Zombies of Sleepyside

by bundysbaby

Finally having some fall-like weather here in the Northeast. Halloween stores are opening in preparation for the hordes of little monsters and some big ones who beg for a treat on Halloween. Back in Sleepyside, there are some strange things brewing…take a walk…or a run…but don't scream, 'cause they might hear you.

Prologue – 1860s New York - on the Hudson River

Sadie the Goat had enough of the pirating life. She had sailed the Hudson for almost a decade, plundering ships along the wild river. When pickins' were slim, she and her crew robbed the picturesque little towns and great mansions that dotted the countryside. About the only thing she wasn't accused of was making off with the village maidens, because, after all, she was a girl.

She wasn't much to look at. Missing an ear from a bar fight, her nose misshapen from a well-aimed punch; a thatch of yellowish hair that looked like it hadn't seen a comb since forever. An unfortunate resemblance to, well, the ornery animal that gave her the nickname, and its disposition, too.

Sadie eschewed the dresses of the day for tall leather boots, into which were tucked men's pants; a man's shirt covered her upper body. She was all muscle and sinew, with almost nary a curve to prove she was indeed, a female.

But she was loud, and bawdy and the complete antithesis to the straitlaced women of the day, and her bed never lacked for male company. Her crew loved and feared her, and the townspeople on the Hudson prayed for relief.

Unfortunately, Heaven did not seem to be listening. This past summer had been the worst of all; it seemed Sadie was everywhere. No-one was safe from the marauding buccaneers, be it on water or land. The police were no help; she had 'em all in her pocket, or so it seemed.

Her fast, lean sloop was parked in a hidden cay, away from the prying eyes of others on the river. Sadie was leaning back on her bed, having just enjoyed the attention of her first mate and part-time lover, Gallo. He was wheezing away, and she unbent and patted his shoulder in complete camaraderie.

"Gettin' old there, Gallo, my friend." She took another look at his pasty complexion and hoped to high heaven he didn't croak right there in her bed. It'd be hell for the other crew members to carry his body up the ladder to the main deck and dump him over the side of The Gray Ghost.

'Course the real name of her boat was The Misty Gull, but she likened to change it after that fancy-dancy reporter, on one of the ships she plundered, wrote a piece in the paper about how the Gull came out of a fog bank like a silent, gray ghost. The name stuck, and she liked it.

Stung by her criticism, Gallo snapped back. "You ain't no spring chicken yourself, Sadie." He could have told her that her boobs were sagging a bit, skinny as she was, and her behind was getting kind of wrinkly lookin'. However, he did value the extremely male part of his anatomy, even if it didn't work so good anymore. And her knife was well within her reach.

He half expected a well-aimed slap in his face; closed his eyes and braced himself for it. Instead, her raspy voice sounded almost wistful. "Yeah. Don't I know it." She lay back on the bed. "We're both gettin' too old to keep up this piratin' thing too much longer, Gallo. I think one more heist, and we'll retire. I really liked New Orleans when we was down there during the winter."

Gallo shuddered, just that little bit. If Sadie was goin' back down to the city the locals called The Big Easy in that slow, southern accent, she could count him out. Corruption was rife down there, worse than it ever was in New York City. There might be a brothel on almost every street corner, bars where a man could get lost in the booze and the music, and the cops all looked the other way for a price, but hell's bells, there had to be a little law and order. And they hated the damn Yankees down there, too.

Besides, Sadie got involved with that voodoo priestess. What was her name? Yeah. Marie Laveau. Half-breed, that woman, and scary as hell with her sweeping skirts, jangling bells and smoky voice. Sadie paid a dear amount of money to be closeted with the priestess, absorbing all the religion and magic she could; attending the hugely popular public rites at Lake Ponchartrain. Gallo found the mixture of African religion, music and superstitions, Roman Catholic ritual and the many spirits of voodoo to be confusing and frightening. Marie Laveau was the queen of the voodoo priestesses and her gris-gris very powerful. Why, even white men paid her huge sums of money for her magic.

Gallo spent most of that trip safe in his bunk on The Gray Ghost. God only knew what Sadie was up to with that half-breed witch.

He felt the sting of a slap to his face, and looked up at Sadie's angry face. "Pay attention when I'm speakin' to you, Gallo." She huffed out a stinking breath. "I said, we're gonna hit that big place they just built out there in Sleepyside. Yeah. The Manor House, they call it."

"Uh, I dunno, Sadie. We hit them earlier in the year. Just a little place, and we didn't get much."

"That was before the big house was finished, Gal. Rich couple from New York built it, the uh, Vandersomethins."

"Probly got solid gold chamberpots." Gallo wheezed out a laugh.

"They're in the city for some big society do," Sadie lifted her hair up and batted her sparse eyelashes. The sheet pooled around her waist exposing her sagging chest. "I'm gettin' dressed." She kicked Gallo out of the narrow bunk. "Get the crew together and we'll make plans."

Gallo mumbled under his breath, pulling his pants up as he stumbled out of the door. He had a bad feeling about this. Sadie had a stash of sparkling gems secured safely in her room, enough to last the rest of her life. But she was always greedy for more.

In the village of Sleepyside…

Jacob Belden and Nathaniel Frayne stood very near the edge of the bluffs overlooking the Hudson River. Both were sweating, their shirts stained and dirty. Bringing the last iron spheres and piling them in the stack next to the cannon, they both flopped down on the dusty ground and grinned.

"Aye, Frayne, she was a hard wrestle up here," Belden said to the lanky, red-haired man at his side.

"Aye, good thing we cut the underbrush first," Frayne remarked, drinking deeply from his leather water bag.

Belden got up, patted the cannon. "Got a little surprise for Sadie the Goat next time she parks her boat here." He stared out over the wide, cold river. "Last time she was here, she got my wife's wedding ring." His voice was bitter.

Frayne unfurled his long length from the ground, loped over and patted his friend's shoulder. "At least nothing happened to Mrs. Belden. That's the important thing."

"A blessing that she was not harmed. Can't say that about your inn." The Frog and the Peach had been robbed, its tables overturned and broken, and the rum confiscated by the Ghost's motley crew.

"Possessions. They can be replaced easily enough. Not so lives…or virtue."

Jacob Belden nodded in agreement, thinking of his young daughter. "Word from the law says Sadie's hiding out in one of the coves around here. I think the Manor House is too much of a temptation for her."

"Aye. All that gold. Let's grab Lynch and set up a camp here. If Sadie's going to make landfall in Sleepyside, well, we'll be the welcoming committee."

Two days later…

The full moon and its reflection on the calm water of the Hudson lit the river with soft silver light. A light mist rose from the water, and Ethan Lynch was feeling mighty tired. He wanted his comfortable bed, and his even more comfortable wife. He scrubbed at his eyes and then returned them to the spyglass, waiting for any sign of Sadie the Goat and her band of miscreants.

As he scanned the river, he thought he saw the bow and sails of a ship, silently gliding through the swirling mists. Moving the spyglass up, he saw the flap of the Jolly Roger and the silvered, worn planks of the Gray Ghost.

"Belden! Frayne!" he hissed, although they were so far away from the river, there was scant chance that the crew could have heard them, "It's Sadie!"

The two men scrambled up, shaking off the thin sleep they had been enjoying. With shaking fingers, Jacob Belden lit the fuse and muttered a short prayer. The explosion as the cannon expelled its heavy iron payload was ear-splitting in the quiet of the night. Before the shell had even reached its destination, the men on the bluffs were reloading.

Their aim was true, and the cannon ball ripped through the hull of The Gray Ghost. There were shouts and screams from the crew as the vessel began taking on water. Another explosion and the boat shuddered again, listing dangerously. Men were bleeding and screaming in utter panic as Sadie struggled up from below decks.

Pulling on the leather thong that swung from her scrawny neck, a small pouch flew out of her shirt and into her grasping hand. Another explosion rent the air and the boat's mast splintered and fell into the greedy river. Desperately pulling at the leather, the pouch finally opened. Sadie poured something that looked like sand into her hand, began sprinkling it on the boat, herself and her men, and chanting in a strange, Creole-accented voice that sounded nothing like her own.

"Agwe, Damballah! Protect your servant! I call upon you in my hour of need! Baron Samedi, protect what is yours!" She chanted over and over, sprinkling the glittering sand and letting the sudden, tempestuous wind carry it around and through the damaged boat.

As the men on the cliffs watched, a glow, sickly green, seemed to rise up from the depths of the river, and Sadie's voice, strangely mixed with another, more terrifying voice, screamed with the wind, higher and higher, until The Gray Ghost actually rose up out of the Hudson. It was suspended on the green, glowing tentacle of water, which quickly became a hand.

A hand whose long, glowing fingers fisted around the Ghost, and pulled her and her crew underwater, with nary a ripple to break the smooth, glasslike surface of the river. All that remained was the faint green glow which faded in the depths.

The three men, the only human witnesses, stared out at the river and as one, crossed themselves. And they were the only ones who knew why Sadie the Goat and her band of cutthroats suddenly disappeared, a secret they took to their graves.

Present Day

The nor'easter raged up the Atlantic coast with howling winds, lashing, torrential rains and flooding in places that hadn't ever seen flooding. As the high winds and rain battered Crabapple Farm, and indeed, every other building in Sleepyside, a vast amount of runoff was turning the usually calm Hudson River into a violent, churning frenzy.

A day or two later, it was difficult to believe the Hudson had been anything but its usual smooth self. Things were drying out, and people were assessing the damages the late October storm had wrought.

Fortunately, the Farm only lost one ancient tree. Bobby and Peter Belden made short work of it with the chainsaw, saving the fragrant apple wood to be used later. Matt Wheeler had to call in a few men to help Mr. Maypenny clear the trails and paths now that the boys were all in college. And the rarely-used gatehouse stood strong.

Trixie Belden was on the narrow strip of rocky beach that separated the bluffs from the river that carved them. She had a lot of thinking to do, and the bluffs were her usual place. But she wanted to be very alone, with no chance of being discovered by her best friends, or Regan or just anyone.

The beach was littered with debris the storm kicked up from the bottom of the river; old pieces of driftwood; a rusting half of a propeller; even a license plate or two. Trixie picked her way through the maze to the large flat rock some ancient glacier had deposited right at the waterline. The rock was absorbing the heat of the day, and she stretched out on it, drawing her knees up to her ample chest, and frowning.

Things were changing, had changed in the dynamics of the Bob-Whites a couple of years ago. At one time, she thought they'd go on forever; that she would be with Jim, Honey and Di with Brian and Mart respectively; and maybe even Dan with Hallie (although she wouldn't wish that on her worst enemy).

Boy, was she wrong.

Instead, the male contingent of their little group surprisingly and inexplicably banded together right before Brian and Jim left for college. They made loud comments in front of the girls about how wonderful it would be going to college; meeting new people and dating lots of different girls. Why, Mart and Dan could visit on weekends and they'd all have a blast.

What they were saying so inelegantly and so hurtfully was that they were not interested in pursuing relationships with the Sleepyside girls, now or in the near future. When Jim, his green gaze upon her, had finally agreed enthusiastically, she went home that night and took off the silver bracelet that graced her wrist since that long-ago adventure at Happy Valley. Trixie supposed she was no longer his special girl. If she ever was, really. Maybe it was a just a reaction on Jim's part to nearly dying out there in Iowa, and she read too much into it.

The girls met at the clubhouse, sad-eyed and tearful. Everything was changing, spinning out of control. The friendships and relationships they thought would last forever were fraying as the boys went off on their own, leaving the clubhouse for the pack of females, as Mart put it.

When Jim and Trixie next met, saying goodbye, she saw his eyes zero in on her now-bare wrist and just for a moment, she could have sworn he frowned. But whatever was in his eyes was gone in a flash.

True to their words, the men began to date here and there, oh never seriously enough to bring anyone home, but date nonetheless. Mart and Dan seemed to prefer the girls in White Plains High School, spent their time there. And visits home, first from Jim and Brian, then Mart and Dan, became shorter and shorter, more uncomfortable until they nearly stopped. Take this summer, for instance. The guys worked the whole season at an upstate camp, right up until it was time to head back to college. Where the older, prettier, sophisticated girls were.

At first there were a lot of tears shed by the girls. Honey and Di mourned the loss of Brian and Mart by re-inventing themselves. Honey cut her long honey-blonde hair into a short choppy bob that brought out her large topaz eyes and the perfect oval of her face.

Diana chose a longer asymmetrical style with streaks of wild purple and long bangs that gave her a gamine beauty. They took to wearing more dresses and skirts to school; flirting with the eligible guys. Going out on dates.

Trixie knew why they were doing it, didn't condemn her best friends. She felt that way too; unattractive, too young, too fat. She couldn't help harboring a secret hope that Jim would come to his damn senses and see what was right in front of him.

But he didn't. They didn't. Her best friends were now casually dating a couple of really likable guys from Westchester County Community College. They were nice, treated the girls well, treated Trixie well. But she could still see the sadness underneath the forced gaiety sometimes, was sure it shone out of her eyes too.

She sat on the large rock and contemplated her future. Her Jim-less future. If Honey and Di could do it, then so could she. She really was pathetic. If Jim didn't want her, maybe there was someone else out there who'd love to go out with an aspiring detective. Love her. She grimaced at her too-big, rumpled, stained and torn jeans. She had on one of Mart's old shirts, and some sneakers that definitely needed the garbage bin – last year.

Her decision made, she knew she needed some sprucing up. Thrice-weekly sessions with the female Bob-Whites enduring Pilates torture resulted in a vastly different body than even six months ago. Running five miles on the other days made her lithe and graceful. Honey suggested letting her hair grow out; maybe the curls would relax a bit.

Her golden curls were long spirals down to the middle of her back; most days, she pulled it back in a ponytail or wound it up in bun at her neck. Things were going to change she decided; she'd talk to Moms. She'd never be a frilly, ruffle-loving, exquisitely girly-girl, but she could remind everyone she was a girl.

Trixie hopped off the rock; she had been far too long pining after someone who obviously didn't want her, and she had harnessed her natural energy and sunny disposition much too long. Her one foot skidded on a mossy rock, and as she caught herself, she saw something gleaming in a small puddle.

Curious, she bent down and fished out the object. Probably just a piece of worn glass or mirror, she thought. She wiped the object against her jeans and was astounded.

It was a ring. The back was a slender sliver of gold, branching out in two delicate gold wires on each side. The wires became a delicate filigree, encircling a pale pink cameo. It was gorgeous. She briefly wondered how such a fabulous piece of jewelry ended up on the banks of the still-muddy Hudson. She slipped the ring into her hoodie pocket, and promptly forgot about it as her cell phone rang.

"Trixie?" It was Moms. "Honey, will you be home soon? Bobby needs some help with his homework and I need to get dinner ready."

"I'm on my way, Moms. And after I help Bobby, can we talk tonight? Just us?" She crossed her fingers.

Helen stared at her phone. Trixie wanting girl talk with her? Hmmmm. "Ah…sure."

"Be there soon!" She took off at a run, calling on her almost inexhaustible supply of energy. It was past time for Trixie Belden to grow up.

Jim Frayne was staring out of the window in his parents' apartment; the one that now served as the official dorm for the male Bob-Whites while attending college. All of them were sitting in the living room, various expressions of discontent marring their handsome features.

Another male gripe session. It seemed they were increasing in frequency and gripey-ness lately.

He never thought it was a good idea when they discussed it; he hated it even more now. He couldn't even remember why the conversation started, or even who brought up the subject.

All he knew is that he didn't. And he was miserable.

They were all chafing at the bit, he supposed; everyone paired off in these neat little couples before they even graduated high school. It didn't matter that they hadn't even really dated. It was expected. And somehow, it just…grated a bit. Made them all feel just a tad…stifled.

It all started out as a male gripe session and ended up with all of them agreeing that they really needed to sow some wild oats before settling down. He wasn't even sure why he agreed; mass hypnosis, maybe?

So began the campaign to let the girls down. Easy. Except there was nothing easy about seeing the shock and sadness in those big blue eyes. Little comments here and there; not spending as much time with them. He and Brian went to their prom stag, not that either of them had much fun. Dan and Mart did the same thing. They were home early, too.

Jim clearly remembered the day he was leaving for college. He hadn't seen Trix for a while; he was longing for her sunny smile. He was a bit scared, a bit lonely. She came outside to say a perfunctory goodbye to him, to Brian; her startling blue eyes red-rimmed. As she brushed that one wayward curl out of the way, he was staggered to notice the absence of the bracelet on her wrist.

He had grown…accustomed to seeing it there. To see his name sparkling from her wrist. And then, it was gone. Just. Like. That.

Even now, he scrubbed one large, freckled hand against his heart. He shouldn't have been surprised, shouldn't have felt the hurt; shouldn't have felt like a door was closing in his face. But he did.

And it just got worse. He dated occasionally, as did Brian. Certainly nothing serious. They went to parties, met a lot of people. It even got crazier when Mart and Dan joined them. He kissed a number of girls. But none of them was Trixie.

Because for all their planning: college, check; dating other girls check; partying a lot, check; they blithely assumed that everything would remain the same. Meaning, the girls would remain exactly the same. They'd go out, do the college thing, get some dating experience and know that the girls would be waiting patiently for them, like some 1950's love story. Gettin' all the wildness out before they came home to marry their good girls and raise 2.5 children in a quaint little village.

And now, just now, they were realizing time – and their girls - waited for no man. According to his mother, Honey and Di were dating a couple of really nice men from county college. A couple of guys in a long line of dates. Brian and Mart did not take the news well, nor the pictures occasionally sent by one or the other. Hell, what were the girls thinking? They were supposed to wait.

But they didn't wait. And they had changed. They had morphed from schoolgirls to sexy, desirable women. And they were having a lot of fun. A lot more fun than the guys were having.

Hell, he hadn't…they all hadn't seen the girls since last Christmas and what, it was nearly Halloween? Christmas at home was a strained affair; it was clearly evident that the Bob-Whites in their past incarnation had ceasedto exist. This past year the emails had dwindled to practically nothing from his sister – too busy studying to get into college, a very active social life; nothing at all from Trix.

Out of all of them, she was the most mysterious. He knew about Honey's and Di's dates and dynamic social life, but nothing at all about Trixie's. Carefully worded questions to her brothers brought the same frustrating lack of knowledge. When the Beldens tried to pry some information out of their parents, they were quite sternly told to mind their own business, not Trixie's.

He turned to the other men slouched in the room. "Are you going back home for the Halloween Ball?"

"Nothing could keep me away," Brian said grimly.

"So, let's discuss costumes," Mart added. Maybe it was time to let go of this stupid, childish pact and take back what was his. He'd grovel if necessary. And unfortunately, he thought he'd have to do just that.

Helen Belden was in shock, and so was her credit card. And her daughter, the one she despaired of ever being a girl, was the cause.

They were in the City. First stop was the hair stylist, who went into ecstasies about Trixie's thick, beautiful hair. A few snips here and there, and it was a golden cloud falling softly to the middle of her back. There was the expensive straightener for a new look when she wanted one.

And the cosmetics. When Trixie entered the shop she was a pretty young woman; when she left, a dazzling, natural beauty. She had to laugh at her daughter; she had no problem telling them not to put all that goop on her face. Besides, the minimalist makeup she did allow them to apply was just right for her girl.

Then there was the clothes shopping. Trixie had definite ideas what she wanted, what her look was to be. Nothing overly fussy or frilly, but not tailored or old ladyish. Simply, a trendy young woman with a fantastic figure who was not afraid to show it off in an elegant way.

Last stop was the big costume store right there in Herald Square. When Trixie brought her choice over, Helen raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure about this, Trixie?"

"Moms, I want everyone, and I mean everyone, to realize I'm not Brian and Mart Belden's baby sister anymore," she said. "Please? We're all going as the same thing."

Helen sighed heavily and pulled out her credit card once more. She spent more in one day than she did all the years she was buying clothes for her tomboy. Waiting for the cashier to bag the costume, she wondered if she was doing the right thing. Then she just had to grin. Trixie was finally coming alive again, and her daughter was just going to knock the socks off everyone. If Peter let her out of the house in that costume.

All Hallows Eve, Halloween, Samhain: the one day of the year when the barrier that separated the living from the dead was at its weakest. As the Sleepyside Country Club completed finishing touches for the First Annual Halloween Ball, the Hudson River was shrouded with a thick, slippery fog. One that was creeping out from the deep middle of the black river and slowly crawling up the bluffs. A fog that hid the boiling bubbles coming from the icy, dark depths like the thick viscous rumble in a witch's cauldron.

Soon it would reach the crumbling edge of the cliff and begin its silent slide into the unsuspecting town.

"So, how come David and Blaine couldn't come tonight?" Trixie called out from the bathroom to her two best friends in the world. They were getting dressed at Di's house for the Ball and all were dateless. By choice.

Di was bending at the waist, straightening the stocking seam of her sexy devil outfit. The siren red of the tube dress with the attached petticoat, the little red devil horns and black seamed stockings and killer stilettos; yes, she'd certainly be a hit tonight. "No way I want them coming," she laughed. Not when there was a chance the male Bob-Whites would make an appearance. Not when there was a chance she could bring Mart Belden to his knobby knees.

"Me either! We're gonna be the three most popular ladies at the ball!" Honey added as she fastened the remaining clip of her black fishnet stockings. Her gold and red bustier, low-riding miniskirt and shiny crimson boots left a lot of skin uncovered.

While Trixie was in the bathroom, Honey took the opportunity to lean over to Diana and whisper, "Did you see her costume?" Honey was hoping Trix would not resort sticking on a pair of devil horns and calling it a costume. It was getting real old.

Trixie took one last look at herself in Di's full-length mirror. She didn't look too bad, she thought. She carefully walked out of the room and said to her friends, "So what do you think?"

She was nearly deafened by the screams.

Of course they were late. The Country Club was lit with spooky orange lights and the dignified entrance was awash in cobwebs. Not only did they have to park in no-man's land, Mart was still complaining how slow Brian drove.

The four males were dressed as vampires. Vampires were still big, right? Besides, Jim thought, he'd match Trixie. She dressed up as a vampire every year. He hoped to get a little time to talk to her. He really missed his special girl. Although he couldn't really say that any more. That little relationship ended the day he left for college, and if he was brutally honest with himself, a few weeks before then.

Snapping on their plain black masks, they gave their tickets to the guy dressed as Lurch from the Addams family at the door, and wandered in. Monster Mash was blaring out from the speakers as the DJ dressed as a killer clown worked the discs. The ceiling was covered with black cloth, with slightly twinkling stars winking through. Ultra-violet lights replaced standard bulbs and the atmosphere was decidedly spooky.

Tad Webster came up to the group, smiling widely. He was dressed as a yellow Crayola crayon, and was happy to see his old friends. "Hey! Bob-White guys! About time you decided to make a visit back to your hometown. How's college?"

"Great Tad, wonderful. How are you doing?" Mart answered shortly. His blue eyes were scanning the room, looking for any evidence of the three missing female members.

Tad grinned inwardly. Things had certainly changed since the Bob-White males had last come home. "School's okay. I miss my brother though." He leaned closer to the group and loudly whispered. "Ain't no way you're gonna get closer to the girls tonight, gents."

He was met by four pairs of confused eyes. "They're over there." He gestured to a large very crowded area of the ballroom.

Pushing their way through the group, the four men stood dead still in their tracks when they got a look at who was causing the ruckus.

Mart's eyebrows just about crawled into his hairline as he saw his Diana…his sweet, shy Di, in that shiny, red, abbreviated costume. A guy dressed in a toga was leaning over, whispering in her ear, and her gorgeous violet eyes were alive with laughter. One long finger was stroking her bare arm.

Honey, on the other hand, with her choppy short bob and sylphlike figure was talking to two guys dressed as wizards, obviously comparing planets and stars emblazoned on their costumes, while they ogled her…assets. Brian stood stock-still, his tongue rolling up in his mouth and trying to quiet the urge to smack himself in the head. Hard.

Jim Frayne, however, had the biggest shock of all. There was Trixie, his Trixie, practically buck naked.

All three women were dressed as devils, but only Trixie's costume ignited an urge in Jim to pull off his cloak and drape her in it. His eyes traveled over her slowly, from the rakish red devil horns in her mass of golden curls, to the red sequined mask covering the upper portion of her face, but allowing those haunting blue eyes to peek out.

His eyes were drawn lower, to her creamy exposed shoulders and impressive cleavage, made even more so by the bright red bustier; and then slid to the tiny red ruffed panties. Her long legs were encased in freakin' red thigh-high fishnet stockings, right down to the red sequined do-me heels. Even worse, she had on red satin gloves that came right up over her elbows.

And those curls! That little curl he used to tug hung right down between her…down her front. And damned if Nick Roberts wasn't twining a different curl around his finger while he looked at her like she was lunch. And he was hungry.

Dan decided to try and find Ruthie Kettner. He didn't want to stay around for the fireworks. Looking into the blazing eyes of his friends, he took the coward's way out, and left.

The thick, suffocating fog was rolling over the hills and valleys of Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson. It wasn't soothing to the skin; it felt vaguely oily and stung like so many tiny bites. Old-timers locked their doors and windows and pulled their shades down tight.

As the silent, deadly mist was creeping its way toward the Country Club, the deep, black icy water that was bubbling up took on a sickly greenish glow that spiraled up from the depths and zigzagged its way to shore.

With an abrupt "Excuse me!" to Nick Roberts, Jim wrapped his long, slender fingers around Trixie's satin clad wrist, and all but dragged her behind the animatronic zombie. Nick considered dragging her back, but looked at the breadth of Jim's shoulders, his height and those large, strong hands – and decided Trixie could deal with Jim. Besides, there were plenty of other girls just waiting for the sensitive, tortured artist type…he hoped.

Her blue eyes were flashing icy fire at him, if there was such a thing. He still had his fingers encircling her wrist, that slippery satin rubbing against his skin in the most tantalizing way.

"What the hell, Jim?" she ground out in that raspy, sexy voice that drove him crazy and not only haunted his dreams, but hindered his dates. How could he ever listen to another woman speak when none of them sounded like they just got out of bed after twenty-four hours of non-stop sex?

He just stared at her, his full lips parted and his green gaze pinioning her to the spot. Her lips were moving, she was saying something, but the words just whispered over his skin, were breathed in and provided a provocative ignition for his dry, dormant fire. It blazed through him, through his inhibitions, through his doubt, through everything until all that was left was a hot, pulsating need.

Which he gave into, much to his own and Trixie's surprise.

His strong arms dragged her close, so close he could feel the boning on her bustier, could almost feel those little ruffles on those skimpy panties through his pants as one hand fisted in that mass of yellow curls and the other splayed across her bottom as he crushed her lips with his. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he just hoped his she-devil wouldn't bite.

The ghostly green lightnings sizzled up the bank, darted up the sheer face of the bluffs and pooled under the low-lying mist. For a millisecond, it brightened unbearably, then blinked to black. A scent of ozone was in the air, as something was slowly, quietly rising through the fog where ghost images of the bright green burn teased the eyes.

Diana Lynch knew when she had a male's undivided attention. She was born knowing this, born to slant those wild violet eyes in a come-hither look; born knowing how to run the tip of her pink tongue across her bottom lip just the right way to make the strongest man weak. She flicked away the man she was laughing with like a gnat, and focused her gaze on the one man she was going to bring to his knees.

Martin Belden.

The bastard.

She allowed him his silly little game of dating others. She even participated in it, just to give him an itch he didn't know he had. Now was the time to stop this ridiculous charade and get on with things.

She was out of patience.

Diana Lynch stepped right up to him, so close that her warm breath on his face made him shiver with delight. Staring at his bright blue eyes, drawing them into her unfathomable violet ones, she ran her tongue over her lower lip – and was pleased to see the flush start at his ears.

"Hello, Mart."

Madeleine 'Honey' Wheeler turned to each of the wizards she had been killing time with until Brian showed up. "Thanks for the conversation, gentlemen," she said in her cultured voice. "Here's an old friend and I simply must be excused to speak with him." Her slender, graceful hand gestured to Brian as a rueful smile curved her lips. She was the epitome of cool, but inside, her knees were knocking and her brain was screaming It's him! Brian!

As the two disappointed wizards faded into the crowd, Brian opened his mouth to speak, but found to his utter dismay, nothing would come out. Great. I must look like a fish. He was disgusted with himself. It was only Honey. Only the girl he coveted forever…

She gave him a gentle smile; her topaz eyes were shrouded by her mask, but they looked clearly and directly into his coal-black ones. A soft smile tilted the corners of her soft lips up. In her killer heels, she was almost on a level with him.

Honey widened her eyes, leaned over and brushed those soft lips right across his. He was assaulted by her touch, the soft, delightful smell of her hair and the underlying fresh scent he always associated with her.

"Hi Brian," she said, obviously waiting for him to answer. "How are you?"

Ezra Maypenny was trying to figure out how the portable dvd player Dan gifted him with for his birthday worked, and was getting mighty frustrated in the process. It seemed simple enough when Dan showed him what to do. Push this button there, put the disc in the little tray that popped out, push it back in then push that little button that looked like an arrowhead.

He tried that, just like Dan showed him. That gol'darned tray slid out, then right back in. Or else he got the disc in, and nothing happened. Sometimes the darn tray would close up right on the disc before he got it all the way in.

Muttering to himself about darn fool boys who can't teach an old dog new tricks, he went instantly alert as he heard something outside. Cocking his head to one side, opening up his still keen sense of hearing, he went still.

Doesn't sound like a deer. Or a raccoon or 'possum. Maybe a catamount! They were increasingly rare nowadays, but, he thought as he grabbed his rifle, gotta try to scare him back upmountain. He opened the door, listened again to the strange, shuffling sound out there in the fog. Not a catamount, he decided. Taking a few steps out of the cabin, his rifle held loosely at his side, he shouted into the thick, humid cloud that stung his face and hands like so many tiny wasps, "Hey! Who's out there?"

Taking a few more steps, the hair on the back of his neck rose. "Hey! I'm armed! Who goes th…"

However enjoyable the sensation was of Jim's lips and tongue ravishing her mouth, nearly destroying her resolve in the process, Trixie gathered her wits about her. Her satin-clad hands, which had somehow found themselves fisted in the front of Jim's white shirt, unclenched and flattened and gave a forceful push.

He stared back at her, raw desire in those amazing green eyes, still quite dazed and trying desperately to just breathe. He could still feel her body pressed to his, still taste her on his lips. He wanted more. He wanted all of her.

"Just who do you think you are, James Winthrop Frayne II?" she rasped out, her voice like so many shards of broken glass. "How dare you manhandle me like that!" She tossed her curls, those glorious spirals that Jim just wanted to bury his face and hands in, turned, and stalked angrily through the door he never even noticed. For just a moment, with pure male appreciation, he watched the sway of her hips as she left. As the haze of sexual desire began to dissipate, he took off right after her.

They needed to talk. And he'd be damned if Nick Roberts or any other male was going to get close to her tonight, or any other night.

Bill Regan was poring over accounts in his office over the stables. Jed Tomlinson was selling his horse farm and breeding operation, and Regan was contemplating making a big move. His expenses had been minimal over the years; he had quite a good bit saved.

He already talked to Mr. Wheeler about it, and he assured Regan he'd be happy to help him start a new business venture…WR Breeding and Boarding for horses. He knew a couple of guys in Saratoga who would just die, to use a Trixie-ism, to become groom-in-residence for the Wheelers. He'd still be boss though!

He heard the high-pitched whinny of frightened horses, and was out of his chair and downstairs in a flash. The stable was filling with a viscous fog, and his redheaded temper ignited. Now which one of the kids left the stable doors open? You'd think they know better by now!

As he went to check the doors, Jupiter was practically kicking the door to his stall down. Even Lady and Susie, normally the most docile of horses, were bumping up against their doors, whinnying madly. The door wasn't open, to Regan's surprise, but the fog was slipping under the bottom of the door like some grade Z horror movie, its tendrils like grasping tentacles of some misplaced oceanic creature.

It wasn't like the horses to react to a little fog like that, and Regan suspected the possibility of a bear in the area. They'd been a nuisance lately, and he went out to check if the secondary electric fence Mr. Wheeler had installed was working. The fog was thicker, higher out here, and he felt…unclean. Trying to brush it off with his large, freckled hands, he heard the sort of squishing noise directly behind him, turned and said "What the h…" before he was swallowed up completely.

Jim followed Trixie through the door, into a small hallway, and then into a large linen storage room. Stacks of tablecloths, napkins, napkin rings and other matched linens were a rainbow of color. Shutting and locking the door behind them, Jim waited for the outburst he knew was coming.

Instead, Trixie surprised him by removing her mask slowly, and then turning round to face him. The delicious pink color was awash on her cheeks, a sign of fading temper, but her gorgeous blue eyes were sad and questioning. The fact she didn't lace into him with typical Trixie brashness threw him into confusion.

"Jim. It's nice to see you, I'm glad you and the others could make it to the Ball. But you have no right to interrupt my conversation with Nick, nor haul me away and kiss me like that," she said quietly. She couldn't help the hurt that welled up inside of her, threatened to spill from her eyes. "You, Brian, Mart and Dan made damn sure that we knew we had no claim on you or you on us before you went to college. Now you come here acting like…like a jealous lover. When we both know you've never been that."

Jim was removing his mask as she spoke, snapping the elastic repeatedly. He couldn't refute what she said. "Trix, I…we were stupid. Young and stupid. And scared."

"And what Jim? What were you scared of? Me?" she scoffed outright.

"Yes…no. God, Trix. We were scared our whole lives were being planned out by you girls. High school sweethearts; then engaged in college and before you know it, married with 2.5 kids…" his voice trailed off as he saw the look of utter disbelief on her face. He couldn't fault her. It sounded lame to him, too.

"Well, that theory would have a lot of merit…if any of us were actually dating when you all made that decision." She turned her head away from him so that he couldn't see her startling blue eyes. Her slender hands picked at a napkin, folding and unfolding it, the only sign of nerves. "It sounds more to me like you wanted to make sure you were free in college to chase after the older, more sophisticated girls who actually…" and she took a deep breath here, unknowingly emphasizing the killer curves she had developed. She never spoke of such things to Jim before. "Girls who don't mind having a lot of meaningless sex. Unlike what you assumed we were like."

The fog was closing in on the Country Club from all sides. It was rolling in like a 10 foot wave, swallowing all in its dark path. Occasionally a blinding green electrical charge would blink, just for a millisecond. The only sounds escaping from the thick, humid blanket were the stumbling sounds of something very wet traveling with it.

And the only smell was the one of decay and death.

"Hello, Diana." Mart barely got the words out of his mouth. "Umm, you look really…hot in that outfit."

"Why Mart! There isn't enough of it to make me…hot." She slid a slender hand down her side, blood-red nails sparkling, with the tiniest of smiles on her red, red lips. She slowly turned around, stopping very close to him. "See? Not much to it at all. Certainly not enough to make me…hot."

Mart was mesmerized by those pouty red lips, licked his own dry ones. Why on earth wasn't he dating the dazzling Diana? He couldn't seem to remember. "I…I mean, you look gorgeous." Sexy. Desirable. An answer to every sensational dream he ever had.

She leaned in close, those lips just a breath away from his own and delivered the coup de grace.

"David always thinks so, too."

Jim's green eyes widened at the words tripping off Trixie's tongue. "Trix, I wasn't…we weren't thinking about that." Well, maybe just a little bit.

"Bull, Jim, that's just bull. Do you want to know what I think?" she jabbed her index finger at him. "I think all of you went to college expecting to have a blast; sex it up, drink it up, party it up. Meanwhile, we were supposed to wait at home like good little virgins, like freaking nuns, until you guys decided it was 'time to settle down.'" Her finger provided the air quotes.

Trixie's voice lowered a notch, and a mask of utter sadness crossed her beautiful face. "I would have given anything to be the first girl you kissed, the first girl you made love to. If you had ever even talked to me about your feelings, about being trapped, I would have told you: you have always been free." She closed her eyes, shielding the pain in her eyes from his intense green scrutiny.

"Trixie, I…" he extended a hand, dropped it when she didn't eagerly grasp it like in the past. He had to make this right. A feeling of overwhelming panic was settling in his gut. This stupid male ego trip was about to cost him the girl he loved for just about ever. He couldn't think straight, couldn't string two words together.

Her amazing sapphire eyes snapped open, and the utter sadness had been replaced with a devilish sparkle. "But you know, Jim, I've grown up. I decided I've spent too much time pining after you. Pathetically waiting for you to make a move. I'm kinda tired of hanging around, so I've decided to, well, take some action." She laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that went straight to his groin. "It wasn't too hard to convince Tad Webster to tutor me in the fine art of French kissing. I'm sure I'll have no problem finding someone to teach me the intricacies of sex. After all," she purred, "It turns out I'm put together fairly well." She lifted her arms, pulled her long curls up in the back of her head, emphasizing her chest and slim figure. She only hoped she was pulling it off. She wasn't Di Lynch, even though she was tutored by her.

Jim's eyes darkened as one freckled hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

Lurch was idly standing by the entrance to the Country Club, thinking that the fog was certainly getting much thicker out there. He wondered when the powers that be would release him from his doorman duty so he could join almost all of Sleepyside inside the large building. It was no fun being outside when everyone was inside!

Two figures suddenly appeared before him, startling him out of his daydream of perhaps cornering that luscious Honey Wheeler in a dark alcove somewhere…

"Wow! Mr. Maypenny – Mr. Regan! Great zombie costumes!" The fog was too thick to see who was behind them. "Can I have your tic…"

Brian Belden wanted to talk to Honey Wheeler, but not in the noisy, darkly decorated ballroom. Instead, without a word, he grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the room and into the hallway leading to the large party room where the food and drink was set up.

People were walking in and out of the rooms, and the buffet items were disappearing at an alarming rate. Mr. Schalzinger, the banquet manager, was grasping the little hair he had on his head. What if he didn't allow for enough? These Sleepyside people were eating like horses and drinking with both hands. He briefly wondered if he could call in an order for 700 hamburgers to Wimpy's, almost forgetting Mike the owner closed up shop and was enjoying himself eating someone else's cooking for a change.

He glanced up to see a vampire and a she-devil slip through the partially opened door to a small store-room for cleaning supplies. He shrugged his massive shoulders. What consenting adults did was no concern of his. He only hoped they had the presence of mind to lock the door behind them.

Brian did. He turned to Honey, mentally cataloguing all the changes in her. Her beautiful topaz eyes were sparkling with mischief. Instead of long, honey-blonde hair, she had a short, choppy bob that somehow fit just right. And she had filled out in all the right places; her legs were still those long, lean gams that caused him many a sleepless night as a teenager.

Her voice was full of mirth as she teasingly inquired, "Do you want to tell me why you pulled me into a," her hand swept the area, "janitorial closet?"

He leaned against the shelf; nearly lost his balance when it began to move. Her laughter pealed out like so many musical bells. Suave move there, Belden.

"I just wanted to talk to you without any interruptions," he blushed. He craned his neck as if someone would appear next to her. "Is your boyfriend here?"

Honey took off her mask, fluffed up her hair, and looked at Brian with steady, measuring eyes. "Blaine? Not my boyfriend and he's not here. He's just a guy to ummm, have some fun with once in a while."

Brian felt his fingers flexing into a fist of their own volition. "What kind of fun?" He had to ask.

"Oh, I imagine the same kind of fun you're having with your dates," Honey replied, rather flippantly.

Brian stared into her eyes, his imagination taking him places he definitely did not want to go. And because he was miserable, he blurted out the absolute truth. "But I'm not having any fun."

The stinging fog was creeping through the wide open doors of the Club, its tendrils seeking out hidden places, as Lurch, Regan and Mr. Maypenny shuffled slowly into the ballroom, followed by the others.

Tad Webster went hurrying to meet them, wondering what that smell was and why everyone seemed so…wet. He was also a little jealous; he and the rest of the gang would never win first prize for group costume now. Crayons were so lame. He briefly wondered how they ever talked Mr. Maypenny and the taciturn Regan into participating.

He never even had time to scream.

It never failed. Never. That blonde-haired she-devil knew just what buttons to push to send him into a blinding rage. He wrenched her to him, not gently at all, and one strong arm went around her waist, pulling her as close to him as it was possible for two people who weren't naked.

She didn't protest. Didn't scream. Just looked up at him with those astonishing blue eyes that held some sort of secret feminine wisdom, her lips slightly parted, and her breath coming in little rasps.

He let go of her wrist, buried his hand in those soft, sexy curls and took back what was his. Had always been his since he woke up in a dilapidated old mansion to the same pair of snapping sapphires.

"Don't tempt me, little girl," he ground out. His control was hanging by the slimmest of threads. The feel of her body next to his, the rasp of her breath, the throaty little noises she was unaware she was making; that sinfully delicious costume; all were combining with the unfulfilled desire, the rage, and the driving, hot, hammering need to clear off the table in the room and teach her exactly what she wanted to know.

He only wanted to scare her, just a little bit.

Except she brought her lips so perilously close to his, not even a breath away, and her words snapped any remaining control he had. "Not so little any more, Jim." Her satin-clad hands stroked his face, unbearably erotic. "Make me forget the taste of Tad Webster's tongue in my mouth."

"David?" Mart's brain was not connected to his mouth. It was connected somewhere completely different. "Who's David?" That wasn't one of her brothers' names. What were they again…oh yeah. Terry. Larry. Bobby. No, wait. That last one was his brother.

"Oh, just a guy from WCC I date now and again," she replied airily. It was getting colder in there though. And that smell!

"Mart, did you cut one?" Damn if she wasn't dressed to kill here and he was letting loose with some SBDs. Why did men consider farting at will some sort of seduction device?

The first tendrils of fog reached her feet, began crawling up her legs, stinging, almost...biting. Mart's eyes grew wide and he choked out, "Moms?" right before the screaming began in earnest.

"Not having any fun?" Honey repeated. "From the tales I heard, you guys were party central." She was playing with her light-up devil earrings, switching them on and off.

"Yeah, we wanted you girls to think that." Brian looked down at his hands, back at her. "After the big fuss we made about seeing other girls at college…I did date," he confessed honestly. "But none of them were you, Honey."

"I dated too, Brian." Maybe did a little more than that, too, but no reason to tell him. "But none of them were you, either."

"So where do we go from here?" he sidled a bit closer to her.

Honey cast her eyes down, still shy around the boy she loved since he wrestled her overnight bag from Mart when she was just thirteen. As she glanced down, she saw the thick, rolling fog seeping under the door. She looked up sharply, fear in her eyes. "Brian! Look! I think there's a fire!" she pointed at the ground.

"Get back here, Honey," Brian said calmly. "Behind me." He put his hand on the door. It didn't seem warm…in fact it was cold, freezing and very wet. He extended his hand. "Look at this. Wet. I wonder if they have a fog machine rolling out there or something." He opened the door, and the thick, stinging stuff engulfed him immediately. Honey saw a dazzling green flash before she too, disappeared.

All there was in Jim's world was the taste, the feel, the scent of her. His head dropped down to that soft place between her neck and shoulders, pressing hot, open-mouthed wet kisses on her creamy skin.

Trixie's slippery fingers were gliding over his abdominal muscles, making them jump. When had she pulled his shirt from his trousers, insinuated her fingers between the cloth and bare skin?

Her head lolled back, eyes tightly closed as Jim finally, finally let go. This was where they should be, should always be, in each other's arms. His hands were everywhere; his mouth and tongue gliding wetly, feverishly on every single bit of exposed skin. Languidly, she opened her eyes.

And saw the smoke creeping through the bottom of the door.

"Jim," she pushed at him. "Jim!" He looked at her dazedly, still in the thrall of the most intense sexual experience he ever had. She finally shook him, as hard as her petite frame would allow her to shake this mountain of a man. "I think there's a fire."

Jim's dark emerald eyes widened as he shook off the last of the sexual haze he was occupying. "Trixie. Let's grab some of these tablecloths and things and stuff them under the door." He was grabbing some as he made his way there.

"Shouldn't we try to get out? Open the door?" She would not panic. She and Jim had been in much worse scrapes.

Jim placed a hand, then an ear to the door. It seemed cold and wet, not hot. He could faintly hear muffled thumps and screams. Something is not right. "Let's get these cloths under the door now," he turned a grim face to Trixie.

As they worked together stuffing the linen in all the crevices, Jim's voice became very serious. "Trix, this…smoke or fog or whatever it is, it's hurt my hands." He held them up. "It…it stings."

Trixie took his reddened hands in her own. "What is this stuff, Jim? Listen, I'll finish here. I have the gloves on; it hasn't penetrated them yet." She showed him her satin gloves, the beautiful cameo ring on her left index finger.

He briefly wondered where she got the ring, and then dismissed it from his mind. They were in real trouble here. If there was a fire, they were most assuredly trapped in the windowless room. Luckily, the lights were still on. He prowled the room, examining the walls for a point of exit.

Turning his eyes upward, he saw it. A small rectangle set into the ceiling with a lever attached on one side. It probably was an old exit to the roof, before they redid the Club a couple of years ago. If they could get up there, they could take some tablecloths, tie them together and escape down one of the sides of the building.

He hoped.

"Trixie, look." Jim pointed to the trapdoor. "That probably leads to the roof. We'll have to climb the shelves to get up there."

As Trixie opened her mouth to agree, the lights clicked off and she screamed in terror.

It was eerily, inky black for a few seconds before the emergency generator kicked in. Trixie was groaning and holding her head. "Trixie, baby, did you hurt yourself? Hit your head?" Jim ran over to her, looking at the tousled curls and the satin-covered fingers threaded through them.

She lifted her head and opened her mouth, when her head snapped back as if she was struck. A small amount of what looked like blood leaked slowly from her nose. "Make it stop Jim, make it stop!"

"Make what stop, Trixie? What's happening to you?"

"Those…those voices. Make them stop, Jim. They hurt."

"What voices, Trixie?" he crooned. "There's only you and me here. That's all, baby." He cradled her in his arms.

"You must have heard her Jim. She was shouting. She said to give back her treasure. First it was a screechy, angry voice. Then the second time it was softer, more…more Southern. But more scary." She rubbed her nose, looked down at her glove, now stained with blood. "I have a nosebleed," she said, quizzically, as if she never had one before.

Jim's ears, fine-tuned to the noises coming outside of the door, heard the thumps, bangs and strange sizzling sounds that were coming ever closer. "Trixie, we need to get out of here," he said urgently. "I'll climb up first and help you up." God help us if the trapdoor is padlocked from the other side.

Trixie watched as Jim inched up the shelving unit, trying not to overbalance it and have it crash down on himself and Trixie. She pushed against it, trying to keep it level. Jim reached the next to the last shelf, reached his long arms up and twisted the lever…and prayed.

It opened.

He climbed into the dark passage with a small ladder attached to the wall; stretched his arms up, feeling the seams of the second hatch. This one pushed up instead of pulling down. There was no lock on the inside, so he pushed against the door with every ounce of strength in him, and it popped open with a clang.

He let himself down the passageway again, grabbing a bunch of tablecloths and throwing them onto the roof. "C'mon Trixie. We can get to the roof from here. Just be careful you don't pull the shelving over."

Trixie looked at her outfit for a brief second, made a decision. She quickly pulled off her heels, discarded them somewhere on the dark floor, and began her slow climb on the rickety shelving.

She nearly made it to the top when her glove skidded a bit, making her lose her balance and causing the shelf to sway madly. Pleasepleaseplease…Jim's foot came out of the passageway, steadied the shelf by hooking his foot around one steel column.

She began to inch up again, when her attention was diverted by the loud thud against the door. Then another one. And then a volley of something that sounded like dozens of fists beating against the walls in a vicious, fierce rhythm. Her eyes widened in shock and she clambered up the last step and onto the small ladder.

Jim's strong arms were reaching down, grabbing her and pulling her up and onto the roof. For a moment he just laid back, Trixie in his arms, both of them breathing like they just ran a marathon. He pressed a small kiss to her forehead.

"Jim, we need to close the trapdoors. Something was pounding on the door. The tablecloths were falling off when I looked." She bit her lip. Outside, the full moon shone brightly and the stars were shining as if all was right with the universe.

"Give us back our treasure!" The sound reverberated in her head, making her close her eyes in pain and a fresh trickle of blood seep from her nose. She burrowed into Jim's white shirt, staining it crimson.

He felt the tensing of her body, picked her head up to look into his concerned green eyes. Fresh blood. Grabbing onto the edge of one of the tablecloths he threw on the roof, he dabbed at her face.

"Jim." Her voice was a ghostly whisper in the night. "I'm all right, Let's get those trapdoors closed."

Jim descended the ladder again. There was a wire and spring attached to the lever on the first door. He pulled on it, experimentally, and the trapdoor snapped shut. He ascended quickly, pushing the second hatch down. "Trix, take off one of your gloves and give it to me."

She didn't question why; she just stripped it off and silently handed it to him. "See, here, I can pass your glove through the handle here on the trapdoor, and then through the slot where the padlock goes and tie it off. It won't hold long, but it may buy us enough time to figure out what the hell is going on."

Trixie sat down on the asphalt tiles on the roof, suddenly exhausted. "This is like some bad fanfic horror story, Jim," she complained.

"Yeah, the thought had crossed my mind." He finished knotting the glove, stood up. "I'm going to walk over by the edge of the roof and see what's going on down there."

"You ain't leaving me here! Every time the girl and guy split up in movies, the guy always gets it and then the girl shortly thereafter." She smiled weakly. "I need my supple woodsman."

His lips curved up in a small smile, and he reached down and hauled her up. "Just don't get too near the edge, Trix. I don't want you going over if you have one of those dizzy spells. I need my gorgeous detective." He was worried about those spells, about the nosebleeds she had.

They slowly walked to the front edge of the roof, peeked over, only to gasp in terror at the sight below.

The light from the full moon shone brightly down on Sleepyside, until it met the cover of the thick fog that blanketed the entire town. As far as Jim and Trixie could see, the cloud lay; everything underneath was completely obscured.

Every so often, a green, sizzling bright light, like a green lightning bolt, broke through the gloom and headed directly for the Country Club, where there was a burst of green light and the smell of ozone.

"What on earth is that, Jim? What's going on?" Trixie was holding his hand so tight, it was a wonder she wasn't breaking a bone.

"I have no idea, Trix. I've never seen anything like this." He didn't want to tell her the bad news. The creepy fog was completely surrounding the Club, much like the flood that surrounded them and Honey on the barn roof in Happy Valley. And he didn't think a hoarse Bob-White whistle would get them out of this fix.

He didn't have to spell it out for her. She already knew. "We can't tie the tablecloths together to climb down to the ground," she whispered. "You saw what that fog or whatever it is did to your hands. Oh God, all of our friends and family are down there, in it." She buried her face in his chest.

"We can't help them now, Trix. We…we have to try to save ourselves. It doesn't seem to be getting any higher," Jim sadly said, putting his arm around her. "It looks like it's about ten feet off the ground. We might be safe here."

"Rends-moi mon tresór!" The words hit Trixie like a bolt to the brain, making her stagger back and causing a fresh spurt of blood from her nose. Jim caught at her, pulled her to him, and laid her gently down on the roof.

"What the hell was that?" he asked her, his eyes wide with fright. Trixie looked dazed; she was a white as a sheet and her nose was bleeding. Again.

She wiped at her nose with her one remaining glove. "You heard that this time?"

"I didn't exactly hear it, Trixie. More like a blast in my head." He shook it, trying to clear out the headache. If he experienced the hurt, it must be infinitely more painful for her. "I think she said, give me back my treasure in Creole French. What is she talking about?"

"I don't know Jim," Trixie shook her head, sending her curls bouncing. "I don't have any treasure and as far as I know, no-one in my family does. I…"

Whatever she was about to say was cut off by the insistent banging of the trapdoor. They looked at each other, emerald green to sapphire blue, and then back at the door.

The glove was holding, but barely. Jim looked around; there was nowhere to go except the top of the powerhouse. A ladder was leaning against the wall. If they could get up on the roof of the powerhouse, pull the ladder up behind them, whatever was trying to come through that trapdoor would not be able to get to them.

He hoped.

Pulling her up, and pulling her after him, not liking the lethargic way she was moving, he made it to the small building that held the heating and air-conditioning equipment, as well as the electrical connections. As she sagged wearily against the wall, he picked up the ladder and unfolded it to the accompaniment of louder and louder slamming noises coming from the trapdoor. A quick glance at the glove showed it was beginning to fray.

"C'mon, Trix, get up there," Jim ordered, trying to keep the sheer panic from his voice. When she took a step, began swaying, he realized he'd have to help her up to the pitched roof. And pray they'd be able to stay on there without sliding down.

He got in back of her, his strong arms caging her in, providing a safe haven as he pushed and prodded her up. On the last step, he all but heaved her up there and scrambled after her. As he pulled the ladder up after them, hooking it on the small vent pipes, the trapdoor slammed open with a loud bang.

They all started streaming out, a long line that began to spread out over the roof, bringing with them the smell of decay. They shuffled like sleepwalkers; jerky, almost convulsive movements counterpointed by the wet rags that used to be costumes.

Jim and Trixie pushed themselves farther up the roof, legs furiously scrambling to get them as far away as possible from the things that poured out of the hatch like so many ants. The moon poured its icy blue light down, almost as bright as the sun, as Trixie looked, stunned at the scene unfolding below.

"Oh my God, Jim, look…it's Mart…and Honey…and Mr. Maypenny…Daddy…" she closed her eyes. She couldn't look any longer at the shells of what used to be her family and friends.

Their skin had gone a sickly grayish-white and thin, dark purple veins crisscrossed ominously beneath it. But it was their eyes that brought on the most absolute terror Jim had ever felt.

His sister's eyes were no longer that amazing topaz; Mart's eyes were no longer a blazing blue. Instead, their eyes were replaced by that glowing green that bolted and sizzled through the fog.

He felt himself going into a mind-numbing shock; realized he couldn't allow himself the luxury of that. He had to protect Trixie. Had to tell her, because they might not make it out of this one.

"Trix," he began, taking her hands in his. "Trix, look at me." She raised her head, blue eyes searching his honest green ones. "Trix, we may…I don't know what's happening, but we may not make it out of here. Or we may become like them." He tried to control the shudder that wracked through him. "I wanted…I just wanted you to know. It was always you. I…I'm so sorry about the whole mess, hurting you. Making you take off the bracelet. I didn't want it then and I don't want it now. I may have kissed a few girls, but I never…never loved them. None of them were ever you. I love you, Trixie. I want to apolog…"

Crystal tears were spilling silently from her eyes as she placed her fingers over his lips. "I love you too, Jim. Always have, always will. Even…even if we become like them, I…"

The dazzling green light burst forth from the hatch, almost blinding in its intensity. When they could see again, she was standing there, her stringy yellow hair dripping wet. Her clothes were in tatters, and a crab skittered from one gaping hole to another. A long, thick worm did the same.

"Give me my treasure," she thundered at Trixie, her few teeth blackened and rotting. She held out her hand, some bone showing through the decomposing flesh. The green light intensified again; overlaid was the beautiful face and slender body of a woman with café-au-lait skin.

"Rends-moi mon tresór!" her arms extended gracefully from her body, fingers undulating. The two were wavering, almost merging, and people that used to be the residents of Sleepyside surrounded the small shed, hammering at it spasmodically.

"I don't have your treasure," Trixie screamed as the entire building began to shake. She looked down at her hands, grabbing one of the vent pipes, trying to hold on. "Jim!"

The ring she found a few weeks ago was glowing the same green as the eyes of the zombie army that was attacking them. Could that be the treasure? As she struggled to remove the ring, caught in the satin fabric of her remaining glove, the vent pipe Jim was holding onto gave way. Catching himself on the ladder, it swung out over the mob, tilting into it.

"Trixie! Trixie!" he screamed as they grabbed at him. She watched in horrified fascination as Brian's hand made contact with Jim's skin. Immediately, the area became dead white with the purple veins crackling upon it and it began to rapidly spread. "Trixie! Trix…"

"Trixie? Trix? Wake up, baby," Jim's gentle voice penetrated her foggy brain.

"Jim?" she tried to sit up, had a bit of trouble. Jim was smiling down at her, extending a hand to help her.

"Leave you for five minutes and you fall asleep on me," he complained, his lips curving to show he wasn't really angry. "You know you're seven months along. You should be taking it easy, not falling asleep on some uncomfortable rock." He sat down next to her, his large hand curving protectively around her basketball-sized stomach.

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and cuddled up to her handsome husband. "Boy, I must have been more tired than I thought. I had such a crazy dream," she told him, her eyes still sleepy.

"And you're going to be real achy later on, baby. This rock was not made for naps," he chided her.

"Well, I have you and your magic hands to help me and junior along here," she laughed. "How did the dock make out?"

Jim frowned. "It'll need a lot of repair in the spring. The nor'easter took out most of the planking. All there's left is a few boards and the pilings. It's a good thing you waited her for me; there was a lot of debris on the beach. I don't want you tripping and falling."

"You know I'm Miss Graceful," she kidded back.

"Mrs. Graceful." He traced a finger along the rings, his rings, she finally wore. "Let's get home, baby." He pulled her to her feet and wrapped a long arm about her shoulders.

She stuffed a hand inside her pocket, felt the object within. The ring! The treasure…it was just a dream, right? She looked up at Jim, fingered the ring and made a decision.

"Hang on for a second, Jim," she said as she curled her fist around the cameo. She stepped out from Jim's protective arms and faced the Hudson River. Pulling her hand from her pocket, she gave one mighty throw and the object sailed from her hands, arcing high into the air and glittering in the sun.

"What was that, Trix?"

"Oh, just something I found on the beach and forgot I put in my pocket." She crossed her fingers behind her back. "I'm starving!"

He picked her up, cradling her in his arms as if she weighed nothing. "Starving, huh? You seem to have put on a little weight there, pal."

"Your child, James Frayne," she replied indignantly, as he lowered his lips to hers.

The small splash in the river was not heard by the two figures on the bank. The pretty ring sank lower and lower into the cold, dark water. The strong currents of the Hudson had no effect on it; it plummeted down in a straight line, as if it didn't have to obey the laws of physics.

As it almost reached its destination on the muddy, black bottom, the skeletal arm and hand snapped through the silt, snatched it up in a green glow, and slipped promptly back to its final resting place.

The cold, muddy water of the Hudson glowed an unearthly green for just a second and the water itself seemed to whisper a sigh of relief. Everything was in its place.