Page 112 of It Happened on the Lake

Had there been footsteps? A groan of the old steps?

Hadn’t she, rusted scissors in hand, checked? And she’d looked at her reflection in the mirror and seen no evil little face in the reflection.

To confirm her memory, she went back to the bed, felt inside the sleeping bag, and sure enough the shears were where she’d placed them.

And nothing had happened.

The doll was in the wrong place, but she hadn’t been assaulted last night. So why would anyone go to the trouble of putting Maude on the shelf? It didn’t make any sense.

Now that her racing heartbeat had slowed, she was thinking more rationally. She picked up the doll. No, she didn’t remember even touching her. So . . . why? Turning it over in her hands, she heard the weak little “Ma-Ma” sound again.

“What are you doing up here, Maude?” she whispered, turning the doll over and catching sight of something red showing beneath the dingy pinafore. She lifted the once-white hem. A single word was scrawled in dark red across the doll’s belly:ICU.

“What the—?” She dropped the doll as if burned.

It hit the floor with a thud, sputtered a pathetic little “Ma-Ma,” and lay crumpled, its head twisted at an unnatural angle, its eyes wide and condemning.

“No,” Harper whispered, backing up until her hips hit the cold porcelain sink in the bathroom.

Had the red message scrawled on the doll’s belly been recently added, or was it old? Maybe Gram had loaned it to the hospital and it was marked with ICU. No, no, that didn’t make any sense. Harper was pretty sure toys weren’t allowed in Intensive Care.

So obviously the message was left for her. And obviously someone had been in here last night.

Who?Who would do this to her?

How?How did they get in?

Her blood turned to ice as she thought of someone creeping past her bed as she lay sleeping, someone pausing to watch her, someone sick.

Get a hold of yourself.

Don’t lose it.

For the love of God, Harper, donotlose it!

With trembling fingers, she picked up the doll gingerly, as if she expected it to come to life.

Pull yourself together. It’s only a child’s toy. Old and slightly creepy, but just a damned doll.

She managed to examine the message more closely.

ICU. Again, she thought of the Intensive Care Unit in a hospital. St. Catherine’s. Where Cynthia Hunt had been taken. And where she’d died.

Was this some kind of warning? Was she being blamed for Cynthia’s death?

Or . . . she read the message aloud. “I. C. U.” She paused, then came up with “I. See. You.” Well, no shit. Anyone who had put the doll in the attached bathroom had definitely seen her. An extremely unsettling thought. “They’re telling me I’m being watched?” Her insides curdled at the thought. What was to say that the intruder had left? What if he were still in the huge house, hiding in a myriad of dark corners and hidden spaces?

Her throat went dry. Swallowing back her fear, she listened. Hard. Did she hear the creak of a floorboard over the rumble of the furnace? Was that the sound of a door clicking open, or was that her overactive imagination?

Get a grip, Harper.

Every instinct on high alert, again she armed herself with the scissors. She moved quietly, carrying the disgusting doll with its disturbing message down the stairs.

No sound over the whisper of the October wind buffeting the windows.

No door softly closing.

No rushed, padded footsteps.