Fables & Other Lies Page 2

  “No.” It was a lie. I would give up my shiny white EF 800mm lens to walk those halls and see how it really was inside.

  “You look like you would.” He eyed my attire. “Dressed in all black like that.”

  We both reared forward, then back as the boat was parked and anchored. Martín was still waiting for my response. There were a million things I could say—I always wear all black, like Johnny Cash, like Batman—but I chose to go with the truth, one I hadn’t spoken aloud to anyone at all, so why not say it to a complete stranger?

  “I’m here for a funeral. Or do you suppose I should wear a celebratory color to honor my own father’s death?”

  Chapter Two

  “The Devil is laughing tonight, but he laughs alone,” Don Jose said during his eulogy. “We will not succumb to his greed or be tarnished by his wrongdoings. Maximo Guzman was a good man, a great man. Gia Guzman is a great woman and needs our help and prayers now more than ever. May we lift her up in the light so that she will come back to us.” He bowed out and walked back to his seat at the front of the church. Both women and men muttered their prayers in agreement and wiped their faces.

  I stood in the back of the room, with my head bowed, thinking about how much I hated funerals. I hated the condolences that came with the side hugs, shoulder pats, and the eulogies that spoke of everyone being so perfect, when most people sitting in the room knew otherwise. We were all fallible. We were never all good, despite how much we tried to be, or all bad, despite what others said about us. I wished this entire thing wasn’t so hypocritical. Maximo Guzman was a good, great man. Sure, he’d turned his back on his own daughter when she was just a kid. No one had anything to say about that? No one cared about the fact that I’d had to couch surf and pay my own way through photography school all the while my parents were sitting in their golden mansion surrounded by yes-people and praying to false prophets? It angered me to think about, so I tried to push it away, but it was no use, the anger simmered. Instead of walking toward the open casket, I walked outside, shutting my coat tightly around myself as I pushed through the cold breeze.

  “Hey.” My best friend Dee’s voice made me glance up. She flicked her cigarette away and blew out smoke. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Before or during your cigarette break?”

  “You know I hate funerals.” She walked over and wrapped her arms around me.

  “Where’s Law?” I asked.

  “He’s around.” She pulled away. “He had to leave. He and his girlfriend got into a huge argument.”

  “Huh. Did you get to meet her?”

  “No, she was too spooked by the island to even come out for drinks last night.” Dee smiled, shaking her head. “Her loss.”

  “Yeah. Her loss.” I smiled back. “Speaking of drinks . . . ”

  “Yeah, let’s go to Dolly’s. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you and serve you until you get so drunk you won’t even remember this awful time.”

  “I doubt anything can make me forget this.” I linked my arm around hers.

  “How was the ride over? I’m not going to lie, I can’t believe you took that shitty bus.” She smiled as we walked, the gravel beneath us crunching underneath our boots.

  “It was fine. I mean, it had four wheels and brought me over. It was safer than the alternative.”

  “I’m sorry.” She groaned. “Have you been to visit your mom yet?”

  “Not yet. I’m not sure that I’m ready to see her.”

  The truth was, I wasn’t even ready to be back here at all. My parents had been in a freak accident when their seaplane went down. By all accounts it had been a clear day, which wasn’t uncommon in the summer. Those who saw the plane go down assumed it would be fine, as it was already landing and grazing the water, and then everything went wrong. The clouds turned black, the fog lifted out seemingly of the ocean, and lightning struck. An awful combination that sounded more like something from a Hollywood movie than real life, but it was, and there was enough video evidence being sent all around the world for anyone to question the story’s validity. Ever since the accident my mother had been flowing in and out of consciousness, at home, with nurses watching her twenty-four-seven, and my father suffered a heart attack as he was being pulled out of the plane. None of it made any sense, but here we were.

  “Do you think it was the curse?” Dee asked, a whisper, as we reached our Vespas—hers bloodshed red, mine pale blue—and picked up our helmets, securing them on our heads.

  “I don’t believe in the curse. You know that.”

  “Still, Penny. You saw the video.” Her eyes widened beneath the clear plastic of the helmet. “You can’t deny how crazy that was, and with everything else . . . ”

  “I don’t believe in curses.” I turned around to get on my Vespa. “I’ll meet you at Dolly’s.”

  I really didn’t believe in curses, but there was no denying that something evil lurked on this island. Whether it came from the Caliban Manor or our own, or the village, I didn’t know, but it was there. Not one Guzman had lived a long, happy life, free of health issues or a tragic death. As far as I knew, the Calibans suffered the same fate. When I lived here, I’d made it a point to keep them out of sight, out of mind. The less I thought about them, the fewer chances I had of welcoming any of that into my life. When I reached Dolly’s Bar, I parked, switched off my motor, and took off my helmet, hanging it from the handle. I watched as Dee did the same beside me. Inside, we sat in our usual booth, one we hadn’t sat in for over six years.

  “It feels so strange to be back here,” I said after we placed our drink orders with Dolly.

  “Mind if I join you?” The familiar voice was Martín’s. He was dressed in a dark blue polo shirt and khakis.

  “You still stick out like a sore thumb,” I said. “No one here wears khaki.”

  His smile fell. “Is that why I just paid thirty-five dollars for a rum and coke?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Dee laughed. “And you may join us, if that’s okay with Penny. I’m not sure what’s going on here.” She signaled at Martín and me.

  “Oh. No.” I shook my head, frowning slightly. “We just met today. Nothing is going on.”

  “She was kind enough to let me talk her ear off,” he said, then looked at me. “Mind if I join?”

  “Not at all.” I started to scoot over, but Dee beat me to it, and from the twinkle in her eye I could tell she was interested. I laughed lightly and glanced away just in time to see Dolly bringing us our drinks.

  “Oh, this young man is with you?” She set a martini in front of me and a whiskey on the rocks in front of Dee. “You should have told me.”

  “Just so you know, we’re paying regular price.” I winked, getting a laugh out of her.

  “I wouldn’t dream of charging you any more than regular price.” She winked as she started to walk away. “You haven’t been here in a while, but you can order with the tablets on the table and they’ll bring your food right out.”

  “Thanks, Doll.”

  “Anytime, love.”

  “Thirty-five dollars?” Dee whisper-shouted. “She must be making a killing this week.”

  “You’re not kidding.” I looked around the bar. “I don’t think I see one familiar face. Has it been like this every year?”

  “Not really,” Martín said, setting his drink down. “I’ve been here for the last three and this is the most crowded I’ve seen it.”

  “Wow.” I sipped on my martini.

  “I usually leave for Carnival,” Dee said, “I mean, I haven’t lived here for what, four years now? But even then, when I come back home I make sure not to come this week.”

  “I can’t imagine being from here and not reveling in this,” Martín said.

  “That’s because you’re not from here,” Dee and I said at the same time, then laughed.

  “Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad.” He shot the two of us a look. “Besides, I already told you, I enjoy haunts.”

 
“So does Penny and you won’t catch her on this island unless it’s an emergency.” Dee chuckled, then jutted her chin out to me as she sipped her drink. “Did you tell him about your photography blog?”

  “No.” I shot her a look. “I don’t make it a point to tell strangers about my work.”

  “What photography blog?”

  “The Haunt,” Dee provided.

  “The blog? No fucking way.” Martín’s jaw dropped momentarily. “You run that? I thought you didn’t like haunts.”

  “I lied. Sue me.” I rolled my eyes and focused on my drink.

  “Not to be a fanboy or anything, but I’m on there every single day. Do you ever look at the message boards? I’m FableKing66.”

  “Nope.” It was another lie. FableKing66 was one of my biggest contributors as far as theories about the haunted houses went.

  “She’s lying. She just hates attention,” Dee said. “I bet she can tell you the last time you posted.”

  “Maybe a year ago, but not anymore.” I laughed.

  “Right, I forgot, you passed the million followers threshold.” She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

  “Do you know Goddess19?”

  “Of course. She starts most of the topics.”

  “She’s sitting right beside you.” I nodded at Dee, who was now blushing furiously.

  “You’re kidding.” Martín looked at her, mouth agape. “Dude!”

  “Oh my God, Penny.” Dee was still blushing and still trying to hide behind her drink. “It’s like your own little fan club meetup right here on Pan Island.”

  I laughed loudly. Martín was still shell-shocked, apparently, because he was looking between Dee and me and not saying much, which was odd for him as far as I knew.

  “Are you going to the party at Caliban Manor?” he asked Dee finally.

  “Are you asking me to accompany you? Because I wouldn’t be opposed.”

  “Sure, why not?” Martín smiled, then looked over at me. “Do you have any jobs while you’re here?”

  “Actually, I do.” I smiled. “They sent me an address.” I pulled out my phone and looked at the email from Exclusive Real Estate again. “Actually, they sent me a pin location.”

  “What would you need a pin for if you have an address?” Martín frowned.

  “Sometimes the GPS doesn’t have the location of these old houses since they’re so far off the road. Pin drops work best.”

  “Especially here. I pin drop and I’m from here.” Dee laughed. “I mean, really. I only pin drop with Ubers.”

  “When are you going to take the pictures?” Martín asked. “Can we come with?”

  “Sure. If you don’t mind leaving now.” I finished off my martini and looked outside at the gloomy skies. “This is as light as it’s going to get today.”

  Martín and Dee both finished off their drinks. We set money on the table for Dolly and walked out of the bar.

  “Should we walk?” Martín asked. “I don’t have a ride.”

  “You can ride with me,” Dee said, then shook her head. “You know what? It’s better we walk. I only had one drink, but last time I drove here after one drink I spent the night in jail.”

  “And on the paper the following morning.” I raised an eyebrow at her. “My grandmother sent me a picture of the front page.”

  “With a warning about how your friends suck, I’m sure.” Dee scoffed.

  “You know it.” I winked.

  “I find it fascinating that Pan Island is so conservative, yet hosts the most liberal carnival every year.” Martín shook his head. “I mean, last year there were people walking around naked.”

  “That’s Pan for you.” I shrugged a shoulder and looked at the red dot on my phone. “It’s this way.”

  We started our trek uphill and I was definitely glad we’d agreed to walk instead of drive. The island was a series of hills and curves, and even though I’d only had one drink, my head was already spinning.

  “What does the description say?” Martín asked. “Of the house, I mean.”

  “Just that it’s been handed down from generation to generation, and the new owner wants to break tradition and sell.” I looked up at him. “Basically, the classic Pan Island story.”

  “I’ve heard that.” He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “I think that’s why I was so surprised when you told me you were from here and had left.”

  I nodded. The typical Pan Island tale consisted of people getting married, living either with their parents or within walking distance of them, and inheriting their houses when they passed. It was the reason I was shocked to see an email from the real estate company here at all. The market was usually stagnant. The only house I’d known of to sell to an outsider was Doña Erica, and that was only because she lived alone her entire life and had no children. There was no one to inherit the property.

  As we walked, we talked about the market and the craze around all things old and haunted. Martín filled Dee in on his life, since he’d already told me about it on the bus. He was a banker in the city who worked with top bank clients. He wouldn’t name names, but told us they were the who’s who of the city. Dee and I weren’t impressed. It wasn’t that gossip was beneath us, but we had enough of that on the island already and I was definitely planning to lay low this weekend. I was so busy listening to them discuss The Haunt that I nearly didn’t realize the red dot stopped moving.

  “It says we’re here.” I stopped walking. The three of us looked around. I could smell the ocean, though I couldn’t see it with the fog. I couldn’t see much at all, but I knew we were definitely nowhere near Dolly’s Bar anymore.

  “How far did we walk?” Martín asked.

  “Two miles,” Dee said, eyeing her exercise watch.

  “This is so weird.” I walked over to the street sign. “It says we’re on Dreary Lane.”

  Dee froze. “We cannot be on Dreary Lane.”

  “Why?” Martín asked with a chuckle. “Because the Devil’s Chair is here?”

  “Don’t even bring that up.” Dee shot him a look. “Last time we came here . . . ”

  “What?” Martín was smiling now. “You got spooked?”

  “The last time I was here I took a picture that gave me the career I have now. The beginning of The Haunt, you can say.”

  “Yeah, but only after you sat on the Devil’s Chair and left crying,” Dee said.

  “What?” I laughed. “I do not remember that.”

  “I can’t imagine how.” Dee shook her head. “And then you left the island.”

  “I was thrown out of my house.” I shot her a look. “Very different.”

  “Still. That chair brings bad luck.” She shivered. “It gives me the creeps.”

  “Maybe all the folktales are true after all,” Martín mused, looking at me.

  “Honestly, I don’t remember anything about that night.” I bit my lip. “I remember packing my bag. I remember fighting with my dad. That was basically it.”

  “Maybe it was the underage drinking,” Dee said.

  “Probably.” I took a deep breath. “I’m going to find the chair. I need to take a picture. You know The Haunt is going to love this.”

  “She’s not wrong.” Martín started walking.

  “Fine, but if you experience anything weird I am leaving.” She linked her arm with mine and we followed him.

  “Hey, is the house you’re supposed to take pictures of 999 Dreary Lane?” Martín glanced over his shoulder.

  I stiffened. I knew that address but that couldn’t be right. That was Caliban Manor. I took my phone out of my pocket and read the next email. It read: Sorry, totally forgot to send the address along with that. 999 Dreary Lane. Price tag: $15 million. My eyes widened. I read it aloud for my friends, who gasped.

  “They’re selling Caliban Manor?” Dee asked, her voice a bare whisper.

  “I guess we’re not the only ones tired of tradition,” I muttered under my breath, looking up to the spot where the
house was supposed to be. “Is the tide down? If it is, we should be able to walk over there, right?”

  “Walk over there?” Martín scoffed. “It’s a six-mile walk.”

  “How do you know it’s six miles?”

  “The invitation says it. A van will be waiting for all of the guests to drive them over to the house.”

  I kept my eyes on the direction of the house, the island that stood alone just six miles offshore. I could barely make out the black iron gates, but I knew they were there. It was always like this, covered in heavy fog. So much so, that some accounts claimed there was no house there at all. The disappearing house, they called it. There were endless threads about it not only on The Haunt, but all over Reddit. It was bullshit, of course, but also the reason my picture had been worth so much. No one had ever been able to get a clear picture of the house. As if having the same thoughts, Dee spoke up beside me.

  “How are you supposed to capture a vanishing house?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It won’t be vanishing tomorrow, at least not for the rest of the week,” Martín offered. “The gala is in two days. I’m telling you. You should come.”

  “Yeah right.” I scoffed. “Good luck getting me invited to that.”

  “You can go as my date.”

  “I thought I was your date?” Dee raised an amused eyebrow. “But I’m willing to sit this one out for the sake of the website.”

  “We can all go,” he said, looking at the two of us. “Come on. They didn’t specify guests on the invite.”

  My stomach flipped at the thought of stepping foot in that house. I knew I wouldn’t be welcome. Guzmans never were. A few of my cousins worked in the main house doing repairs and they’d never been received well. One of them, my closest cousin growing up, Esteban, disappeared around the property one night. That night. Even though he’d been a few years older than me, we were as thick as thieves. He loved adventures, which was what ultimately led to his demise. The police said he drowned while out fishing. Legend has it that if you drown in those waters, the Caliban Manor keeps your soul. It was a dumb myth that I tried not to think about, the way I tried not to think about most awful things. I shoved bad thoughts into a box and stashed it away. It was the only way to stay sane.