Shadows in the Sand (A Finn McCoy Paranormal Thriller Book 2) Page 4

  Now, here she was. The ocean water was way too cold for swimming; even an evening walk on the beach required a hoodie or sweater for warmth. The island on which her aunt and uncle lived had no restaurants, no souvenir shops, and no entertainment of any kind. It was just a bunch of houses and a lot of old people.

  As for the ocean itself, it had thrilled her for almost half a day, but that was only because she’d never seen it before. Well, she’d seen it on TV and in the movies, but never before in real life. Her hometown of Patton’s Point, Kentucky, was pretty much the polar opposite of White Pine Island. Where the island had fresh air and clear skies, Patton’s Point had a thin layer of black coal dust that coated everything. The constant rumble of coal trucks contrasted sharply to the gentle roar of the waves on the beach. And, while it was still chilly on the island, it had been much colder in Kentucky when they’d left.

  Still, Pru would have just as soon gone back home. Her friends were there, enjoying their week off from school. Pru had not seen a young person since they’d arrived, much less a kid her own age. Her aunt and uncle, whom Pru had not seen in years, were nice enough, but they were busy doing grown-up stuff with her mother.

  Pru knew that it was selfish of her to think this way. God knew that her mother had needed a break. In the two years since Pru’s father had died, her mother had worked nonstop to ensure that they would continue to have a roof over their heads and food on the table. Pru realized that it hadn’t been easy for her, and she often wished that there was something that she could do to help. But she was only a kid, and not fit for much other than getting in the way.

  The wind off the ocean whipped at her long, brown hair as she sat on the walkway steps which led from her aunt’s house down to the beach. So far today, the sun had refused to show itself for more than a few minutes at a time. Even the seagulls seemed listless, as if they were waiting for something and growing bored in the process. The regular pattern of the crashing waves was having a hypnotizing effect on Pru, and she was thinking about going back inside to take a nap when she noticed the figure standing at the water’s edge.

  At first glance it appeared to be a man, but Pru knew instinctively that it wasn’t. There was a wrongness about the way he looked, something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, yet nonetheless made the figure stand out like white paint on a black canvas. As she watched the figure, unconsciously holding her breath, the man looked up and saw her. She instantly averted her gaze, but she knew it was too late. He had seen her watching him, and had realized that she could see him.

  Pru was frightened, but not enough to jump up and run into the house. She remained seated on the step, trying her best to appear bored and unconcerned. When she looked back in the direction of the ocean, the figure had vanished. She gazed up and down the beach, but there was no sign of anyone, living or otherwise.

  Pru thought that this might turn out to be an interesting vacation, after all.

  ***

  Amanda came out of the tire store’s office and walked over to McCoy, who was pacing back and forth across the parking lot in an agitated manner.

  “Ten more minutes, then we’re outta here,” she announced. “And not a minute too soon. You’re starting to wear a rut in the asphalt.”

  “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” McCoy grumbled. “I still can’t get through to Nan.”

  “It’ll be okay. We’ll be there in a few hours.”

  “We should’ve driven on in on the spare.”

  “The donut? You’re not supposed to drive over a hundred miles on that thing, and even then not over fifty-five miles per hour.”

  McCoy shook his head and sighed. “Yeah, I know. Maybe I’m just overreacting. But I’d feel a heck of a lot better if I could just talk to her.”

  Amanda gently placed her hands on McCoy’s cheeks and turned his head to look at her. “I’m sure she’ll be all right. From the way you’ve described her, she seems like a pretty tough bird.”

  “You’re right,” McCoy said, smiling. “Have I told you that I love you?”

  “Not in the past hour or so. You’re overdue.”

  “Shame on me.”

  “You can make it up to me later.”

  “Proposition noted and accepted. I’m gonna get a soda. You still want that water?”

  “If you can find one.”

  McCoy walked across the street to a small convenience store, grabbed a cola and bottled water, and returned to the tire shop just in time to see Amanda’s car coming off the lift. Within minutes, they were on their way once more. As Amanda drove, McCoy reached into the back seat and retrieved his trusty knapsack. He began to silently rummage through its contents.

  “You hid a doughnut in there, didn’t you?” Amanda asked.

  “I’m doing something constructive, for your information.”

  From within the knapsack, McCoy produced a small leather bag, its sides bulging with unknown contents. He placed the bag on the dash, rummaged through the knapsack again, and withdrew a small vial. He removed the vial’s cap and poured three drops of the liquid inside on the leather bag.

  “That smells pretty good,” Amanda said. She kept glancing over, curious as to what McCoy was up to.

  “Keep your eyes on the road, please. I’d hate to rear-end a semi before I finish this.”

  “Yes sir.”

  McCoy recapped the vial, placed it back inside the knapsack, and brought out a white candle. Another trip inside the knapsack produced a lighter, and he flicked it and lit the candle.

  “Finn, are you crazy? Lighting that in here?”

  “Shhh. Watch and learn. Or better yet, watch the road and I’ll tell you all about it.” He tilted the burning candle over the bag and let a drop of molten wax fall onto it. Satisfied, he snuffed out the candle and replaced it in the knapsack, along with the lighter.

  McCoy mumbled a few words, low and hushed, that Amanda couldn’t understand. He then hung the leather pouch from the rearview mirror, sat back in his seat, and looked generally pleased with himself.

  “Okay,” Amanda said at length. “Are you going to tell me what the hell that was about?”

  “Oh, yeah. Well, the flat tire was probably just an accident. Probably. Just to be on the safe side, though, that little baby will keep us from being slowed down by any…outside interference.”

  “Outside interference? Such as?”

  “You know. Magical, supernatural, demonic—whatever.”

  “You think that something else made that tire blow? I mean, other than a rock, nail, piece of glass? Manufacturer’s defect?”

  “I’m not saying that at all. I said it was probably just an accident. I’m just trying to cover all the bases here.”

  “Could a ghost do that?” Amanda asked, suddenly worried. “I mean, cause a tire to blow while we’re doing seventy down the interstate?”

  “Depends on the ghost. For the most part, no. Something like that requires a lot of energy, and that’s a thing ghosts don’t have much of.”

  “So you don’t think that the ghost you saw earlier could be responsible?”

  “No way. Poor fella fizzled out right in the middle of a dire warning. It was taking everything he had just to project himself.”

  “What about the other ghosts Nan saw?”

  “I don’t think so,” McCoy said, shaking his head. “A ghost just wouldn’t have the energy, unless one of us were being haunted, in which case the spirit would be attached.”

  “You mean right here in the car with us?”

  “Yeah, but don’t worry. We’re clean.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “I do have a little experience with this stuff,” McCoy said with mock indignation.

  “Okay,” Amanda relented. “But if it’s not a ghost, then what?”

  “I didn’t say it was anything. I just wanted to take precautions. It just seems a little strange, that tire blowing minutes after the ghost’s warning.”

  “Hanging with you, it�
��s awfully hard not to become paranoid.”

  McCoy removed his straw cowboy hat and ran his fingers through his graying hair. “It’s not paranoia if they really are out to get you.”

  ***

  Pru glided stealthily behind the dunes as she shadowed the ghostly figure on the beach. Tracking the phantom wasn’t easy, for it kept disappearing, only to reappear at some distance further along the shore. As far as Pru could tell, the ghost was unaware of her presence, and she was keen to keep it that way. So far, she had not felt any threatening vibes coming from the spirit, but if she had learned anything in her limited dealings with the supernatural, it was that you couldn’t assume anything. If you got too comfortable, too smug, you were liable to get hurt. Pru had seen that happen plenty of times in the movies.

  Of course, this wasn’t a movie, or even one of her favorite TV shows that chronicled the adventures of certain ghost hunting groups. Pru was young, but she was old enough to know the difference between reality and make-believe. This was real. The ocean and the sandy beach were real. The gray sky above her was real. The ghost was real, too. And it wasn’t the first she’d seen.

  Pru had been seeing things for as far back as she could remember. When she was younger, her parents had simply attributed it to a child’s overactive imagination, much to Pru’s consternation. By the time she was six, however, Pru had realized that no one else saw the things that she did. From that point on, she had wisely opted to play things close to the vest, somehow realizing that no good would come from trying to convince others that what she saw was real.

  Ghosts weren’t really bad at all. For one thing, there weren’t very many of them. She could probably count on one hand the number of times she’d come into contact with an actual ghost. For another, spirits of the dead were usually preoccupied with whatever unfinished business tied them to this world and were more or less unconcerned with what was happening around them. They tended to be uncommunicative to the point of being quite rude, and were not naturally malevolent toward the living, unless they considered a specific person responsible for their current state.

  Demons were altogether another matter. In their natural form, they appeared as a dark fog or shadow, but could mimic the appearance of any living creature when it suited their needs. Unlike ghosts, demons were more than willing to communicate with the living, though their motives were always evil. As far as Pru could tell, these beings existed only to inflict pain and suffering on the living. When in the presence of a demon, Pru was always careful to act as if she were totally unaware of the entity, for some instinct told her that it would be very dangerous if the demon knew that she was aware of its presence. That same instinct also told her that she was too young, too small, and far too inexperienced to attempt challenging one of the fiends face to face.

  Pru stopped and peeked above the nearest dune. The ghost was there, visible at the water’s edge, about a hundred yards ahead of her. It was making its way slowly but steadily towards the pier. At this point of the island, the houses were fewer and more scattered. It occurred to Pru that perhaps the ghost was intentionally leading her to a less populated area. It certainly felt as if she were being led. It was unusual for a ghost to remain visible, even to one such as Pru, for such an extended time in the middle of the day. The obvious assumption was that the ghost was aware that she was following it, and that it was taking pains not to lose her.

  While this was puzzling to Pru, it did not overly concern her. She knew that a ghost would have to be in possession of a lot of energy in order to actually physically hurt a person, and most spirits just didn’t have that kind of power. Still, if the ghost was not luring her away from the more populated area of the island in order to attack her, then what was its purpose? It was her experience, limited though it was, that ghosts rarely preformed random acts. There was always a purpose behind their movements.

  The only way to answer that question was to continue trailing the ghost. Pru ducked back down behind the dunes and resumed her stealthy surveillance. She just hoped that they would get to wherever they were going soon.

  If her mother found out how far away from her aunt’s house she’d already travelled, Pru would be in for a bad night.

  ***

  The Gray Man knew that the girl followed him and, not for the first time, he felt a pang of guilt. She was young—not even into her teens yet—but what choice did he have? She was the only one around who could see him, and was thus the only living being who might be able to help. The man that Lady Roberts had contacted and that the Gray Man himself had appeared to earlier would not make it in time. Therefore, the girl would have to suffice.

  It took a considerable effort on the Gray Man’s part just to remain visible long enough to ensure that the girl followed. Had the girl not been sensitive to the paranormal, he would have failed even in this respect. It had been a mistake to contact the man; the distance had simply been too great. Now, the Gray Man was left with precious little energy, and time was of the essence.

  Two hundred yards down the beach, Lady Roberts’ house loomed against the cloudy sky. The Gray Man paused to scan the choppy ocean. In the water directly in front of the Roberts’ beach house, two shadowy figures bobbed up and down with the ocean’s current.

  The Gray Man redoubled his efforts. Using the last of his remaining energy, he moved as quickly as he dared toward the house.

  He hoped that the girl would continue to follow.

  Chapter Five

  “I knew we should have taken the bypass,” Amanda said as the first droplets of rain splashed onto the windshield. She shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. “At least we made it out of Myrtle.”

  “How was I to know they were having some kind of bloody convention?” McCoy grumbled. “It should have been a ghost town this time of year.”

  “Well, we should arrive at our ghost town, or island, in less than half an hour.” Amanda glanced up at the threatening sky. “From the looks of things, it won’t be a moment too soon, either.”

  They travelled along South King’s Highway through Surfside and Garden City Beach. These areas, which had not benefitted from an out-of-season convention, seemed dull and listless in the grayness of the approaching storm. Most of the shops, which relied on income from the seasonal tourist trade, were closed, their window displays resembling faded photographs from the previous summer.

  McCoy had assumed that his trepidation would lessen as they neared their destination, but the opposite was proving to be true. The dread within him was growing with each passing mile. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact source of his unease, but he was certain that it had to do with Nan. Though McCoy was grateful that Amanda had accompanied him, he found himself wishing that he was behind the steering wheel. Amanda was a good driver, but she tended to adhere to speed limits and traffic signals a bit too often for McCoy’s taste.

  To their left, McCoy could get an occasional glimpse of the Atlantic, its white-capped waves pounding the shore in a continuous onslaught. Even on a dreary day such as this, the ocean had a strong hypnotic effect. In part, this was the reason McCoy had avoided vacations over the years; he never felt comfortable letting his guard down completely. He was, after all, keenly aware of the supernatural entities which lurked at the fringe of what was commonly thought of as reality. And if you knew about these beings, you could bet your britches that they knew about you. A person with knowledge of the paranormal was like a lighthouse shining its beacon on a dark night to those entities; they were drawn to you, and seldom with the best of intentions.

  McCoy was much more comfortable in the mountains where he’d been born and raised. Though his close proximity to the Fey meant that he likely had more to fear there, he was nonetheless more at ease in the foothills of the Appalachians. Though he preferred to meet trouble head-on, there were many instances where he simply wasn’t prepared to handle the situation, thus making a strategic retreat necessary. In those cases, knowing the lay of the land, or which way to run, was cru
cial.

  “I’ve got a feeling I’m not ready for this,” he muttered. “I don’t like having to fly by the seat of my pants.”

  Amanda glanced over at him. “There’s no way we can know for sure what’s going on until we get there. You said that yourself. Calm down. I’m sure it will be all right.”

  “I just wish I’d gotten a clearer message from that ghost back at the store. I do know that it wanted me to hurry, and spirits aren’t usually given to hysterics.”

  “But how do you know it was being truthful?”

  “Demons lie. Ghosts, on the other hand, almost always tell the truth. That’s why they’re highly sought after among necromancers and fortune tellers.”

  “Fortune tellers?” Amanda sounded skeptical.

  “The real deals, not the ones you see at the carnival. They’re rare, and even the best ones get precious little information from the spirits. Ghosts may not lie, but they’re not exactly what you’d call chatty, either.”

  “Well, we’re really close now. If the situation is that grave, wouldn’t the ghost try to contact you again?”

  “Maybe he used up too much energy on the first attempt. Or maybe it’s already too late.”

  Amanda had nothing to say that would make McCoy feel any better, so she concentrated on driving, instead. Ahead of them, the gray sky seemed to separate itself from the heavens and rush gently toward them, threatening to envelop and isolate them from the rest of the world.

  ***

  Pru huddled behind the sand dune as she tried to decide what to do. She really wanted to finish this quest, but it was starting to rain harder and she was afraid she was going to get into trouble. Surely her mother had already called for her; it would only be a matter of time before it was discovered that she wasn’t at the beach house. And if they had to come looking for her … well, it wouldn’t be good.