Heather Graham - The Cursed

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 Victorian glory, staring at her.

“What the hell was that?” Hannah demanded. “Did you bring a friend in? A dying man with his throat slit, carrying a knife and trying to kill my guests?”

“No!” Melody protested.

“That was unbelievable. I’ve never had guests up and leave at 4:00 a.m. before. Never. And I’ve never had to refund anyone’s money before, either.” Angrily, Hannah crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the ghost with whom she had shared this house for as long as she could remember. The original owner had been Hannah’s great-great-great grandfather on her father’s side, but she had actually inherited the house, already a B and B at that point, from her uncle. She had been his favorite niece, and she had loved him and the house. Sadly, he had died in his late forties from a sudden heart attack, and she had inherited the Siren all too soon. He had known how much she loved the place. She’d spent much of her time there with him, since her parents—who had lived a few blocks away on Simonton Street—had both worked.

She knew the house backward and forward—along with its ghosts.

She fought to control her temper. “Melody, a little spooking the guests is fun, but this time you and Hagen went too far. I’m fighting to keep this place, but I can’t do that if I don’t make a profit. You two just scared all our weekend guests away. And Shelly, the poor girl who saw you, was beyond terrified. And from what she described, I don’t blame her.”

“You did not listen to me, Hannah,” Melody protested, staring at her with wide eyes, pleading to be believed. “We did not do it. Hagen would never do anything like that. You know how squeamish he can be. And look at me. Do I look like a bleeding man with a knife? And who do I know? The same spirits you do! I do not know of a single spirit walking around Key West with a bleeding neck and a knife in his hand.”

Melody and Hagen didn’t refer to themselves as ghosts and didn’t like to be referred to that way. Of course, tourists and most locals called the city’s haunts ghosts, but Hannah was usually careful and polite, following their wishes and calling them spirits within their hearing.

And with her temper cooling, now that the brouhaha in the house had died down, she had to admit that she really couldn’t picture her resident ghosts turning themselves into the terrifying apparition described by her now-gone hysterical guests. But if her two known household entities hadn’t been playing tricks...