The Comfort Shack (4 page)

It took an hour for the tide to come in and
cover Libby completely. She never got the chance to castigate
Rebecca. The crowd wandered back to the fort. Rebecca joined her
husband on the seat of the buckboard and clung to his arm. They
didn't speak for the rest of the night.

Rebecca assumed things would return to normal
after the witch was gone,
if that's what she was
. However,
things seemed far from normal. She supposed the past could not be
unwritten, but with time, she and Jonathon would move past this.
They all would.

Rebecca awoke the next morning after a fitful
night of sleep. She turned for Jonathon. He was already gone. It
was seven o'clock on Sunday and he hadn't had breakfast. Rebecca
dressed. She stepped outside into fresh snow. The parade ground was
empty. She checked the walls. No sentries marched watch. The gates
stood open and the buckboard was missing. The fort was empty.
Maneuvers? On a Sunday? But there were no tracks in the snow.

Leanne looked into the glowing eyes of her
girls as Ellie told the story. She had them waiting on her every
word. Leanne didn't know that Ellie had omitted the seduction of
Rebecca Smythe for the sake of her children.

“Rebecca Smythe walked down the road to the
harbor,” Ellie said. “She feared the worst. Was Libby dead? Would
her body be where they’d left it?

“The tide was out when Rebecca reached the
shore. Standing in formation facing the beach, up to their necks in
water, were three-hundred dead soldiers, faces the whitish-blue of
glacier ice. Standing at the front as if leading his troops, was
their Commander, Jonathon Smythe.”

“Is that a true story?” Lisa asked, her
braces glimmering in the floodlights of the parade ground.

Ellie nodded, “It's all true. Are you glad
you took the tour?”

The girls jerked their heads up and down.
“What happened to Rebecca?” Jenny asked.

“She returned to England carrying Jonathon's
child. Years later, she returned and settled in Virginia.”

Leanne interrupted, “Okay girls, it's late
and we've imposed on poor Ellie long enough. Back to the cottage. I
want you ready for bed in fifteen minutes.”

The girls frowned.

“It's no imposition. I had fun,” Ellie said.
The girls smiled expectantly hoping Ellie could sway their
mother.

“Go,” Leanne ordered, “it's past your
bedtime.”

The girls grumbled as they trudged back to
the cottage. Leanne watched them until the door close. She turned
back to Ellie.

“Thank you so much for the tour. That was
wonderful.” Her gaze drifted to the 'V' of skin above where Ellie's
blouse was buttoned, and then up to her eyes. “I noticed your scar.
You like to put a little of yourself into the story, don't you? Was
there really an Indian prostitute at the fort?”

Ellie brought her hand to her chest and
fingered the X-shaped scar. She smiled impishly. “You caught me.
Sometimes I can't help myself.”

“I guess it doesn't really matter,” Leanne
said. “It was very entertaining and the girls loved it. Thanks
again. Good night.” Leanne glanced at her husband. Stu was ogling
Ellie like a schoolboy with a crush. She nudged him. “Say good
night, Stu.”

“Good night,” he said.

Ellie returned to the reception desk while
Leanne led Stu to their room.

By morning, the fire had burned itself out
and the air inside the cottage had turned chilly. Leanne awoke
wrapped tightly, burrito-style, inside the comforter. Sunlight
brightened the room. Poor Stu must have spent the night
blanket-less and shivering. She glanced over. No Stu. His side of
the bed was empty. She called for him. The girls poked their heads
into the doorway. “Have you seen your father?”

The girls shook their heads. Perhaps he'd
gone for a jog. He could definitely afford to drop a few pounds.
She showered, dressed, and packed her things.

Stu still hadn't returned and her concern
shifted to fear.
Where was he
?

She went to the reception desk. A man with
'Robert' printed on his name tag was busy restocking a display of
brochures. “Hi, I'm Leanne Brown. My family is staying in the
Commandant's Cottage. You haven't by chance seen my husband Stu,
have you? He's missing.”

Robert smiled meekly, his expression a mix of
sympathy and helplessness. Leanne knew the answer before he spoke.
“No ma'am. I haven't seen anyone.”

“How about the girl who works nights, Ellie?
Could you ask her?”

He stepped back; an incredulous look on his
face. Was it too big an imposition to make a simple phone call? Her
husband was missing. Didn't he get that? “Ma'am, we don't have a
girl working nights, nor anyone named Ellie on staff.”

“You must be mistaken. She checked us in, and
gave us a tour. She's Native American, maybe twenty-five, pretty
with a scar on her chest.”

“No ma'am, nobody like that.” Robert slid
behind the counter and typed something into the computer. “Did you
say your name was Brown?”

“Yes.”

“We show a reservation for Brown. You
reserved the Commandant's Cottage for last night, but never checked
in.”

“It's wrong. It's got to be.”

“I'm sorry ma'am. Do you want me to call the
police?”

Leanne nodded. A dreadful thought occurred to
her. She didn't want to acknowledge it was a possibility, yet
something told her to check. She left Robert punching numbers into
the phone and pushed open the door. She stood in the cold of the
parking lot to get her bearings. At the end of the lot, she found a
trail leading down to the beach. She hoped she was wrong.

I have
always been fascinated by the way the past ripples into the
present. How atrocities from centuries ago boil over into war
despite generation s of peace. It‘s as if echoes of evil can never
be silenced. The horror is that it’s so often true, as witnessed by
the genocide in Serbia and Rowanda.

I wanted this story to have that unstoppable,
Carrie White’s hand thrusting up from the grave feeling. The
Comfort Shack originally appeared in the Pill Hill Press anthology
Fem Fangs. The theme for the anthology was
strong female vampire
characters
. I took it a step further and made all the female
characters in this story strong.

At first I wasn’t interested in writing a
vampire story. The call came too close on the heels of another
vampire story I’d written, and I thought I was vampired out. Then I
saw the cover artwork and knew I had to get a story into that
anthology. It had the distinctive look of Alberto Vargas, and was
reminiscent of racy detective and men’s magazines from the forties
and fifties.

About the Author

Mark Souza lives in the Pacific Northwest
with his wife, two children, and mongrel beast-dog, Tater. When
he’s not writing, he’s out among you trying to look and act normal
(whatever that is), reminding himself that the monsters he’s
created are all in his head, no more real than campaign
promises.

Upcoming Titles

My novel
Robyn’s Egg
will be
released in the spring of 2012

A collection of my short stories,
Try 2 Stop Me
, will be released in September of 2012

Other
FREE
short
stories coming soon:

Cupid’s Maze

Murphy’s Law

Appliances Included

The Diary of Horatio White

Second Honeymoon

Connect With Me Online:

My Website:
http://www.marksouza.com

Twitter:
http://twitter.com/#!/souzawrites

Second Honeymoon
Excerpt

By Mark
Souza

J
ack Duncan grumbled
as he cinched his robe. The knocks at his door as people stopped to
offer condolences were becoming tedious. A stream of familiar faces
had filed into his home to deliver an awkward moment and a story
about how wonderful a woman Marianne had been, and to comment on
how she’d be missed. He’d had his fill of pity and Marianne stories
by the end of the first day. Privacy is what he wanted most – that
and the insurance payout.

A stranger stood at the door smiling. The man
looked unremarkable: average height, middle aged with a slight
paunch, meaty face, curly salt and pepper hair. He wore a navy
suit, red tie, well shined black shoes, and carried a matching
briefcase. He looked like a salesman.

After opening the door a crack, Jack asked,
“Do I know you?”

The man’s dimples deepened. “Mr. Duncan, I’m
Tova Burke with Gemini Insurance. I’m visiting to discuss your
wife’s policy with us. May we speak?”

Jack noticed the blue panel van at the curb
with GEMINI painted across the side in large gold letters. He
glanced inside his house then at Burke. “Can I get dressed
first?”

“Of course.”

Jack closed the door just as Burke started to
raise a finger. Perhaps it was a precursor to the question, “May I
wait inside?” Better to just shut the door in the man’s face than
have to answer
no
and appear even ruder. He rushed to the
master bedroom at the back of the house. While he pulled clothes
from the dresser, he admired the form in his bed. Half covered by a
sheet, Abby Meacham lay sprawled out spread-eagle taking up most of
the king-size mattress. Her hair sprayed a flaxen arc across the
pillow. Her proud buttocks pressed high against 700-thread-count,
Egyptian cotton. And what a magnificent backside it was. A tiny
grin played on Jack’s lips before he lightly smacked Abby’s rear.
She jerked and moaned.

“Get up sleepy head,” Jack said, “The
insurance man is here.”

“Wha’?”

“No time for questions, darling. It’s payday.
It won’t look good if he finds you here. You need to
skidaddle.”

Abby sat up and stretched. “What time is
it?”

“Just get dressed. We can talk later.” Jack
pulled on a pair of jeans and buttoned them closed. He topped his
ensemble off with a polo shirt.

“You’re getting your money – so soon?”

“Maybe.” Jack found Abby’s clothes in a heap
on the far side of the bed and tossed them in her lap. “I need you
out of here before I let him in. Slip out the back and either hide
in the garage, or use the back alley to walk home.”

“I don’t like all this sneaking around,” Abby
said as she slipped into her clothes.

“Don’t worry. Once I cash the check and sell
this dump, we can go somewhere nice and start over. No more
sneaking around. I promise.”

“Vegas?”

“Yeah, why not?”

Jack waited until he heard the soft click of
the back door before he ushered in the insurance agent. His time on
the front porch had wilted Burke’s dimples. Burke took a seat on
the couch and left enough room for Jack to join him. He set his
briefcase down on the coffee table and released the latches. From
it, he pulled a stack of documents and placed them down.

“I’m so sorry to hear of your loss. What
happened, if I might be so bold?”

“No, it’s okay,” Jack said. The story, his
subdued tone, stern expression, clenched teeth; all affectations
he’d rehearsed and mastered well before Marianne’s death. It all
had to be right each time he told it, whether to first responders,
the police, friends, relatives, or now to the insurance adjuster.
He couldn’t afford to get it wrong and raise suspicions.

“We were camping. She went down to the river
for a dip while I set up camp. The current was strong. I warned
her, but she thought she was up to it. Search and Rescue found her
body a quarter mile downstream pinned under a tree.”

“Tragic, truly tragic,” Burke said. Burke’s
expression mimicked the sorrow Jack had worked so hard to perfect.
Jack wondered if Burke, too, had rehearsed. He must have. It was
practically a requirement of his job.

“Perhaps I can brighten your day just a
little,” Burke said.

“You have a check for me?”

Burke stiffened and his mouth hung open. Jack
could tell he had caught him off guard. Perhaps the question was a
bit crass and a bit callous.

“Check?” Burke sputtered, “There’s been some
kind of misunderstanding. There is no check.”

At first what Burke said didn’t register.
Then the words
no check
burned into Jack’s consciousness
like molten lead. “Excuse me for being so blunt, Mr. Burke, but
I’ve been through a lot over the last few weeks. The
misunderstanding is on your end, I assure you. I bought life
insurance through your company covering both me and my wife. It
pays out two-million dollars should one of us die. I know because
we both signed it, and I’m the one who wrote the premium checks to
your company every month.”