Free Halloween: Magic, Mystery, and the Macabre by Paula Guran

he was flat on the ground as the sheriff snatched the cuffs from his gun-belt and proceeded to truss up the turkey.
    I was headed for the water by that point. The smoke from the
    dead-man fire drifted between me and the lake, giving the heavy
    moon above a black cataract. But I was through it in a second, and the cataract was gone, and a familiar white glow pooled on the still water before me.
    Black water.
    And beyond the expanse of darkness, out there where the moon’s
    reflection floated, a glimmer of movement.
    I heard a splash, and spotted the woman.
    I dove into the darkness.
    I swam towards the light.
    It had to be her. That’s what I told myself as my hands cut furrows in that cold water and I stroked toward the moon’s reflection.
    By that time, you’d think I would have been flashbacking like
    a son of a bitch. Seeing visions of a little girl taped up in a plastic Halloween mask. Seeing her disappear underwater all over again.
    Only difference from that Halloween night back in ’63 was that I
    wasn’t a kid anymore . . . but the girl in the water wasn’t a kid, either.
    NORMAN PARTRIDGE [63]
    Other than that, my heart was pounding exactly as it had ten years before—same lake, same hope, same fear, same desperation. That’s
    how far I’d put Charlie Steiner’s memory behind me . . . or maybe it was just how deep Charlie was buried.
    At least that’s what I thought. That’s what I told myself.
    Whatever the case, I wouldn’t give the past a window. I felt no
    pain; didn’t even feel the bullet wound trenched in my shoulder.
    Everything that was with me was in my head. The things that had
    just happened most of all—each one of them was a flashbulb pop
    that waited for me every time I closed my eyes and dipped my head
    into that water.
    Ben walking with the shotgun.
    The naked woman getting prodded with the flares.
    The gunfight.
    The corpses on the beach.
    The man facedown in the fire, and the stink of burning flesh.
    And then I’d gulp a clean breath, open my eyes, catch my bearings, and see that spot of moon on the water, and the streak of light that stretched across the lake between it and me—
    —and the woman. There she was. Paddling away from me, arms
    splashing the water in hard slaps, a black wake left behind by her kicking feet.
    She had to be terrified. That was it. Had to be she didn’t even
    know what had happened back at the beach. If that were true, she
    was still trying to get away. Hell, she might think I was one of the bikers, and—
    She coughed. Hard. Like she’d swallowed water. Again, as if she
    was spitting up a bellyful.
    “Hey!” I yelled. “It’s over! It’s okay. I’m with the sheriff. Tread water. Stay in one spot. We’ll take care of you!”
    Another cough. A few frantic splashes in a streak of moonlight.
    She was going under.
    My head was above water as I stroked forward. Watching, keeping my eye on the woman so I’d know exactly where to dive if it came to that.
    A gasp for breath, and then her head went under.
    [64] THE MUMMY'S HEART
    And her arms followed. And her fingers.
    That’s when the past slammed me hard, right between the eyes.
    And it wasn’t the woman disappearing beneath the surface of the
    lake. It was a sound, from behind me.
    I knew it was only the campfire, stirring in a gust of wind.
    Or the rising wind carving a path through those old stands of
    eucalyptus.
    I knew it was. It had to be.
    Because it wasn’t a mummy, swinging his wrecking-ball fist,
    roaring in the darkness.
    It wasn’t a mummy, cursing loneliness, and dreams, and wishes,
    and magic . . . and fate.
    So I ignored it, and I swam fast, and then I started diving.
    Underwater, there was silence. My heart pounded with
    desperation, but there was nothing else to do. I dove once, twice. And the second time down I thought my fingers were passing through
    a tangle of weeds. At first I did. But it had to be the woman’s hair.
    Because as I pulled my hand free, the strands were