Locked Doors (50 page)

Maria’s whole body shivered like she was freezing to death. Terror locked her muscles and she couldn’t move. But she had to move. She had to find some kind of way out of there.

Were all the windows bricked-over? Maybe some of them weren’t. Maybe she could get out of a window, climb down somehow. Or get up on the roof. The roof sounded a lot better than waiting around for those freaks to come back.

Maria heard something soft. Faint. Nearby.

Some kind of scratching sound.

She concentrated on listening, but couldn’t hear anything above her own labored gasping. She took a deep breath, held it in.

And could still hear the breathing.

Raspy, wet breathing.

Right next to her.

Someone else is under the bed.

“I’m Teddy.”

His voice was deep, rough, and hearing it that close scared Maria so badly her bladder let loose.

“I’m
gonna
bleed you, girly girl. Bleed you nice and long.”

Then something grabbed Maria’s legs, and she screamed louder than she’d ever screamed in her life, screamed louder than she’d ever thought possible, kicking and clawing as she was dragged down through the trap-door in the floor.

And now, an exclusive excerpt from the new horror novel, TRAPPED, by J.A.
Konrath
…

Sara
Randhurst
felt her stomach roll starboard as the boat yawed port, and she put both hands on the railing and took a big gulp of fresh, lake air. She wasn’t anywhere near Cindy’s level of discomfort—that poor girl had been heaving non-stop since they left land—but she was a long way from feeling her best.

Strangely enough, Jack seemed to be enjoying it. The three-month-old baby in the sling around Sara’s chest had a grin on his face and was drooling happily. Sara pulled a tissue from the sling’s pocket and wiped off her son’s chin, wondering how anyone, especially someone so small and fragile, could actually like this awful motion. Even though she was feeling ill, she smiled at the sight of him. Just like she did every time.

Sara closed her eyes, bending her knees slightly to absorb some of the pitch and roll. The nausea reminded Sara of her honeymoon. She and Martin had booked a Caribbean cruise, and their first full day as a married couple found both of them vomiting veal
picata
and wedding cake into the Pacific. Lake Huron was smaller than the ocean, the wave crests not as high and troughs not as low. But they came faster and choppier, which made it almost as bad.

Sara opened her eyes, searching for Martin. The only one on deck was Cindy
Welp
, still perched over the railing. Sara approached the teen on wobbly footing, then rubbed her back. Cindy’s blonde hair looked perpetually greasy, and her eyes were sunken and her skin colorless; more a trait of her addiction to meth than the seasickness.

“How are you doing?” Sara asked.

Cindy wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “Better. I don’t think there’s anything left in me.”

Cindy proved herself a liar a moment later, pulling away and retching once again. Sara gave her one last reassuring pat, then padded her way carefully up to the bow. The charter boat looked deceptively smaller before they’d gotten on. But there was a lot of space onboard; both a foredeck and an aft deck, a raised bow, plus two levels below boasting six rooms. Though they’d been sailing for more than two hours, Sara had only run into four of their eight-person party. Martin wasn’t one of them. It was almost like he was hiding.

Which, she supposed, he had reason to do.

A swell slapped the boat sideways,
spritzing
Sara with water. It tasted clean, just like the air. A seagull cried out overhead, a wide white M against the shocking blue of sky. She wondered, fleetingly, what if be like to feel so free, so alive like that.

In the distance, a green dot against the expanse of dark water, was Rock Island. Even from this far away, Sara noticed its wedge shape, the north side of it several times the height of the south, dropping off at a sharp cliff.

Sara shivered, protectively cupping her hands around Jack.

There was a soft thump, next to her. Sara jumped at the sound.

Another gull. It had hopped onto the deck, and was staring at her with tiny black eyes.
 
Sara touched her chest, feeling her heart bounce against her fingers.

Just a bird. No need to be so jumpy.

Sara squinted west, toward the sun. It was getting low over the lake, turning the clouds pink and orange, hinting at a spectacular sunset to come. A month ago, when she and Martin had planned this trip, staring at such a sun would have made her feel energized. Watching it now made Sara sad. A final bow before the curtain closed for good.

Sara continued to move forward, her gym shoes slippery, the warm summer breeze already drying the spray on her face. At the prow, Sara saw Tom
Gransee
, bending down like he was trying to touch the water rushing beneath them.

“Tom! Back in the boat please.”

Tom spun around, saw Sara, and grinned. Then he took three quick steps and skidded across the wet deck like a skateboarder. Tom’s medication didn’t quite control his ADHD, and the teenager was constantly in motion. He even twitched when he slept.

“No running!” Sara called after him, but he was already on the other side of the cabin, heading below.

Sara peeked at the sun once more, retied the flapping floral print shirttails across her flat belly, and headed after Tom.

She stopped at the top of the stairs. The stairwell was tight, and the sunlight didn’t penetrate it.

“Tom?” she called down after him.

 
He didn’t respond. Sara hesitated, adjusted the knit cap on Jack’s head, then took the first step down.

As she descended the staircase, the mechanical roar of the engine overtook the calm tempo of the waves. The hallway was dark, cramped. Sara didn’t like it, and she picked up her pace, her palms on the walls searching for a light switch and not finding any. Her breath quickened, and her fingers finally grazed some protuberance which she grasped like it was a life preserver. She flipped it up and an overhead light came on.

Sara sighed, then chided herself for feeling so relieved. She tried to remember the Captain’s name.

Captain
Prendick
. A peculiar name, but a familiar one; Sara recalled it from an old H.G. Wells horror novel.

Prendick
was the ninth person on the boat, and Sara hadn’t seen him lately either. Her only meeting with the man was during their brief but intense negotiation when they arrived at the dock. He was grizzled, tanned, and wrinkled, with a personality to match, and he argued with Sara about their destination, insisting on taking them someplace closer than Rock Island. He only relented after they agreed to bring his extra handheld marine radio along, in case of emergencies.

Sara wondered where the captain was now. She assumed he was on the bridge, but didn’t know where to find it. Maybe Martin was with him. Sara wasn’t sure if her desire to speak with Martin was to console him or persuade him. Perhaps both. Or maybe they could simply spend a few moments together without talking. Sara could remember when silence between them was a healthy thing.

A skinny door flew open, and Meadowlark Purcell burst out. Meadow had a pink scar across the bridge of his flattened nose, a disfigurement from when he was
blooded in
to a Detroit street gang. The boy narrowed his dark brown eyes at Sara, then smiled in recognition.

“Hey, Sara. I was you, I wouldn’t go in there for a while.” He fanned his palm in front of his nose.

“I’m looking for Martin. Seen him?”

Meadow shook his head. “I be
hangin
’ with
Laneesha
and Tyrone,
playin
’ cards. We
gonna
be there soon?”

“Captain said two hours, and we’re getting near that point.”

“True
dat
?”

“Yes.”

“Cool.”

Meadow wandered off. Sara closed the bathroom door, made her way up another cramped flight of stairs, and found the bridge. Captain
Prendick
was at the wheel, his potbelly pressed against it, one hand scratching the stubble on his chin. He noticed Sara and gave her a brief nod.

“Have you seen Martin?” Sara asked.

Prendick
motioned with his chin. Sara followed the gesture and saw her husband folded up in a chair, legs crossed out in front of him and his eyes closed, chin touching his chest. Sara momentarily forgot everything she wanted to tell him, everything she wanted to say.

“Martin…”

“I’m not up for talking right now, Sara.”

He kept his eyes closed. Jack, hearing his father’s voice, wiggled and cooed.

Sara glanced at
Prendick
.

“I’m running to the head,” the captain said to Sara as he flipped a switch on the panel, next to a picture of him and an elderly woman. “We’re on autopilot.”

Captain
Prendick
slid past her, his expression dour. Sara moved closer to Martin, put a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t,” he said.

“Martin, maybe if we talked about—”

Her husband’s eyelids flipped open. They looked unbelievably sad.

“I love you, Sara.”

Sara felt her chest get heavy. “Martin…”

“Do you know I love you? That I love you and Jack?”

She nodded, unable to answer because of the lump in her throat.

“Then we don’t have anything to talk about.”

Martin held her gaze until his eyes became glassy, and then he closed them again.

Sara wanted to touch his cheek, cup his chin and tell him it was all going to be okay even though it wasn’t. Then she left the bridge and made her way back into the bowels of the boat. She opened the first door she came to. In the darkness she made out the shape of a chubby girl asleep on a narrow bed. Georgia. Sara tried the next door. Another cabin, this one empty. After a brief hesitation, Sara went into the room, pulled the folding bed away from the wall, and sat down, making sure she left the door open.

The waves weren’t as pronounced down here, and the rocking motion was gentler. Sara again thought of her honeymoon with Martin. How, once they got their sea legs, they spent all of their time on the ship, in their tiny little cabin, skipping exotic ports to instead order room service and make love. After a rough beginning, it turned out to be a perfect trip.

Sara checked the door again, rubbed Jack’s back, and closed her eyes, wishing it could be like that again.

It was a night exactly like tonight, a few years ago,” Martin said. “Late summer. Full moon. Just before midnight. The woods were quiet. Quiet, but not completely silent. It’s never completely silent in the woods. It seems like it is, because we’re all used to the city. But there are always night sounds. Sounds that only exist when the sun goes down and the dark takes over. Everyone shut your eyes and listen for a moment.”

Sara indulged her husband, letting her eyelids close. Gone were the noises so common in Detroit; cars honking, police sirens, arguing drunks and cheering Tigers fans and bursts of live music when bar doors swung open. Instead, here on the island, there were crickets. A breeze whistling through the pines. An owl. The gentle snaps and crackles of the campfire they sat around. Jack’s breath on her neck, slow and steady from sleep.