he had seen what she was really capable of doing? Would he have laughed then? She placed all the objects in their proper place, began the incantation—merely a focal point, a way to center in on her powers— and tried to relax. Damn him. Damn them all!
She lay down on her bed. Relax, relax. She concentrated, prayed, got in touch with cosmic forces most people didn’t dare to dream of. She felt a tugging inside her, something pulling at her soul. (Or was that the spaghetti and meatballs?) She giggled. Part of her refused to believe that it would happen. Part of her didn’t want it to.
But the part of her that wanted to be successful won out in the end. Mystic forces combined with her own unnatural prowess, and doors in space opened, corridors of existence were warped and bent. She cried out in agony; something was wrenched unwillingly from her sanity. There was a rush of air, a twisting of nerve and synapse. Something screamed. She screamed. The world had a tear in it.
Finally, her strength recovered, she got off the bed and looked around.
Nothing appeared to have changed. She looked hesitantly at first, then desperately, for anything to indicate that something was different. But everything was the way it had been. The mystic objects that she’d placed around the room were gone, but that was to be expected. Everything else was just as it had been.
She didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.
But wait—on the night table. Something was there. Some object. She was certain it had not been there before. Positive. She reached out to grab it, feeling that she was already being called back, that the effects of the spell were ending. Too soon. Not soon enough. As her fingers closed around the object on the table, she noticed a shadow, a shadowy figure, standing off to one side. She could not get a clear look at it; already things were beginning to fade. She felt that tugging again. Had the figure been there all along? Probably. She had not noticed it until now, over there in the one dark corner of the room. It was approaching. She wondered who—or what— it could be. She felt a terrible, petrifying sense of danger. She forgot all about the object in her hand, her intention to look at it and to see what it was, what it might tell her. The figure was coming closer. She wanted to scream. Her heart was beating faster, the sound of it pounding in her ears. The figure raised an appendage; an arm, she imagined. She did scream. There was a sudden, sharp pain. Then blankness.
* * *
When she woke up it was nighttime.
She was completely exhausted. She was lying on her back and her fingers were wrapped around something. What is this? How did it get here? She had never seen it before.
Then she realized where it had come from, that she had failed to let go of it when everything had started fading away. For a moment she was thunderstruck with the implications, the possible repercussions, the meaning of it all.
But then she remembered something else.
The figure, that figure in the shadows, that had come out of the corner and approached her, approached her as inexorably as death.
And she knew, irrefutably, incontrovertibly, that somehow, in someway, back there, back then, she had stood on the very threshold of her own unlamented demise.
Chapter 1
The boat left the party of fourteen on Lammerty Island and headed back for the mainland. The skipper had been a joking, jovial man who spent much of the trip debunking the tall tales about ghosts and strange occurrences that revolved around the island. He would have made some members of the expedition feel a little better if he had stayed for dinner, after all; but he and his first mate—his eldest son, actually—had things to do in town and couldn’t wait.
He would return early Monday morning, he told them, for the trip back.
The party stood on the dock watching the boat go. Gloria Bordette was smoking like a chimney, one after the other, looking about anxiously
She lay down on her bed. Relax, relax. She concentrated, prayed, got in touch with cosmic forces most people didn’t dare to dream of. She felt a tugging inside her, something pulling at her soul. (Or was that the spaghetti and meatballs?) She giggled. Part of her refused to believe that it would happen. Part of her didn’t want it to.
But the part of her that wanted to be successful won out in the end. Mystic forces combined with her own unnatural prowess, and doors in space opened, corridors of existence were warped and bent. She cried out in agony; something was wrenched unwillingly from her sanity. There was a rush of air, a twisting of nerve and synapse. Something screamed. She screamed. The world had a tear in it.
Finally, her strength recovered, she got off the bed and looked around.
Nothing appeared to have changed. She looked hesitantly at first, then desperately, for anything to indicate that something was different. But everything was the way it had been. The mystic objects that she’d placed around the room were gone, but that was to be expected. Everything else was just as it had been.
She didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.
But wait—on the night table. Something was there. Some object. She was certain it had not been there before. Positive. She reached out to grab it, feeling that she was already being called back, that the effects of the spell were ending. Too soon. Not soon enough. As her fingers closed around the object on the table, she noticed a shadow, a shadowy figure, standing off to one side. She could not get a clear look at it; already things were beginning to fade. She felt that tugging again. Had the figure been there all along? Probably. She had not noticed it until now, over there in the one dark corner of the room. It was approaching. She wondered who—or what— it could be. She felt a terrible, petrifying sense of danger. She forgot all about the object in her hand, her intention to look at it and to see what it was, what it might tell her. The figure was coming closer. She wanted to scream. Her heart was beating faster, the sound of it pounding in her ears. The figure raised an appendage; an arm, she imagined. She did scream. There was a sudden, sharp pain. Then blankness.
* * *
When she woke up it was nighttime.
She was completely exhausted. She was lying on her back and her fingers were wrapped around something. What is this? How did it get here? She had never seen it before.
Then she realized where it had come from, that she had failed to let go of it when everything had started fading away. For a moment she was thunderstruck with the implications, the possible repercussions, the meaning of it all.
But then she remembered something else.
The figure, that figure in the shadows, that had come out of the corner and approached her, approached her as inexorably as death.
And she knew, irrefutably, incontrovertibly, that somehow, in someway, back there, back then, she had stood on the very threshold of her own unlamented demise.
Chapter 1
The boat left the party of fourteen on Lammerty Island and headed back for the mainland. The skipper had been a joking, jovial man who spent much of the trip debunking the tall tales about ghosts and strange occurrences that revolved around the island. He would have made some members of the expedition feel a little better if he had stayed for dinner, after all; but he and his first mate—his eldest son, actually—had things to do in town and couldn’t wait.
He would return early Monday morning, he told them, for the trip back.
The party stood on the dock watching the boat go. Gloria Bordette was smoking like a chimney, one after the other, looking about anxiously
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