We arrived at twilight, our rented minivan bouncing over the long, rutted drive that led from the overgrown two-lane blacktop to the lake house property. True to my expectations, the house was a nightmare. A two-story structure with peeling white paint and sagging front porch, it squatted near the lake, the red-gold light of the setting sun giving it the look of some ancient carnivore waiting to swallow us whole.
Dad parked so that the minivan’s headlights lit a path to the front door. We scrambled out and stretched. After a five-hour flight and a two-hour drive, I was beyond glad to be standing on firm ground, even if said ground was in the middle of nowhere.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Mom said with a kind of hushed reverence.
I glanced at the old house and frowned, then looked at Mom. She was gazing across the lake toward the setting sun. I released my resentment long enough to take in the sight. The glowing disc of the sun slid behind dark, low hills across water that glistened like molten gold, the sky wrapped in clouds painted pink and red and orange, the edges fading into royal purple, all framed by the dark branches of two huge oak trees that grew between the house and the water.
The scene was beautiful, and I might have enjoyed it if I hadn’t been aware of the lake house behind me, watching us like a hungry beast sizing up its prey. I shivered and turned from the glorious sunset, unable to resist the warning of the prickles running up and down my spine.
Dad stepped toward the porch. I grabbed his arm and he stopped, gazing at me quizzically.
“Let’s not stay here,” I said. “Let’s go back to the state park. I’m sure we can find someplace to stay.”
Dad frowned, glanced at the house and back to me. “Why? We’ve got a perfectly good place to stay right here.” He put an arm around my shoulders and gave a quick squeeze. “Come on. You’re tired and hungry. You’ll feel better once we’re all settled in.”
I disagreed, but dutifully followed him to the front door. He was fumbling for keys when a truck swung down the drive and stopped beside the minivan. Blinded by the headlights, I put a hand up to shade my eyes and saw a figure emerge and stand silhouetted in front of the new vehicle.
“Mr. Baines?” called a young male voice.
Dad held up his hand and stepped off the porch. I followed not wanting to remain within the house’s grasp.
“I’m David Baines,” Dad said. “How can I help you?”
The figure stepped forward and resolved into a good-looking guy not too much older than me. He smiled and stretched out a hand to Dad.
“I’m Evan Pryce,” he said as Dad accepted his hand and they shook. “My dad’s the caretaker here. He was called out of town unexpectedly and asked me to come by and make sure you had food and fuel. I’ve got supplies in the back of the truck.”
“Much appreciated, Evan,” Dad said. “I hope everything’s all right with your dad. I haven’t see Jason since we were in our teens.”
“I didn’t realize you knew each other.”
Evan led the way to the bed of the truck, and Dad waved us all over. “Come on everyone. Lend a hand.”
Grabbing a box of lettuce, tomatoes, and other salad veggies, I followed Dad and Evan to the door. Evan steadied a box of kindling between his body and the door frame, whipped out a key and unlocked the door in a smooth motion. Shifting the box’s balance he swung inside, calling, “Wait just a sec while I light the lamps.”
Lamps?
Yellowish light flared and Evan reappeared carrying an old-fashioned hurricane lamp. The kind with a metal handle and frame, glass chimney and a reservoir for oil or kerosene. Seriously? This place didn’t even have electricity?
I bit my lip to keep from complaining. No electricity meant no refrigerator — I glanced toward the kitchen, wondering how Mom would handle meals — but it also meant no way to recharge my iPad, which meant no music and no reading. No Internet connection meant no email commiseration with Julia. What a great summer Mom and Dad had arranged. Total isolation in a foreign part of the country with nothing to do but jump in the lake. Heck, without electricity, we’d be going to bed when the sun went down. Oh, joy! What could be more fun than this?
Once we had all our luggage and Evan’s supplies inside, I finally got a decent look at the guy. Definitely not much older than me. He had the tall, lanky frame of a boy on his way to becoming a man. His hands and feet seemed too big for his body, which hadn’t yet filled out, but his wavy chestnut hair and deep blue eyes were definitely attractive and he had a nice smile.
So maybe the summer had possibilities after all. Where one cute boy lived, there must be others.
While Evan primed the pump at the kitchen sink and showed Mom and Dad how to load the block ice into the icebox, I lit another lamp and explored the main floor. The front door opened into a large front room, the dark wood floor now littered with our luggage. A dark colored, dusty, overstuffed sofa hunched against one wall behind a rickety coffee table, two matching plush chairs sat across from it. A stone fireplace with a rough hewn mantle occupied the wall between the front room and the kitchen and a well-worn oak table and six chairs provided an eating area. Bookshelves lined one wall. I lifted the lamp and examined the titles. Lots of torn dust covers and books with cracked and peeling spines. I guessed these volumes hadn’t been updated in my lifetime. Maybe not even in Dad’s.
Between the faded wallpaper, the bedraggled furniture, and the complete lack of modern, electrical appliances, the house felt like a creature that had outlived its place in time.
Dad and Tommy lit more lamps and we all traipsed upstairs to claim our bedrooms. Make that cells. The rooms were tiny, barely big enough to hold a twin bed, and had screen doors.
I turned to Dad. “Why are there screen doors inside?”
But it was Evan who answered. “No electricity, remember? That means no air conditioning and no fans. The screen doors allow air to move freely through the house, while keeping pets, or pests, out of your bedrooms.”
Mom and Dad’s room was a little bigger, they had a double bed, but it too sported a screen door.
“Where’s the bathroom?” asked Jessie.
Evan moved to a window at the back of the house, held up his lantern and pointed. “Right back there.”
“Dad!” Jessie squealed, “Do you really expect us to stay somewhere that doesn’t even have a toilet?”
“Think of it as an adventure,” Dad said brightly. “I loved coming here when I was a kid.”
“Good for you,” I said, but so quietly that only Evan heard. He glanced sideways at me and hid a smile behind his hand.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered as he turned back to the stairs. “We have all the modern conveniences at my place. Even Wi-Fi.”
“Want to adopt me for the summer?” I breathed. As soon as the words were out, I blushed. That had not sounded as flip as I’d intended.
The appraising look he gave me made me squirm. Without waiting for a reply, I moved to join Jessie and Tommy who were arguing over which room was whose.
“I’m oldest,” I announced, “so I’m claiming first dibs. This one is mine.” I stepped inside one of the two tiny bedrooms that looked out over the lake.
“Good choice, Amanda,” Mom said, stepping in to avoid a battle. “Jessie, you take the room next to Amanda’s. Tommy, you’ll like this one over here,” she said turning him deftly toward the little room that looked into the dark forest. “You’ll be able to watch for squirrels and birds from the window, and Dad and I will be right next door.”
We trooped back downstairs to find our luggage and carry it back to our respective rooms. Personally, I wondered if there’d be room in the little cell for me and my suitcase at the same time.
Before everyone could scatter to their rooms, Evan cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, “it looks like you’re settling in nicely, so I’ll say good night. Mr. Baines, if you need anything, you have our number.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, suddenly struck by an alarming thought. “The house doesn’t have a phone, and there’s no electricity. How are we supposed to keep our cell phones charged?”
Dad grinned. “We won’t. You’re off the grid as of now, but I’ll keep mine charged up in the minivan, in case of emergency.”
Evan moved to the door and saluted. “Have a great stay. I’ll stop by in a day or two to see if you need anything.” And then he disappeared into the night.
As the sound of his truck died away, the house creaked and I imagined it exhaling in malevolent satisfaction. Another shiver ran down my spine.
“Dad, are you sure about this?” I asked. “I don’t think this house likes us.”
Jessie and Tommy stopped on the stairs, dropping their bags with muffled clunks. Dad stared at me, but Mom stepped forward and put a hand on my forehead.
“Are feeling well, Amanda? I know you didn’t want to come, but it’s not like you to be fanciful.”
I shrugged away from her and faced Dad. “I’m not trying to be difficult, but this place feels haunted. I want to leave.”
Something scraped across the floor above our heads, and everyone jumped. Jessie and Tommy scampered down the stairs and ran to Mom, who threw her arms about their shoulders and drew them close.
Dad moved to the stairs and peered up. “I’m sure that was just the wind,” he said bracingly. “Tommy, Jessie, everything is fine. Grab your bags and lets take them upstairs. Lydia,” he continued, giving Mom a meaningful glance, “speak to Amanda.”
Mom nodded, and Dad and the rug rats disappeared up the stairs.
“All right, Amanda. What’s this all about? I understand you’re unhappy about this vacation, but there’s no need to frighten the younger children.”
I inhaled deeply and tried to calm the butterflies in my belly. No joy. They tumbled and whirled like they were dancing on the edge of a tornado. “Honestly, Mom,” I said, my voice much steadier than my stomach, “I’m not trying to cause trouble. I just have a really bad feeling about this place.” I hurried on before she could interrupt. “It wasn’t so bad while Evan was here — like it was hiding its intent from him, but the minute he left I felt it again. It’s like the house is alive, and it wants us gone.”
Mom had been frowning until I mentioned Evan’s name, then her face cleared and a smug expression quirked her lips and danced in her eyes. “Oh, I see,” she said. “You feel safe when Evan’s here, but don’t think your father and I can protect you.”
“No!” I said, raising my voice more than I’d intended. “I mean, he seems like a nice guy and all, but you’re missing the point. It’s not me, it’s the house! It wanted him gone so it would have us to itself.”
“Amanda, do you hear how ridiculous you sound? This is a house. A structure of wood and brick and stone, built by human hands. It’s not alive and it’s not haunted.” She shook her head, picked up her bag and headed for the stairs. “Get your things. I want you unpacked before dinner.”
I was severely skeptical of unpacking into the scruffy old dark wood trunk that sat at the end of my bed, but when I lifted the scarred lid I discovered several packets of lavender sachet tucked into the sections of a deep, removable tray along with a carefully lined main compartment that smelled of cedar. By the time I’d emptied my suitcase into the trunk and arranged my belongings in a sensible manner, the sweet smell of frying bacon was wafting through my screen door.
Tommy slammed out of his room across the hall and raced for the stairwell. “Bacon!” he yelled, like the little savage he is.
Jessie appeared at my door like a ghost materializing from the ether. “Come on, Amanda! Tommy will eat everything in sight if we don’t get there quick.”
“You know Mom won’t let him eat our share,” I said with a laugh, but I got to my feet, grabbed my empty suitcase and waved her toward the stairs. “But I’m starving, so I’m right behind you.”
Dad and Jessie stowed the suitcases in the minivan while Tommy and I set the table. Before we knew it, we were eating our first meal at the lake house. I hated to admit it, but it was kind of cozy sitting around that scrubbed oak table by lamplight eating bacon, fried eggs, toast with real butter and sipping hot cocoa. Real hot cocoa! Not the dehydrated stuff made with hot water we always used at home. This was smooth and rich and so sweet I had to sip slowly, but oh … so delicious!
Even though it was only 8:30 when we finished cleaning up after dinner, I was so tired I didn’t even complain when Mom suggested we all head to bed.
“Great idea,” Dad agreed. “It’s been a long day, and we might as well start adjusting to a new schedule. With no electricity, we’re going to be following the natural cycle of light and dark more closely than we do at home.”
I grimaced, but kept my mouth shut. Julia was never going to believe me when I finally got to tell her about this … unusual … summer vacation.
Before I blew out the pretty little painted glass lamp beside my bed, I made sure that the flashlight Dad had given me for middle of the night excursions to the outhouse was safely under my pillow. I was exhausted, but uneasy about being alone in the dark in a house that seemed to resent me, but I’d noticed that since dinner the atmosphere had mellowed. Maybe the house was getting used to us.
I perched on the edge of my bed, bare feet firmly planted on the hardwood floor, and placed my palm flat against the wall. Closing my eyes, I sent a thought to the spirit of the house, “I’m not your enemy. I’ll be careful not to hurt or damage you, if you’ll give my family shelter and safety while we’re here.”
I know it was a stupid thing to do. Mom was right. It was a house. A building. A structure of wood and stone. It wasn’t a living creature.
But I swear, as soon as I made that pact, the floor shivered beneath my feet and I heard a soft screeching like a hinge in desperate need of oil saying, “Truce.”
It was probably just the wind scraping a branch across the peeling paint on the side of the house, but it calmed me. I slept deeply and peacefully, assured that the house had accepted us.