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I bolted out the door, pulling the knife out of the side table drawer. Halfway to Cottage 7, I realized I didn’t have shoes on, but I didn’t care. The cold felt good. So did holding the knife. I had no idea what I expected to find there. That didn’t bother me either. Maybe I’m just sick of being scared.

I opened the porch door as quietly as I could. Inside I heard the creak of floorboards, but not much else. I threw open the front door, and pointed my knife at…

Some guy.

“Holy shit!” he cried. He was about my age, tall, dressed in a green LL Bean coat over a grey thermal henley and wearing working boots and gloves. He was handsome, with brown hair and grey eyes that right now looked completely horrified. I tried to imagine what I must have looked like before him, a woman with bandaged wrists, wet hair, and bare feet (one of which was also bandaged), wielding a knife with a frenzied look in her eyes. He raised his hands and took a step back from the torn up floor he had been examining.

“Who are you and what are you doing? This is private property!” I shouted in rather unhinged way.

“Okay, okay.” He was trying not to hyperventilate. “I…I got a call for some carpentry work. From a…a…can I…” He faltered and made a tentative motion towards his pocket. I nodded but didn’t lower my knife. He pulled out a sheet of crumpled paper, which he waived in my direction as some sort of peace offering.

I grabbed it with my left hand. It said “Martina” and “Calnon’s” followed by our office number.

“Why are you here so late? Isn’t it after working hours?”

“I have a day job. Over at the Air Brake.”

“Why would we hire someone who doesn’t even do carpentry full time?”

“Martina said it would be fine. My dad and grandpa used to help out here. Been doing this all my life, but my dad closed his official business down a few years ago. So now it’s mostly a night thing for me.”

“So, I assume you’re priced accordingly?”

He chuckled nervously. “I’m pretty flexible.”

I sighed and lowered the knife.

“Fine.”

“If Martina is around she could probably explain.”

My heart leapt into my throat.

“Ah, well. You’ve missed her. She’s…” Just say it. “She died, very recently.” I tried to not look at the torn up floorboards. That wretched night came back to me. Martina on the floor. Being pinned under that table, unable to stop any of it. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t you dare cry.

He appeared genuinely embarrassed.

“I’m so sorry. Listen, this was a really stupid idea of mine. I thought I would swing by after my shift to get the lay of the land. I didn’t see anybody around, but there was a light on in here so I thought I’d see what’s up. I’ll just get going now, it’s fine.”

“Wait a second. I’m sorry. It’s been a tough couple of weeks. We really do need the help.” I tried running a hand through my almost frozen hair. I corrected myself. “I need the help.”

He hesitated, undoubtedly still concerned about my wild appearance and sharp knife. I lowered it to the ground and took a step closer to him, hand outstretched.

“Nora Calnon.”

He took my hand.

“René Allaire.”

“You’ve got yourself the job. If I haven’t completely freaked you out, that is.”

“It’s fine. I was technically trespassing after all.”

“Can we go back to my cottage? I’ll change and I can show you some of the things we need help with.”

“I’m assuming you’d want to start here?” He gestured at the torn-up floor.

“Yeah, that’s…definitely on the list.”

I gingerly picked up my knife and he picked up his backpack and followed me out. I sincerely regretted neglecting to grab a pair of shoes. I could see him staring at my feet with concern.

“Not my best decision,” I chuckled.

“Are you okay? Looks like you’re injured. I could carry you if…” He blushed profusely; clearly sorry he had said those last few words out loud.

“I’m fine. Just being dumb.”

“Ah yeah, haha, right. No problem.”

“I mean, yes, this is much more awkward than I thought it would be.”

He laughed.

“Glad you said it first.”

After what seemed like a lifetime, we made it to my cottage. René’s eyes widened at the destroyed porch.

“Also something on the to-do list. I’ll be right back out.” I ran inside, leaving him to survey the damage. I replaced the knife and hurried to my bedroom, embarrassed by how quickly my heart was racing. I shuddered at my hair and pulled it back, throwing on my favorite sweater and jeans. I’m not too proud to admit that I may have dabbed a touch of perfume at my neck as I tied up my boots.

I found him inspecting the deep claw marks on the side of the cottage. He glanced up, probably relieved to see me presentable.

“What did this? This doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen before.”

“Bear.” I lied, trying to sound as confident as possible.

“Huh. Some bear.”

“Do you think I’m going to have any issues with the structure?”

“I think it’s going to be fine. I can take a better look when I do the porch, but I think you don’t have to worry.”

“I’ll take any relief I can get!”

He smiled. “Happy to help.”

We stood there for a long minute, smiling and nodding at each other in silence.

“Do you want to step inside out the cold for a second? I can talk about a few other projects I was thinking about. Also, I have cheese!” Oh god, what is wrong with me.

“Sounds great.”

I busied myself by fussing with the cheese cubes, arranging them on a plate while René took his coat and gloves off.

“Oh, you don’t have to bother with that,” he said, gesturing at the cheese. “I’ll just stick to my soup.”

He took a chrome thermos out of his backpack and took a sip. I nodded lamely. He sat on the couch, took out a notepad and began to write. The only seating in the living area of my cottage is the couch and the couch is actually more of a glorified loveseat. If I sat down, there wouldn’t be a lot of space between us. I’ll be honest—I was entirely okay with that.

As I put away my cheese knife, I noticed the silver bangles on my kitchen counter. With a pang, I was plunged back into the reality of my surroundings, the pain, the danger. I slipped them on my left hand. After all, there were a lot of things on the loose around here. Better safe than sorry.

I sat down next to René and looked over his shoulder, ostensibly reviewing his notes. I positioned my hand so that the silver touched his bare wrist, a move that was far less subtle in action than it was in my mind. He looked up at me quizzically, then down at my bracelets touching his skin. It was worth a try, I guess. I also managed to notice that he didn’t wear any ring on his left hand. I’m sorry, I’m shameless.

“You know, one of things that bothers me the most about my porch collapsing is the destruction of the beautiful gable trim that was original to the cottage. You can see intact examples on the other cottages. Do you know a woodworker who could recreate it?”

He grinned. “You’re looking at him! Who do you think did the original?”

“I always thought my great-grandfather did.”

“Not without my great-grandfather. He was a master woodworker. I think I probably still have his sketches somewhere.”

“Wow, that would be incredible. I guess I can understand why Martina called you.”

“I’m glad she did.”

He hadn’t pulled away when my arm touched his. It was nice to feel my heart rate rise from something that wasn’t a supernatural entity trying to kill me. I began to describe to him some of the other carpentry issues we’d been experiencing with the other cottages. Together, arms still touching, we created a task list and prioritized it, agreeing to focus on the repairs to my own cottage before moving on to Cottage 7 and the others. I could see his enthusiasm for the work grow as we chatted. All too soon he stood, took another swig from his thermos, and announced his departure.

“I think we can agree that despite our initial…misunderstanding that we’ve gotten a lot accomplished tonight.”

“Agreed.”

He waived his notepad. “I can run some numbers tomorrow and stop by after my shift in the evening again. Would that work for you?”

“Yes!” I said, probably a bit too eagerly. He smiled. Did I mention he had a great smile? I’m sorry. I’ll behave.

“Great. Motel office number best place to reach you?”

“You should probably use my cell.”

He retrieved the crumpled paper from his pocket and I added my number. We hovered next to each other for a few seconds. He nodded, put on his coat, and gathered his things. I followed him out the door and watched him walk away from the cottage towards the motel parking lot.

The high I felt from sitting with him faded away and I began to feel pathetic. It was nice to talk to someone. It was nice to smile, especially with an attractive guy. I took a deep breath and reluctantly put aside those pleasant thoughts to focus on the task at hand.

Sleeping so late, I had little concept of the actual time of day. Maybe I can force myself to nap a bit before dawn. In the meantime, I pulled out the notebook. I recalled I had a payment coming up the following night.

Cottage 5

Thirty turnips to be left out of any bag, box, or other container. Payment must be left no earlier than before the first island light, no later than the second island light. Confirm receipt.

Payment schedule: Every sixth months

Thirty turnips are obviously a lot, but fine. I would probably be going to a couple stores. However, the mention of “island lights” filled me with dread. As far as I knew, there weren’t any lights or signals regularly coming from the two islands directly in view of the property’s river edge. No panicking. I had to trust that when the time came, it would be apparent. I wondered what a young Martina thought of all of this when my grandfather had first instructed her. She did not record her reaction in the notebook, but I could imagine. It made me smile.

I decided to attempt sleep, setting my alarm for a decent morning hour lest I become permanently nocturnal. As I drifted off, a thought struck me. If René didn’t turn on the light in Cottage 7, who did?

++

I slept fitfully, besieged by odd dreams featuring turnips instead of handsome carpenters. Still, I didn’t feel groggy when my alarm went off. Nothing a little coffee can’t fix. I checked my phone, hoping to find a text from him and tried to downplay my disappointment that none appeared. Totally fine. I have turnips to buy anyway.

I had big plans to try the farmer’s market first, but then, upon further reflection, whatever this thing was, it wasn’t getting organic. Although I had feared I would be cleaning out every local grocery store in the area, the local big box superstore had plenty even if it was nearly forty minutes away.

Driving home, I noticed a dense fog had descended over the river, like a veil hiding the numerous islands that are our area’s namesakes. It enclosed the road in a wooly darkness, but luckily I was the only vehicle for miles. Out of the corner of my eye, fading in and out of sight was the shape of something emerging from the thickness, bobbing up and down like a buoy, but far above the waterline. Not wanting to distract myself, I tried to focus only on what was before me.

The object followed me for several miles and I began to become uneasy. I tried flipping on a radio station, but I could not divert my attention from it. Maybe it’s a bird, I thought, not convincing myself. It was swinging closer and closer, weaving back and forth. I didn’t dare look, though it felt as if I was being watched.

With a shriek, the thing swung out in front of my windshield. I slammed on the brakes, seatbelt knocking the wind out of me. Bobbing before me was a severed human head, it’s blackened tongue lolling out of its mouth, eyes frozen in the last moments before death, bulging with terror or perhaps surprise. The phantom head lingered, waving as if it were suspended on a great thread and dangled before me. After a few minutes, it faded back into the fog.

I tried to catch my breath, unsure if I had hallucinated the entire incident. Weeks ago, I would have come down firmly on that side, citing stress or lack of proper nutrition as the likely culprit. Now, I knew otherwise.

I finished the remaining miles home with the classic rock station blasting, trying to cleanse myself of the experience. The fog had largely dissipated by the time I arrived, revealing a crimson sunset. I sat on the bench with my turnips and took in the fresh air, regulating my breathing until I finally felt somewhat normal. I knew about various local legends and histories, but I never considered something haunting me outside of the property lines. It wasn’t a comforting thought.

When René came walking up the hill after the sun had dipped below the horizon, I was relieved.

“Good evening,” he said with a friendly wave. “Are those…turnips?”

“Oh these?” I gestured to the turnips as though they had just materialized before me. “I’m really into roasting root vegetables in the winter.”

He chuckled. “Okay, then.” He sipped from his thermos a few times before sitting down next to me on the bench. With a thrill, I realized our legs were touching. He took out a few sheets of paper with a hand written work proposal. We went over the numbers, which were surprisingly low.

“You’re barely going to cover your costs with these prices.”

“It’s fine. I have a day job, remember? Just happy to be doing carpentry work again.”

“If you say so. Thanks. Just as long as this isn’t the damsel in distress rate.”

He pretended to be aghast. “Damsel in distress? Weren’t you just lunging at me with a knife last night?”

We laughed. He told me that he not only had found his great-grandfather’s sketches for the gable trim, but also an entire set of blueprints of the cottages from the 1920s.

“Was there anything…out of the ordinary in those blueprints?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Not that I saw. Why did you ask?”

I contemplated telling him. On the one hand, I envied his innocence, living in the normal world without a thought about anything beyond. But if he wanted to work here, he deserved to know. Perhaps in years past, when the terms of engagement had been more predictable and limited, I could keep away the strangeness from someone like him. Ultimately, based on recent events, his life was just as much at risk as my own. Not just from the creatures haunting the cursed cottages. I thought of that …thing…that animated corpse that had attacked us in Cottage 7. If it killed Martina, it could kill any one of us. And I had no idea where it was.

I handed the proposal back to René.

“This is going to sound weird. And I completely understand if you never want to step foot onto this property again. But these cottages, this motel—the simple way to put it is that the whole place is haunted.”

I paused to gage his reaction. He didn’t scoff. He looked me in the eyes, listening, eyebrows knitted together in concentration. Emboldened, I elaborated, telling him that various cottages required certain payments, or offerings at designated times. I didn’t describe each entity, or even broach the more…serious…contribution on tax day. But I emphasized that these things were dangerous and that there was likely more danger to come.

When I finished, he sat thoughtfully for a moment, nodding.

“You’re not laughing in my face or trying to forcibly commit me to a psychiatric ward, so I’m assuming you don’t think I’m crazy.”

He shook his head. “Sounds like you have a lot on your plate.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“I don’t mind lending a hand around here. With carpentry or… whatever else.”

“Thanks. That is really great to hear.”

He smiled and patted my hand. I placed my other hand on top. He leaned in closer, but then abruptly stopped and pointed over my shoulder.

“What is that?”

I turned around. Shit. Shit. Shit. On the island directly across from us, there were lights, multiple lights, a bright burning green, moving around almost as if processing. I grabbed the turnips, leaving a confused René on the bench and bolted to Cottage 5. I shook the vegetables out of their bags in front of the porch door. I prayed I hadn’t lost that much time. Now I just had to complete my least favorite part—the confirmation of receipt.

René came running after me.

“Is this a… a payment?”

I nodded, winded.

“Now what?”

“Can you do me a favor and just hang out in my cottage for a bit?”

He opened his mouth to protest, but I shook my head.

“Trust me.”

He didn’t seem pleased with my command, but he shrugged and walked away. I saw, to my satisfaction, that he had gone inside as I requested. I sighed. The lights were on the move, now on another island even closer to the dock. With a low droning noise, they crept over the water, little flames dancing, swirling. They were mesmerizing, calming almost. My eyelids fluttered closed and I felt as though I were floating, flying too. No.

I forced myself awake and found myself surrounded by the flames. At the center of each was a turnip, carved with some jagged tool into faces of agony. The cottage behind me was completely illuminated from within—no, it was burning, green flames flickering out the windows. The circle of flames began to tighten around me, the droning became more intense, the sound was excruciating, as though it was coming from inside my ears, inside my skull, like insects writhing. I cried out and began to scratch at my face, but the noise only intensified.

The flames were so close to my face now, but they emitted no warmth. The sharp, angry faces of the turnips radiated hatred. I thrashed my head around, desperate to be free. The throbbing felt as though it was coming from behind my eyes, as though at any moment they would explode. You are fool, a voice pulsed through the sound. Fool. Fool. Fool. There is only one mistress here.

“Get away from her!”

At the sound of René’s voice, the hex was broken and the sound abandoned me. I collapsed, screaming, holding my face covered in blood. The flames recoiled and with a deafening shriek they disappeared one by one until we were alone. The grass where they had made their circle was blackened and scorched. René pulled me up, but took a horrified step back when he saw I was bleeding.

“Are you okay?” He looked down, fumbling in his pockets and pulling out some tissues.

“Fine, I think. Just some scratches.”

“What were those things?”

“I don’t know. This is my first go around, remember?”

He looked off into the distance, agitated and unnerved.

“You still have a chance to hop in your car and never come back,” I said.

“And yet I’m still here.”

The entities had called me a fool. I most certainly was. A fool in so many ways. I’m not sure how many more close calls I’ll get. Which is why I hugged René. At first he was surprised, but I felt his arms close around me too and I clung to him, trying not to cry, trying not to completely lose it. But I did. I sobbed, the tears falling so quickly that I thought I would never stop, running down my face, rose-tinged with blood. When I had finally finished, aching but at peace, we held each other for several minutes, in blessed silence. A lone owl hooted in the distance and the sound of something natural and normal almost made me cry again.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled away from him, just a little. His face was inscrutable, almost too pale, clearly shaken by what he had seen. He was scanning the horizon, examining the now serene islands completely enveloped by darkness.

“Something else happened to me today, René.”

“Go on,” he said patiently.

“As I was driving home, I saw something following me. It was … a ghostly head, just floating in the air. It got so close to my car, I almost hit it. And then it disappeared. I know this sounds unbelievably ridiculous.”

René became even paler and broke our embrace. He ran a hand through his hair, looking as though he was trying to choose his words carefully.

“Nora, where my family is from in Quebec, there is a story.” He closed his eyes as though remembering something painful. “A story of a phantom head materializing out of the fog, the spirit of a man who was damned. I forget the man’s transgressions and why he was so cursed, but one thing I do remember. It is said that those to whom he appears, those who see this ghost are doomed to die within the year.”

“And did you ever find the phantom to be mistaken with its choice?”

He hung his head and placed his hand on my shoulder.

“No. I did not.”

He walked me back to my cottage in silence and we said our goodbyes. Alone, shocked, and empty, I curled up with Martina’s blanket and willed myself to sleep.

x

[Part 7]

[Part 8]

[Part 9]

[Part 10]

[Part 11]