“So you believe that whatever those things were, they perform some kind of psychic surgery?” Alan asked.
“No, not psychic. Maybe they excrete some acid or flesh-eating bacteria or something. Whatever it is, it can be used as a weapon, like on your foot. Or it can be used more precisely. The woman tames those things and makes them behave.”
“Welcome to Kingston Lakes, where logic and reason don’t apply,” Alan said.
“And then one day a giant squid washes up on the beach and science has to revise its thinking. It happens all the time—just less often than it did a thousand years ago,” Bob said. “Maybe they built this whole mythology around a little nugget of a perfectly natural phenomenon. Once you strip away all that other window dressing, maybe the phenomenon isn’t that hard to believe. I’m curious to know what happened in that cabin.”
“I suppose it was the passing down ceremony,” Alan said. “It seemed like the same ceremony described in the book. The one that transferred the knowledge from Sophia to Marie, and Marie to Violet. When they passed the knowledge they had a wedding at the same time. They were there to transfer from Violet to Pauline, but I interrupted the process.”
“So they didn’t finish?” Bob asked.
“I don’t know. I guess not. You read the part about the bones?” Alan asked.
“Yes. It said that the bones of a practitioner must be kept safe from the migrators. I assume that’s why we found Sophia’s bones in that ceramic case.”
“Exactly,” Alan said. “It was like the ceramic acted as an insulator that they couldn’t get past.”
“But it didn’t say why it was important,” Bob said.
“Well, it was implied,” Alan said. “In the Mother’s Verse it said something like, ‘Keep safe the bones, away from migration. Keep safe the soul to aid the temptation.’ I don’t remember exactly. But, if I was reading it right, there was a part that suggested that if those phantoms fed on the soul of a practitioner, that the bones would lose their potency to bring the migrators to the surface again. That means that somewhere around here Buster’s mom must be in one of those porcelain boxes.”
“And Marie,” Bob said. “Don’t forget her. So your instincts were right—those things wanted to get at Sophia’s skeleton. You think that giving her remains to the migrators broke the cycle.”
“It’s a thought,” Alan said. “It certainly seemed to disrupt whatever they were doing. But it’s impossible to separate superstition from fact without more information.”
“Tell me what you saw in there,” Bob said.
Alan took a deep breath. He put his left foot up on his right knee. Even that small change in elevation helped the throbbing.
He told Bob the whole story, beginning with when he walked through the door and ending with his blind escape.
“I wonder if anyone else made it out alive,” Bob said when Alan was finished. “That whole cabin exploded in flame right after you stumbled out.”
“I’m not going back to find out,” Alan said. “Probably get arrested for murder.”
“Our fingerprints are all over that box,” Bob said. “Do fingerprints survive fire?”
“I don’t know,” Alan said.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Discovery
OCTOBER 30
ALAN OPENED his eyes. The monster was still there. Behind him, Liz and Joe were pressed against the sink. The only thing between his family and the monster’s snapping jaws was Alan’s camera. He was swinging it, keeping the monster at bay with the bulky camera body. He had an idea—maybe the flash on the camera would blind the monster and he could sneak his family out the window or something.
Alan stopped swinging and brought the camera’s familiar weight to his hands. He flipped the switch with his thumb.
The monster inched forward. It looked like a giant dog crossed with a lizard. It growled and snapped its jaws. The monster’s rotting breath washed over Alan.
He triggered the flash. Nothing happened. Alan looked down at the camera and saw the crack in the display. His camera was mortally injured.
The monster opened its jaws impossibly wide, like a hippo. A hundred sharp teeth gleamed with white enamel.
The jaws closed on Alan’s hands.
“Alan, wake up,” Liz said. She shook his shoulder.
“What?” Alan asked.
“You have to stop reading that book every night. It always gives you nightmares.”
“I know,” Alan said. He flipped the pillow over and turned away from his wife. This hotel had puffy pillows. He couldn’t get comfortable with them.
“You might as well get up,” Liz said. “You said you’d take Joe to that breakfast place and I’m sure he’s already up.”
“Yeah,” Alan said. He drifted back to sleep.
“Alan!” Liz said. She laughed and hit him with her own puffy pillow.
“Okay, okay.” Alan said.
He slipped out of bed and lurched to the bathroom. The Kingston Village Inn was definitely more luxurious, but the American Suites room was nice and generic. There was no character and no history. It could have been anywhere in the country. Alan liked it much better. He brushed his teeth with one hand while he reached around to scratch his back with the other.
“Hey, Dad,” Joe said.
“Whuh?” Alan asked through his toothpaste.
“Look.”
Alan looked at his son. Joe smiled, revealing fangs.
“I’m going to be a vampire. Mom got me a cape, and I’m going to put some blood in the corner of my mouth.”
Alan leaned down to spit in the sink.
“I thought you were too old for costumes.”
“I’m not too old for scary costumes that get me candy,” Joe said. “Mom said she would take me to the neighborhood near her office tomorrow night. There’s a lot of houses there.”
“You’re going too,” Liz called from the other room.
“I don’t have a costume.”
“He said he doesn’t have a costume,” Joe relayed to his mom.
“That’s okay,” Liz said. “He doesn’t need candy.”
“Why don’t you go get dressed,” Alan said to Joe. “We’ll go out to that breakfast place you found.”
Joe gave him one more fang-smile and then retreated to his own hotel room.
On the other side of their hotel bed, Liz was doing her morning back stretches next to the window.
“I’m going to talk to him about changing schools,” Alan said.
“You want me to come too?” Liz asked.
“No, that’s okay. I’ll just broach it today and then we can discuss it as a family later.”
“You think it’s okay to leave the choice to him?” Liz asked.
“I think it’s unfair to not give him a voice. That doesn’t mean we can’t influence the decision.”
“But if we think it’s dangerous for him to be at the old school, I don’t know why we would give him a choice at all.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s dangerous.”
“When are you going to tell me everything that happened the other night?” Liz asked.
“I don’t know that I should,” Alan said.
“I don’t understand,” Liz said.
“I know,” Alan said. “Give me a little while to think about it, okay?”
“You don’t like your pancakes?” Alan asked.
“I guess,” Joe said. “I mean they’re good, but I’m not hungry.”
“Are you feeling okay? When we left the hotel you said you could eat a horse.”
“I have a little headache I guess.”
Alan pushed his empty coffee cup to the edge of the table, hoping for a refill. This was another nice thing about American Suites—there was lots of stuff you could walk to. Sure, you had to walk alongside major roads without sidewalks, but there was a whole development full of big stores and right next door to that a cluster of small businesses. Joe had spotted the little breakfast place on one of their outings.