LITMIR.BIZ

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black as pitch where it angled into the bank, but he couldn’t summon the energy to move. Let her come to him.

      Another burble of water. Closer this time, like a swell mushrooming against the shore. What the hell was the girl doing?

      He squinted but couldn’t make out anything in the darkness. His stomach contracted. “Shit. I…I think that schnapps might be talking back.” What a dick. Ivy would lecture him for being so dumbass stupid. Too drunk to care, he slumped backward and folded an arm over his eyes. His head threatened to roll from his neck, but the press of night-cooled grass against his T-shirt eased the acid in his gut.

      More sloshing where loose stones and weeds yielded to the Chinkwe. Either the big mother carp was back or Tina had decided to wade downriver. No way was he trudging back into that soupy muck.

      “Hey, just so you know…I was guzzling tequila earlier tonight.” He lied through his teeth, but it was the only way to live down getting drunk on cinnamon-crappy-schnapps. If only his head would stop spinning.

      Her footsteps came closer. Damn. The girl walked like a horse. Like she’d packed on two hundred extra pounds.

      A drop of water splattered his forehead. She loomed over him, the night charged with sudden, palpable anger. So, she was ticked. Big fucking deal. She was the one who’d brought the schnapps in the first place.

      “Just give me a minute.” Pulling his arm away, he blinked up at her. “I’m not—holy shit!”

      Graham crab-scrambled backward, pushing with his butt to escape the nightmare-thing hunched over him. His hands and heels carved out chunks of earth. Desperate to get his feet under him, he pitched to the side, gaining a single step before flopping on his face. His teeth sank into his bottom lip. He tasted dirt and blood, choked on fear, but couldn’t summon the breath to scream.

      Let it be a dream. Oh, God, let it be a dream!

      Fingers fisted in his hair and wrenched his head back.

      “No! No, please!” He dug his nails into the soil, grasped at stones. Anything to stay anchored. The monstrosity behind him—fuck, what the hell was it?—hauled him backward as if he weighed no more than an onion sack. Terror built in his throat, dispensed in a gurgle when the contents of his stomach spewed from his gut.

      The thing gripped him around the waist. Through the haze of his horror, he glimpsed a muscular blue arm, the hand tipped with yellow claws. Choking on vomit, Graham flailed at the imprisoning limb.

      “No!” Dragged toward the river, he wailed his head off. A closed fist clubbed his ear, driving his chin to his chest. The stench of vomit and river water clotted his nostrils. Sobbing, he struggled frantically. “Please, please, no!”

      The thing dropped him. Huddled on hands and knees, he gasped for breath. Was he safe? Was it really going to leave him alone? Turning his head, he chanced a glance, gazing upward at his attacker.

      A monster with cantaloupe head, flat nostrils, and fat, elastic lips.

      Whimpering, he inched away, his gaze locked on the burning white eyes in that hideous face. Its skin was blue, doughy and wet-looking, stretched tightly over protruding cheekbones.

      “Oh, God. Oh, God.” He covered his head, trying to make himself smaller. “Please don’t kill me.”

      Thick fingers knotted in his collar. Without a word, the creature hauled him to his feet and dragged him toward the river.

      Graham’s screams dissolved into blubbering.

      * * * *

      Rap. Rap.

      Rap. Rap. Rap.

      Maya jerked awake, trying to make sense of the sound that had intruded into her dreams. For a second, there was only silence before the distant knocking started again.

      Rap. Rap. Rap.

      Disoriented, she blinked away the mental fog and swung her feet over the side of the bed. The room was unnaturally cold, as if the air conditioning had dipped into the frigid zone. Reaching for the bedside lamp, she stole a glance at the clock.

      2:22 a.m.

      The wintry chill evaporated the moment she switched on the light. Nothing in her room appeared disturbed, the surroundings exactly as she’d left them over four hours ago when she’d called it a night. A standing oval mirror in the corner reflected the vintage rose pattern of the bedspread and the creamy fabric of tufted drapes drawn over the windows. She’d left her purse on the dresser, keys by her jewelry chest. A half dozen shoeboxes that had yet to find a place in the closet were stacked beside a white rocking chair. Made from distressed wood, the chair had come from Mrs. Bonnifer’s antique shop. Maya had bought it on the spot after hearing it dated from the 1880s. She’d placed it in the parlor initially, then moved it to the bedroom, where it fit perfectly in the corner by the fireplace. Almost as if it had been made for the spot.

      The fireplace had long ago been converted to gas, but the charm of the elaborate Victorian mantel had been one of the deciding factors prompting her to sign the lease.

      A soft creak broke the stillness, and the rocker pitched slowly back and forth. The runners bobbled up and down as if someone sat in the chair, controlling the movement. A finger of cold traced Maya’s spine. Second crept into second as the deliberate rocking continued, the floorboards creaking in unison with the lurch of the runners.

      Barely breathing, Maya stood. Ever since those few seconds in the Aether, she’d grown sensitive to ripples on the fringe of normal. She didn’t believe in ghosts or hauntings but couldn’t deny the existence of vibrations that breached barriers between life and death. She was living proof of a “between” world. Ivy was the only person she’d ever told what she’d experienced while EMTs fought to revive her.

      Shock. Trauma, they’d said. You were lucky.

      Be careful here. Mrs. Bonnifer’s warning echoed in her head. This place has history.

      Maya stepped to the foot of the bed, her gaze glued to the rocker. Its movement stopped abruptly as if an unseen hand had clamped down on the back.

      Rap. Rap.

      “Oh!” The cry caught in her throat, a twisted tangle of heightened nerves and prickly relief. Pressing both hands to her lips, she sucked in a shaky breath. “This is ridiculous.”

      It was an old house. Drafts made chairs move, and pipes tended to rattle. Or rap. Bolstered by the thought, she marched down the hallway in the direction of the noise.

      Rap. Rap. Rap.

      Maya stopped before the closed door to the front bedroom. She’d yet to decide how she planned to use the space, already turning the second largest of the three upstairs rooms into her office. The large room in the back had become her bedroom, leaving the smallest in the front empty. For the moment, it was a place to store the boxes she’d unloaded along with several that still needed to be unpacked.

      Rap.

      Maya pushed open the door. The light switch was inoperable without a lamp in the room, leaving the illumination from the hallway the only light to see by.

      Rap. Rap.

      The sound came from the wall nearest the staircase. There was nothing on the other side, only the attic above. She’d climbed the steps to the third level once since moving in but had done little more than peek from the stairwell at the dusty space.

      Rap. Rap. Rap.

      Maya pressed her fingertips to the wall. Leaning close, she rested her ear against the papered surface, staying that way for several seconds. The sound did not reoccur.

      Perplexed, she drew back. Was it possible water pipes ran through the wall and something was out of synch at a joint or elbow? Worse, what if a mouse or other small animal had become trapped inside? She’d heard of that happening and knew there wasn’t much that could be done, short of waiting for the animal to die and decompose.

      The thought

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