The Cursed. Heather Graham
once they graduated; she was even looking for a graphic art job in the same city, Plantation, where he already had something lined up.
Stuart loved Shelly. He didn’t like to see her genuinely frightened.
She offered him a weak smile. She’d already changed into a pair of Disney pajamas—pretty obvious he wasn’t getting through those cute characters tonight. He didn’t care; he just wanted her to feel better. “I know you’re trying to help,” she said.
He caught her by the shoulders and urged her down on the luxurious bed. “They’re just stories,” he told her. “Sad memories of someone else’s past.”
“Yes, but...I can feel the stories. Does that make sense?” she asked.
In a way, yes, he thought, given where they were staying. The owner of the Siren of the Sea bed-and-breakfast—Hannah O’Brien—believed in doing it up right. The house had been built in 1839, and the care it had received over the years was extraordinary.
He had, he thought, done exceptionally well in choosing a place to stay for their trip down to the southernmost city in the United States.
But Shelly whispered, “If only we hadn’t stayed here.”
Of course. Their tour that night had started out from their bed-and-breakfast. Hannah herself, a lovely young woman not much older than they were, had been their tour guide, and she’d started with the tale of the B and B’s own ghosts.
There were several, supposedly. The most often seen was Melody Chandler, who paced the widow’s walk atop the roof, eternally waiting for her lover, Hagen Dundee, to return from the sea. He had died saving lives rather than cargo when her father’s ship Wind and the Sea had floundered just minutes after striking out from Key West, dashed to pieces on the reef by the sudden rise of a summer storm. There had been rumors of violent fighting with another salvager in the midst of the wicked storm—rumors that suggested Dundee had actually been murdered.
Melody had been convinced he wasn’t dead, that she would have felt it had he perished. Two weeks later, in the midst of another storm, she saw lights on the water and believed her lover had somehow survived in the ocean and been helped by a passing boat that was returning him to shore. She had raced down to what was now Smathers Beach, only to be swept away herself in the raging gale.
Now, Melody was sometimes seen on the beach when the sun set and night came on, while at other times she paced the roof of the Siren of the Sea. Occasionally she was even observed in the backyard, where what had once been a pond was now a small swimming pool surrounded by tiled paths, lush greenery and beautiful flowers.
And Hagen...well, Hagen had been seen opening the doors of the bed-and-breakfast time and again, searching for Melody.
“They’re real,” Shelly said. “I can feel them. I just—I just can’t go to sleep right now. I’m too wound up.”
Stuart felt himself perk up at those words, but the feeling was quickly dashed when she saw the hope in his eyes.
“No, I do not want to fool around,” she said. “Stuart, I’m sorry, but I just...can’t.”
He heard laughter from outside, soft and quiet. There were rules here at the Siren of the Sea. Hannah didn’t close the pool at night; she only asked her guests be quiet and respectful of others.
“Okay,” Stuart said. “That’s okay. But, if you can’t sleep, why don’t we join whoever is out at the pool? There’s even a small hot tub. Maybe that will make you sleepy.”
Shelly’s nod of gratitude was worth a night of not fooling around. He felt like a hero just from the way she was looking at him.
She rose, diving for her suitcase and bathing suit. He quickly grabbed his own trunks and tried not to watch her change. Even though she was scared, he couldn’t help himself and was feeling pretty hot and bothered.
Not much to see, though. She changed quickly then turned and gave him her beaming smile.
“Um, I think there are some beers in our minifridge,” he said.
She shook her head. “No more alcohol, please.”
“Soda?”
“Sure, thanks.”
That was another high point of the Siren of the Sea. Every one of the six large bedrooms contained a minifridge and microwave. Stuart collected two plastic bottles of soda, grabbed a couple of towels and smiled at Shelly, who smiled back, looking a little less frightened.
They left the room quietly and headed down the stairs. Whoever had been there earlier was gone. He set their sodas and towels on the old Victorian lawn chairs by the pool and jumped in. It was a small pool, only fifteen feet by thirty, adjoined by a small circular hot tub.
Shelly followed him in. For a few minutes they swam silently, and then, in unspoken agreement, they slipped over the divide into the hot tub. They sat together for a while, still without talking. The night was beautiful. A full moon rode high in the sky, and nearby hibiscus bushes and tree limbs thick with green leaves moved gently in the breeze.
“You okay?” he asked Shelly finally.
She nodded. “This was good. Thank you.” She smiled. “I love you. Let’s dry off. I think I can sleep now.”
They hopped out and went to get their towels. Stuart loved the period lawn chairs. They made him think of giant mansions and croquet fields, with men in knickers and women in white gowns wearing big white hats to shade their faces from the sun.
“Wanna lie here and dry off for a few minutes?” Shelly asked him.
“Sure, great.”
They stretched out their towels and lay in the moonlight, hands entwined as they looked up at the stars. Hannah kept subtly arranged lights burning in the garden that gently illuminated the lawn with their soft glow. The spring day had been warm, and the night was kissed by a pleasantly balmy breeze.
Stuart closed his eyes. “It’s beautiful here,” he murmured. “Too bad that massive ad agency that wants to offer me the almost-big bucks isn’t down here, because I could live here.”
“Easily,” she whispered.
Peace and serenity surrounded him. He really did love the Keys. There was something magical that happened once you left the mainland behind.
The air was so soft and nice, the lounge so comfortable, that he began to drift off.
Then Shelly screamed. It was a scream of pure and absolute terror.
His eyes flew open as he bolted up and saw...a strange man standing over Shelly. The stranger was gripping his throat with his right hand and making choking noises. Stuart was too startled, too terrified to be sure, but it looked as though something was oozing through the man’s fingers. Blood?
In his left hand the stranger held a knife. A huge bowie knife.
He heard another scream and realized that, just like Shelly, he, too, was screaming in pure, gut-wrenching, primeval terror.
He thought he saw the knife move, glittering silver and red in the moonlight as the stranger raised it and then sent it slashing down toward Shelly.
1
Hannah O’Brien walked into the large kitchen, ready to throw something. The past hour had been pure bedlam—guests hysterical and screaming, she herself completely baffled.
Of course she had offered to refund everyone’s money and suggest a beautiful chain hotel for them to check into.
She opened her mouth, not to scream, but to call out for immediate attention. Because she couldn’t think of anything else that might have happened except that one of her permanent residents had played a not-very-funny trick on her unsuspecting guests.
Melody Chandler was already there, leaning against the refrigerator in her beautiful