The House on Serpent Lake (Ghost, Romance, Fantasy) Read online

  “Welcome,” Mathews had written. “May you find joy in your home.”

  “How thoughtful,” Lindsay said. “We can have some tonight to celebrate.”

  Just as he was unloading sacks of groceries into the fridge, he paused and looked at her with a puzzled frown.

  “What makes you think there used to be a gazebo? I don’t ever remember seeing one here.”

  Lindsay shrugged. “Must have seen it in an old photo.”

  The rest of the day passed in a flurry of unloading the truck and returning it, then emptying the boxes of necessities. Eric placed his office furniture in the third bedroom instead of the attic.

  “It stinks up there,” he told Lindsay. “I just don’t like it.”

  Although she didn’t understand his aversion, she loved the thought of having the entire space as a studio where she could play music while painting and wouldn’t have to worry about disturbing him. She also wanted to get some comfortable furniture, perhaps an overstuffed chair or sofa, so she could take short breaks instead of coming downstairs.

  That evening, she stepped onto the front porch. Eric sat in the glider they’d picked up at a used furniture place and she eased down beside him. Her hair hung in her face and her cotton blouse stuck to her damp skin. She yawned.

  “Some vacation this is turning out to be. I’m more tired than if I’d worked all week.”

  “The hard part’s done now. And it’ll be worth it. Just look at that moon.”

  A breeze from the lake rustled the leaves on the maple trees. Crickets chirped and mosquitoes whined. In the night, the lake stretched out like a black silky ribbon, and the full moon rose high in the sky, creating a kaleidoscope of indigo and gray patterns as it passed through the night clouds. Strips of silver reflections shimmered on the water.

  “It’s beautiful here,” Lindsay said, burrowing close to Eric. “And so peaceful. But I’m too tired to appreciate it.”

  Eric kissed her forehead. “Poor baby. I’m all sympathy.”

  “I can hear how sympathetic you are. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I married a heartless bastard.”

  “Hmmm, maybe I’d better persuade you to keep me around.”

  “You could try.”

  Eric brushed her lips, more like a brother than a husband. Instead of allowing herself to feel hurt, she decided to approach the problem in a different way. If she showed him how much she loved him, was patient and understanding, maybe she could help him overcome whatever was troubling him. Then they could begin their new lives together.

  “Mmmm,” Lindsay murmured. “We should christen our new home like we did our apartment.”

  Eric drew back. Then, as if shrugging off doubts, he pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  In the bedroom, Lindsay pulled off the blankets on the new bed and they fell onto the crisp sheets together.

  When he kissed her, sliding his tongue into her mouth, Lindsay closed her eyes and tightened her arms around him. This was where she was the happiest, melted against her husband with his arms around her. He kissed her neck and gently sucked her earlobe, caresses that had always sent tingles along her spine.

  But now, she felt … nothing.

  Slowly, he unbuttoned her blouse and kissed the skin above her breasts. Lindsay helped him strip off her bra, then she lay back and sighed, waiting for the delicious sensation of his warm mouth on her breast.

  But something was wrong.

  She felt the gentle sucking pressure of his lips on her nipple. But nothing else. She felt apart, almost as if she were standing at a distance and watching.

  This had never happened before. She’d always responded to Eric, had loved feeling his body pressed against hers, had always gloried in their lovemaking.

  So what was wrong now?

  This was Eric, the man she loved more than life itself. She couldn’t let this happen. If she tried harder, it would work. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him and ground her hips into his.

  Eric paused over her nipples, gently tonguing and sucking each pink nub.

  Desperately wanting to respond, she opened to him, urging him close to her, welcoming the sensuous feel of his body pressed against hers. He rested his weight on his elbows, and she rejoiced in his warmth and the security of his arms.

  It was going to be okay. She could get through this. If she didn't feel the sexual lust she’d hoped, that was okay. She would just relax and wouldn’t force it.

  She slid her hand to his groin to caress him, but he changed position slightly so that she couldn't touch him. He seemed to renew his efforts at pleasing her, running his lips and tongue over her breasts, then lower, to her navel, then back up to the hollow of her neck.

  She wanted to love him, to give him as much pleasure as he was trying to give her. She kissed him on the ear, gently sucking on the soft lobe, and ran her hands over his buttocks. She reached around to caress him, to capture the warm hardness that had always thrilled her before.

  He was flaccid.

  A cold wave of shock washed over her. Didn’t she arouse him at all?

  She kissed him again, a little more deeply, a little more urgently.

  A loud clanging noise sounded from somewhere downstairs.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Probably the pipes.”

  Just as they kissed again, the noisy racket increased and reverberated up the stairway and throughout the house. Heavy thuds followed, sounding like a giant hitting the house with a colossal hammer.

  They sprang apart and sat up.

  “Good God.” Lindsay held her blouse over her breasts.

  Eric nearly leapt out of bed. “I’ll check it out.”

  They trailed the sound to the kitchen and flipped on the lights. A large puddle of water was spreading on the floor in front of the sink and when Eric threw open the cupboard doors and crouched down, he was drenched by water spraying from the drainpipe. Lindsay ran to get some towels, dropping one on the floor and handing the other one to Eric.

  “Oh hell! I have to turn off the water.” He turned off the water under the sink and grabbed a flashlight. After he went outside, the clanking gradually decreased until it was a dull thud. Lindsay mopped up the water and waited.

  Hoping the noise would stop, she fixed coffee for both of them and sat down to wait, but it continued, a light sound barely audible. But she could still hear it.

  After about twenty minutes, she wandered outside and met him returning from the brick pump house.

  “Did you find the problem?”

  “No, damn it.”

  Back in the kitchen she handed him a cup of coffee. “What do you think happened?”

  He brushed off the dirt from his face and clothes, then eased onto a chair.

  “I don’t know, but something might be wrong with the pump or the well. That knocking sounded like it came from somewhere underground.”

  “Can you fix it?”

  “That’s a major project, way beyond me. They’ll probably have to dig up half the lawn to fix that old well. Hell, it’s been around since the house was built. How about some of that Jim Beam and Coke? I could use it tonight.”

  She mixed the drink and he gulped it down.

  “Another one?” she asked. He rarely drank, only having a couple of drinks when they went out to a nice place for diner or a cold beer after yard work.

  Eric sipped his second drink. “I’ll call Mathews in the morning. Of all things to happen. New wells can run thousands of dollars and that’ll sure put a dent into our funds. If that happens, we’ll have to cut our vacation time short and head back home.”

  The house suddenly became quiet. Even the crickets no longer chirped.

  “Hear that?” she asked.

  “What? I don’t hear anything.”

  “It stopped! Maybe that’s a good sign. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all,” Lindsay said. “After all, it worked fine all of those years for your grandparents and aunts.”


  “Yeah, but look how long the place has been empty. Who knows that could’ve happened in that time.” He held up his glass. “Fix me another, would you? Damn, I guess you were right about this place. Maybe I shouldn’t have jumped at it after all.”

  She mixed another drink and handed him the glass. “Now that we’re in,” she said, looking around the newly scrubbed kitchen, “I’m loving the homey feel of the place.”

  Although outdated, she had begun to enjoy the comfortable feel of the large room—the soft golden walls with the apples and pears wallpaper, the shelves on the walls holding old mason jars and cookbooks from the Lutheran church’s Ladies Auxiliary. Even the freshly washed ruffled curtains looked just right, something she never thought she’d tolerate for a moment. It all felt homey, somehow, and comfortable, as if she were right where she belonged.

  “Ah ha! I knew thish, this,” he repeated carefully, “old place …” His words trailed off and he grinned. “Shouldn’ta had that lash drink. Been awhile.”

  “Well my goodness,” Lindsay said with a grin. “Are you a little tipsy?”

  “Reckon so.”

  “C’mon, big boy.” Lindsay pulled him to a standing position. “Let’s get you into bed.”

  Eric grinned agreeably and arm in arm, they climbed the steps. Upstairs, he stripped off his clothes, dropped onto the bed and promptly fell asleep. Lindsay got him under the covers and within a few moments he was snoring softly. She quickly checked the house, making sure the doors were locked, then undressed and cuddled next to him, tucking the blankets around both of them.

  The house seemed to sigh and the air shifted around her. The upstairs landing floorboards creaked as if someone were walking, but she wasn’t afraid. She knew from locking up that no one was in the house. It was simply the sounds of the old house settling.

  Just as she was drifting off to sleep, the spicy scent wafted gently to her, something familiar lying just underneath the furniture oil. A subtle aroma, yet something her senses recognized and welcomed. A kitchen spice? And perhaps something else she couldn’t quite name. But she didn’t care.

  Somehow, the scent comforted her.

  She slept.

  Chapter Nine

  A home inspector and a well-driller contractor spent the next morning testing the water system, and no irregularities were found.

  After the last workman left, Eric and Lindsay sat at the kitchen table with some coffee.

  “I don’t understand it,” Eric said. “Everything’s working fine.”

  “Well thank goodness for that.” Lindsay stirred a sweetener into her own cup. “Maybe now we can think about remodeling the bathroom. That pull chain toilet has to go.”

  “What’s the matter?” he teased. “Don’t you like roughing it? At least you don’t have to visit the privy in the woods.”

  “That’ll be the day.”

  Suddenly, Eric and the kitchen grew smaller and smaller until they faded completely, but she wasn’t alarmed. Instead, it seemed natural, as if she were watching a home movie and one scene faded out so the next could begin. She was outside in the night, wearing a long robe, tromping along a dirt path behind the house carrying a bulky flashlight. The outhouse, discreetly tucked behind pine trees was just a few feet ahead.

  She’d sure be glad when the new bathroom would be installed. Papa said if everything went right, it would be installed next week and she couldn’t wait.

  She wouldn’t let him know how excited she was, though. Other than her courtesy answers, she’d vowed she wouldn’t speak to him until he let her cut and style her hair in the short elfin style or even the poodle cut so popular with all the girls.

  It was the only way; one didn’t argue with Papa. His word was law. She just hoped he’d give in soon; she didn’t know how long she could keep up the angry façade. She’d nearly smiled today when his booming Swedish voice teased and cajoled her again.

  “Honey?” Eric asked, looking at her strangely.

  Lindsay stared blankly at him. She blinked and the images were gone. Outhouse? Poodle cut? Where on earth had that come from?

  Her mother had chided her for an overactive imagination, so that must have been what it was. Or maybe a story she’d read.

  “You okay?” Eric asked. “I could’ve sworn you left me for a minute. Reminded me of what Aunt Berina used to do.”

  “Well, whatever it was, it’s gone now.”

  “Want to take a ride in our new boat?” he asked. “We have to try it out, you know.”

  “Eric,” she said hesitantly, “we need to talk about last night. Are you having a potency problem? Is that why—”

  He jumped up from the chair. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “But honey, if you are, I understand. Especially with everything that’s happened lately. I love you no matter what, and together, we—”

  Eric’s cell phone interrupted her.

  “It’s Mark. I have to take it.” He bolted out of the kitchen.

  Damn. The call couldn’t have come at a worst time. They needed to work out their problems, not push them away as if they didn’t exist. But from the closed expression on Eric’s face, she knew he still wouldn’t talk.

  She didn’t know if impotence was his problem at all; he was much too young. It had occurred to her as a possible explanation, but she shouldn’t have blurted it out like she did. From everything she’d ever heard or read, men were extremely sensitive about their perceived masculinity, and when there were problems, they reacted in different ways. All she knew to do was to let him know she loved him no matter what, to support him, and listen when he felt ready to talk.

  Okay, she reasoned, that would explain his withdrawal from her, but what about her lack of response to him?

  She wandered to the front of the house. Eric was on the porch talking on the phone, so she drifted to the old Victrola.

  Would it still work?

  She raised the lid of the polished mahogany cabinet. Brunswick, the scripted gold label said on the inside. The top compartment held a turntable and a heavy metallic arm, its rounded end still holding a needle. A slim crank-handle protruded from the outside of the cabinet and the bottom front pulled opened to reveal slots holding old records, some 33 RPMs and a few 78s, each neatly cased in white paper sleeves, all in pristine condition. She thumbed through and discovered a treasury of recordings including classics by Billie Holiday, Irving Berlin’s “Lady of the Evening,” Enrico Caruso, and even a couple of Gene Autry’s records. Probably for Eric, she thought fondly, wondering what he’d been like as a boy.

  She picked “Only You” by The Platters and placed it on the turntable. She didn’t think it would actually work, but she cranked the handle anyway. When the turntable began to spin, she was thrilled. She placed the arm over the record, and when she heard the first scratching sounds from the cabinet speaker, she felt as excited as if she’d discovered a lost diamond mine.

  Elated, and with arms outstretched, she began to dance around the room in big, slow circles.

  Suddenly, the lights winked on and off. The music stopped. She halted and, heart sinking, stared at the Victrola. Was it a short circuit?

  Before she could check, the lights clicked back on and the machine whirled to life again.

  She closed her eyes and, humming along with the music, and began her dance again.

  The air thickened, and when whispers of the familiar fragrance wafted to her, she felt joyous. Large male hands gently led her in big open circles.

  How she loved waltzing with him.

  She opened her eyes, but as soon as she did, his touch faded and she was alone in the parlor.

  “Eric?” She glanced around the room.

  He opened the front door. “Sorry about that. It couldn’t be helped. Ready to go?”

  He couldn’t have been outside; he had danced with her. She had felt him.

  “Weren’t you just here? Dancing with me?”

  “I just got off the phone. Let’s go.”

>   She stared at him as if searching for an explanation.

  “Lindsay, not now. Let’s just enjoy the day.” Obviously he thought she wanted to talk again, and just as obviously, he didn’t.

  But that wasn’t why she was quiet. If she hadn’t seen Eric come in from outside, she wouldn’t have believed he hadn’t been dancing with her. After an uneasy glance around the room, she ran out the door.

  Eric followed her out. On the beach, he took her hand and helped her into the boat.

  “Honey, you’re trembling. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, really.” She stared at the house. What was it about the house that was causing her imagination to soar?

  She thought about the stories she’d told when she was very young, stories about another time and another life, of a lover and tragedy, but as she grew older and people began reacting to her stories with ridicule and scorn, the fantasies stopped and faded into memories. In time, even the memories disappeared.

  What was bringing them to life now? She didn’t need the old fantasies to return, couldn’t bear the derision on Eric’s face. Especially not now, not when they were having personal problems.

  He pushed the boat off the beach, jumped in, and they drifted until he yanked the cord for the motor. When it buzzed to life, he putt-putted them to the middle of the lake. It was nice, Lindsay thought, like gliding over water, but when he cranked it up and they took off, she forgot everything except the thrill of the ride.

  Sitting in the front of the small boat, she rode close to the surface and loved the splashing sound the bow made cutting through the water, loved the wind on her face and even loved the earthy, fishy smell of the lake. Never before had she experienced anything so exhilarating. She lifted her face to the sky and felt such peace and happiness in her heart that she wanted to shout with the joy of it.

  “Can we go faster?”

  Eric laughed. “I don’t want to open her up yet. It’s better to take it a little slower to see how she handles.”

  Serpent Lake teamed with life. They cruised by patches of tiny flying insects swarming in circles, and they witnessed a fish jump to snatch one of the bugs out of the air. Seagulls cried above them and crows cawed next to the treed shore.