anymore, sunshine.”

“A note would've been nice. Maybe a warning about Uncle Hal being mildly deranged.”

“You saw Hal?”

“He let us in,” Miles said.

“Who are you?” Mom asked Miles.

“I'm Miles Van Helsing,” he said, hunching his way across the room and holding out his hand. “It's nice to meet you, but we've got to turn out the lights, immediately. This is an emergency.”

“Why are you here?” she asked, quickly shaking his hand.

“He was chased here by paranoid creatures?” I said.

“Humanoid creatures, and from what I've seen, they're very dangerous. We really can't attract attention to our-selves,” he said and then quickly reached for the switch and turned off the lights.

Mom flicked them back on.

“What's going on, Charlie?”

“I have no idea.”

“Please,” Miles said, reaching for the light switch again.

She covered the switch with her hand. “Do your parents know where you are?”

“My mother is aware that I'm not at home,” he said.

“Well, I think now would be an excellent time to go back.”

“I can't go outside, not now,” Miles said, retreating across the room.

“Why is he here, Charlie?”

“Uncle Hal let him in.”

“Where is Hal?”

“He's outside, possibly hunting whoever or whatever was chasing Miles.”

“Please turn out the lights,” Miles said.

“I'm not turning out the lights!” Mom snapped. “I'm calling your mother. What's your phone number?”

“I won't tell,” Miles said. “It's too dangerous for her to be outside.”

“Fine, then I guess I'll just have to call the police. Give me your phone, Charlie.”

“Uh …” I started, “I don't seem to have it anymore.”

“Seriously?”

I nodded.

“That's the fourth phone you've lost this year. I swear to you, I'm not buying another one.”

“Here, use mine,” Miles said, pulling a cell out of his pocket. “After all, this is a public emergency and Sheriff Dutton should be informed.”

“I was bluffing,” Mom said. “I didn't really want to call the police.”

“Too late,” he said, handing her the phone. “It's already ringing.”

“This is ridiculous,” Mom said, but took the phone anyway.

I guess someone must have answered, because she started explaining the situation right away. When she was done, she nodded a couple of times and handed the phone back to Miles.

“The sheriff's on his way,” she said. “I guess that means I'm going to have to get changed. Charlie, come with me. I'll show you up to your room.”

“What about me?” Miles asked.

“You can stay here,” she said. “You can even turn out the lights if you want.”

I followed Mom into a larger room that had a huge, dust-coated chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Only four of its lightbulbs were still working, flickering weakly and leaving most of the room in shadows.

“That was the kids' TV room back when Hal and I were growing up, and this will be the dining room,” she said. “It still needs some work.”

There was a massive table, covered in a white sheet, sitting under the chandelier. It was surrounded by twelve chairs, all covered in sheets, too, making it look like we were walking in on a dinner party for ghosts. As we made our way past the table, I noticed that the wallpaper was peeling off in spots and that the floor was covered in a fine layer of dust.

From there we walked into a slightly smaller room at the front of the inn. Moonlight spilled in through two large windows. The furniture in here was covered in sheets as well, but I could guess by their size and shape that they were a collection of chairs and sofas. There was a grandfather clock in the far corner. It had stopped at two o'clock, probably a long time ago, and I wondered if it had been two in the morning or two in the afternoon.

“This will be the sitting room,” she said, and then turned to our left and exited through a tall, arching doorway. I followed her out of the sitting room and into the main foyer. The front door of the inn was to my right and a wide staircase that led to the second floor on the left. Another flickering chandelier hung from the ceiling.

“That's the drawing room,” she said, pointing across the foyer and into a room too dark to see into. “The sunsets are incredible to watch from in there — the light just pours in. And that,” she added, pointing down a hallway that ran along beside the staircase, “leads to the kitchen.”

“Where does Hal live?” I asked.

“He's converted the old servants' quarters into an apartment. It's off the kitchen, at the back, but don't go snooping around in there,” she said, heading up the stairs. “He's a little eccentric.”

“I noticed,” I said.

The stairs to the second floor were covered in a thick red carpet and the railing was wide and solid. I was looking forward to sliding down it sometime soon.

“Hal's been living here by himself for a long time,” she said, as we arrived on the second floor. “But without his cooperation, I'd never be able to do this, so give the man his privacy.”

“It's on the to-do list, Ma.”

“That's the master bedroom and office,” she said, nodding at the door to our left. “That's where I'll be living. Your room is just down here.” She led the way down a long, dark hallway to our right.

We stopped at the second door and stepped into a sleek- looking bedroom that didn't match the run-down look of the first floor at all. The walls were a dazzling white, while the floors were a dark hardwood. To my right was a dresser, and in front of me was a desk that sat under a window covered by dark wooden blinds. A black lamp, shaped like a boomerang, sat on one side of the desk, and a black vase full of fresh white flowers stood on the other. To my left was a low-lying double bed, covered with a puffy white duvet. My duffel bag was sitting at the foot of the bed, and a large black-and-white painting of a crooked old tree hung above the headboard.

“What do you think?”

“It reminds me of something.”

She smiled. “You're sharper than you look, sunshine. It's an exact replica of a hotel room we stayed in when we visited Japan. All of the rooms are based on somewhere we've stayed. You're in Tokyo, and Lilith is next door in Rome.”

“I'm impressed,” I said, lying down on the bed. “But you're missing one thing.”

“What?”

“A television. I know because I watched a whole lot of crazy Japanese cartoons the week we stayed in Tokyo.”

“No TVs,” she said. “I want to create a space where people can get away from things. Plus, nobody comes to Rolling Hills to watch TV. They come here for the hiking, the fishing and the slow pace, but they don't come for TV.”

“What about Wi-Fi? Tell me I can get online.”

“In a week we should be hooked up. Don't give me grief about this, Charlie — and don't get too comfortable. You'll have to move when the guests arrive.”

“Move where?”

“I'm going to renovate the garage out back into an apartment for you and Lilith. It won't be big, but it'll be all yours.”

“An apartment? You know that we already own an apartment in New York, right? And you're aware we also have a summerhouse and a winter house. I don't think we really need more places to live, Ma.”

“We're selling them, Charlie.”

“All of them?”

“I need a new start. We need a new start.”

“What about my stuff?”

“It's in storage. I'll have it sent here when we're ready.”

“Does Dad know about this? I mean, jeesh, does our whole life have to change?”

Mom was about to say something when Lilith stepped into my room. “Nothing is permanent, Charlie.”

She was wearing a white full-body unitard that covered her from head to toe except for her face.

“Lilith,” I said, “either you just traveled back from the future or you're about to go bobsledding.”

“These are Uber-Jams, Charlie. They allow my skin to breathe while I'm asleep, leaving me more rejuvenated in the morning.”

“The sheriff's coming, Lilith,” Mom said. “There's a boy downstairs who refuses to leave.”

“I know,” Lilith grumbled, and left.

“I need to change before he gets here,” Mom said. “There's pizza in the fridge if you need a snack while we wait.”

“Great,” I said, following her out of my room.

“The bathroom is down the hall, third door on the left.”

“Thanks, but I just went.”

Friday, 11:06 p.m.

I ambled back downstairs and went into the kitchen. An ancient fridge was buzzing to my left. There was a sign taped to the smaller door at the top that read:
DO NOT USE THE FREEZER!
I opened the bottom door and found three pieces of vegetarian pizza crammed together on a plate. The only other thing in the fridge was a small bottle of mustard. I took out the pizza and looked around for a microwave. The kitchen was big, with an old-style gas stove, a long counter that ran along the back wall, a double sink, plenty of cupboards and a wooden table in the middle with benches on either side instead of chairs, but there was no microwave. I decided I wasn't hungry enough to eat cold vegetarian pizza, so I put it back in the fridge and headed for the front door. As I passed through the foyer, Miles burst out of the darkness of the drawing room, nearly giving me a heart attack.

“Cripes, Miles, you can't jump out of a room like that,” I said, trying to collect myself.

“Are you aware that there are antique dolls in there?” he said, pointing back into the drawing room. “An entire bookcase filled with antique dolls.”

“Is there a problem with antique dolls?”

“Is there a problem with antique dolls?” he said. “Are you familiar with the Holscomb Affair of 1957?”

“Surprisingly no, I'm not.”

“William and Judy Holscomb moved into a house at 101 Darling Street in Ogden Springs, Virginia, on June 22, 1957, with their two daughters, Georgia, who was seven, and Sally, who was five. According to investigators, William Holscomb discovered a wooden chest in the attic that had belonged to the previous owner, a Ms. Vivian Blair. Ms. Blair had resided in that house for ninety-nine years before she fell out of a third-floor window and died. Do you know what was in that chest?”

“Humanoid creatures?”

“No,” he said, frowning, “it was filled with antique dolls. Neighbors told the police that they often saw Ms. Blair sitting with those dolls in front of the TV or at dinner. They chalked it up to loneliness because Ms. Blair never remarried after her first husband died. Guess what happened to him?”

“Eaten by werewolves?”

“No,” Miles snapped. “He fell off a ladder when he was painting the house about six months after he'd married Ms. Blair. She mourned the death of her husband and then lived alone with those dolls until she fell out of the window. By that time, however, her house was up for sale. According to the police report, her nephew, a Mr. Norman Blair, had convinced her to move out. He had been nagging her for years to move out of the residence so that he could move in. Some people said he used the dolls against her, as proof that she was becoming senile and needed to be placed in an old-age home with proper care. Ms. Blair eventually agreed to move out, but Mr. Norman never got the chance to take up residence at 101 Darling Street.”