Fool's Gold

By Ben Larned

Sammy Carter thinks his troubles are over when his older brother gets him a job at the prestigious Pine Hills Golf Club. But they've only just begun. Before he knows it, Sammy is caught in a web of secrets, lies, and conspiracies that transcend even the grave. With no one to turn to, Sammy must dig up the truth before he becomes the next victim.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ben Larned
• Release date: Apr 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301035410

Ben Larned

Ben Larned is an award winning film major at NYU. His short horror stories have been published in several literary magazines. Currently, Ben is working on his second novel, as well as his first feature film script which he plans to shoot in summer 2014.

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Fool's Gold

a novel

Ben Larned

Copyright by Ben Larned. All Rights Reserved.

Published by Smucky Press

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Book Design and Cover Design 2013

All Rights Reserved by Ben Larned and Smucky Press

Smashwords Edition

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Chapter One

Sammy’s car, a black piece of rusting shit, sat in the direct fury of the blazing sun. He groaned, opened the door, and grimaced as he sat down in the suffocating heat. The air conditioning didn’t work anymore – it had broken two months ago, during the hottest part of the summer. Just his luck. With another groan he turned the key in the ignition. After three tries the engine caught and struggled to life. He uttered a mock prayer of thanks, put the car in reverse, and drove.

Allen was waiting for Sammy at the gate, looking sharp in his thousand-dollar suit next to his red convertible. Sammy parked his car by the side of the road and went to meet him. He was immediately swallowed in a crushing hug, which Sammy tried to match but couldn’t begin to.

Great to see you, man, Allen said. Sorry that last interview didn’t pan out.

Sammy attempted a smile. It’s alright. I just hope this one works out better.

Allen frowned in outward sympathy, but said nothing. The two brothers walked in relative silence across a large expanse of parking lot toward the country club. It will, Allen said at last. I’m sure you were just too good for them, Sammy.

In spite of everything, that made Sammy smile. Thanks, Allen.

Sammy regarded his brother’s striking blue eyes. At times he marveled that they could be related at all. Allen had movie star good looks; the kind that would make anyone do a double-take when they saw him walking down the street. He was unbelievably charming, and when he tried could be wickedly seductive – women, when they looked at him, fell to their knees in more ways than one. His chin was square, skillfully shaped, marked with a manly sort of stubble that was well trimmed but still visible. All of his features were in proportion to each other, unlike Sammy, who still hadn’t grown into his nose. Sammy remembered asking his mother when he was six or seven, why he didn’t look more like Allen. She had responded with contempt that Allen had his father’s looks, and that Sammy should be grateful for what he had.

Another silence, but this one Allen stopped. So, how’s Janey? You two still just friends?

Sammy’s stomach jumped. Yep, just friends. She’s doing really well – she sold three paintings last week.

Allen nodded in approval. That’s pretty good, he said. He paused, opened his mouth as if he had something to say, but it seemed the words were stuck. In frustration he sighed, then tried again. You know, if it ever gets weird between you two again, you can always bunk with me. I have three extra bedrooms.

Sammy paused with equal awkwardness. Thanks, Allen, I’ll keep that in mind.

So, are you pumped for this interview? Allen said almost paternally, looking dubious with one eyebrow raised. I’m glad Dolores was available today – she’s usually pretty booked.

Sammy smiled and nodded. He was always amazed at his brother’s willingness to help him, while asking for nothing in return. He’d been that way since they were kids, and it was the main reason Sammy loved him so much. Allen was a selfless person, at least when it came to his little brother. Sammy reflected on this as he looked at Allen and said, Thanks again for setting this up. I really appreciate it.

Ah, it’s no problem. I’m your brother, what else am I supposed to do?

Sammy and Allen walked along the wrought iron fence surrounding the golf club grounds, which Sammy thought would be more at home surrounding an old Romanian castle. As the two came into view of the towering front doors of the club house, Allen slowed his steps and patted his brother on the shoulder, turning to leave.

Really, Allen. You’re saving my life here. I ... I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you. But I promise: one day I’ll pay you back. For everything.

This time Allen paused, for a very short time, but to Sammy it felt too long. Allen looked furtively at the front doors. His eyes became shadowed, clouded over by some secret thought that he didn’t want Sammy to hear. Then he spoke in a voice that was not his own, an alien voice, full of something unknown. He said four simple words in this voice, and though by the next morning Sammy had forgotten them completely, they now chilled him so fully he thought he’d never be warm again.

Allen said, I know you will.

The sun hung high in a cloudless blue sky, but there was a slight brisk quality in the air now, the kind that always accompanies the end of summer. The warmth that had plagued him before had evaporated, much to his pleasure. It was Sammy’s favorite time of year – those precious few weeks before the chill set in and winter took its cruel hold on the earth. This weather never failed to fill him with an innocent kind of happiness, one that reminded him of the long-gone days of childhood before his father left.

Reluctant, Sammy turned to finish his approach to the club house, which he had never seen before today but had always imagined as a great big hotel made of marble and stone. His image had been incorrect, as mental pictures often are. The building was partially hidden by titanic elms and maples whose branches snaked out like long limbs. It was long and wide, almost tall enough to house two stories. There was a tower-like structure coming from the middle, jutting out above the trees into the sky, constructed mainly of grey brick with a roof of brown shingles. Most of the building that could be seen was made of the same material in a similar pattern. There were many windows that ran almost top to bottom, with frames of dark wood that blended well with the bricks around them. He could also see the top of the porte-cochère, made of deep brown mahogany, which extended far enough to allow the passage of cars beneath it. It all looked antique, maybe even Victorian, in the classic style of old east-coast money.

As he got closer, more of the building revealed itself. He could see glass lanterns sitting atop iron fixtures planted into thick stone pillars; part of the golf course, dotted with more elms; and finally, the giant double doors, crafted from gorgeous carved wood.

The breeze turned colder, and Sammy could feel a heavy dread settling in his stomach, making him feel queasy and almost afraid. That image of a haunted house was becoming stronger in his head, and he suddenly felt like going back to his car. Then he remembered his current situation of penury. No, he must go forward.

He walked up the steps under the huge awning, stopped in front of the massive doors and turned around. Allen had instructed him to wait there. Beyond the porch he could see the entire expanse of the parking lot, which took up most of the view. The gate seemed a million miles away. He felt so alone standing there, in this place filled with success stories that would likely never be his to tell. The urge to drive home was strong, but he fought it. This was his last chance at a decent life.

Hello Sam. I’m Dolores Bright, the General Manager. Welcome to Pine Hills Golf Club.

The dark velvety voice that came from behind Sammy startled him. It was full of mystery and intrigue, a voice that, in Sammy’s imagination, belonged on a phone-sex line. He turned to face its owner and was shocked to see a woman who couldn’t have been younger than sixty. He masked his surprise with an awkward smile, though his nerves didn’t allow more than that. Any words he tried to produce just got stuck in his throat.

She returned the smile, showing off impossibly straight, white teeth lined by the reddest lips. Her skin, powdered with layers and layers of foundation, seemed stretched too tight over her bones. Still, she was oddly beautiful for an old lady, and Sammy found the voice fit her just fine. Her eyes, however, were icy blue, cold and condemning as she looked him over. She offered an arthritic hand – her swollen knuckles being the only real sign of old age – and said, Pleasure to meet you.

Sammy tried not to squeeze too hard, as he felt he might break her hand, but she took his in a powerful grip that shocked him. Her lips stretched out in a thin red line as she gave him one last squeeze, then broke off the handshake. His bones throbbed dully, but he ignored that.

It’s an honor to meet you, Ms. Bright, he said, aware that his cheeks were flushing.

Well, I could say the same for you, she said. Her voice was unbelievably appealing, and Sammy was still having a hard time accepting the fact that she wasn’t a young woman. Your brother speaks highly of you.

He does? Sammy said. He looked down at his tattered shoes, but he couldn’t keep the proud smile off of his face.

Her own smile widened, though her eyes remained cold. She nodded once, then clasped her hands. We should probably get started on the tour. Will you follow me?

Without waiting for his answer, she turned on her heel – a three-inch-high green stiletto, something not usually worn by women over 40 – and opened the front door. Sammy, bewildered by how fast this was moving, followed behind her like a lost dog.

Sammy was greeted inside by a huge room that belonged in a scary movie. The walls were painted a deep red, with mahogany paneling along the bottom. The carpet was a crisscross of red and purple. Along the walls were symmetrical pillars of thick wood, with iron and glass light fixtures attached in the middle. The only reprieve from the dark colors was the white ceiling. Cold, iron chandeliers hung from it in several places, casting an eerie yellowish glow. The only real light, however, came from outside, and Sammy imagined it would be very dark inside without it. There was a faint and constant stream of androgynous music coming from some unknown place, which fit in with the strangeness he was feeling about his surroundings.

Dolores made her way past a sitting area, with Sammy following close behind. Several red leather armchairs and a large sofa faced a huge stone fireplace that belonged in a mountain resort. He took a moment to take all of this in – the chandeliers, the decorated walls, the lodge-like sitting area – and as he did, he realized it all had a homey feel to it; a cozy kind of atmosphere, and the thoughts of horror films floated away. Sammy felt a bit silly, always having a tendency to find the macabre in most everything, anyway. He supposed it was probably a result of all the beloved horror comics he had collected and memorized. Many of them had belonged to his father, which explained his mother’s disapproval of them.

They went wordlessly down the hallway, past dozens of Best Of plaques and cases of golf trophies shamelessly flaunting the club’s achievements. Dolores walked like a model down a catwalk in front of him, and Sammy struggled to keep up with her. Occasionally they passed members who acknowledged her with a nod, and she waved back, though her manner wasn’t friendly at all. Through the windows to their left, Sammy could see the patio, where several groups were enjoying the last of the good weather – mostly older men wearing loose polos and khakis, with their plastic wives sitting beside them. A few of them glanced up at him as he stumbled along, in his high school prom suit with a dress shirt from Allen that was too big, and a tie that was stifling. Their eyes were cold critics, and he hoped he would be away from their scrutiny soon.

So, Sam, Dolores said, have you been to the club before?

No, I haven’t, he replied. I’ve heard a lot about it, though. Allen talks about it all the time.

I’m sure he does, she said. Sammy waited for something else, but she said no more.

The hallway went on for almost a mile – or so it felt – until Dolores stopped under a wide wooden threshold that led to a large and crowded dining room. Here, there were at least ten rectangular pillars made of the same wood, with the familiar iron light fixtures attached on all four sides. Three of the walls were lined with booths of rich red leather. The tables and chairs were all made of petrified oak, embellished with more iron. Several chandeliers hung from the ceiling, though the light source currently came from the gaping windows facing the threshold. They provided a beautiful view of the golf course and the mountains beyond, though most tables were situated so the guests couldn’t see out.

Dolores waved her hand at the room, and as she did the buzzing conversation came to a slow halt. The diners looked up from their plates and gazed at them, as if their arrival had interrupted their meal.

This, Dolores said with a hint of pride, is our main dining room. You’ll be doing most of your work here. We get very busy on Friday nights and on weekends, but it’s nothing you won’t be able to handle. She gestured to the bar, where a tall, wild-looking man was pouring a beer. On occasion, you’ll be working behind the bar. Jim there can teach you everything you need to know. You are over 18, yes?

He nodded.

Good. Now, follow me.

She turned again and continued down the hall. Sammy looked one last time at the silent patrons, and noticed they were staring straight at him now with expressions that couldn’t be read. He felt a slight chill run down his spine before he turned and followed Dolores.

She took a sharp right turn down a windowless hallway that branched off the main one. The elevator music was streaming from speakers hidden in the corners. Sammy felt a little unsettled by it – without the windows, the only light was a dim, oily one that cast unnatural shadows upon the walls. Instead of maroon paint, the walls were covered in yellow wallpaper Sammy found rather unpleasant. Eerie images tried to invade his thoughts, but he pushed them away.

Now, Sam, Dolores said, have you worked in a restaurant before?

Her voice shook him from his distractions, making him jump a little. Luckily she wasn’t looking at him when he did. No I haven’t, but I’m very interested in that kind of work, he said unconvincingly. Truth was, his only previous job had been mowing lawns for a pathetic $7.00 an hour, but he decided it might be best to keep that from her attention for now.

That shouldn’t be a problem, she said. The work can be stressful sometimes, but you will get the hang of it quickly enough.

She suddenly stopped in front of a wide wooden door, and Sammy almost ran into her. She didn’t seem to notice, and opened the door. This is the men’s lounge, she explained. You may take some orders in here, if necessary.

Sammy looked into the room. It was small compared to the other room he’d seen, and also looked like it belonged in a mountain resort. Trophies from hunts, probably bought at a sporting goods store, were mounted along the walls, and there was a zebra-skin rug just in front of the fireplace. All of the furniture was crafted of thick, coarse-looking leather.

Though the room was oddly empty now, Sammy could almost hear the men talking in their loud, pompous tones, smoking pungent cigars, ordering him and the other staff around as if they were slaves. He felt something else there, too – a prickling on his skin – but he couldn’t put his finger on the source. With a mental sweep he pushed it out of his mind.

Then Dolores said, Any questions so far? I hope I’m not moving too fast for you.

For some reason that comment insulted Sammy, but he took care not to show it. No, I think I understand everything, he said, and smiled.

She returned the gesture, then turned and motioned down the hall. Let’s continue. We’re almost done.

They made their way down the hall until they reached another door. Upon the wood there was a gold plaque, with the words Men’s Locker Room engraved in sophisticated black letters. This time Dolores merely stood before it, and instead turned to speak.

This, as you can see, is the men’s locker room. Employees may use it on occasion, as long as they’re not in the way of the guests. Staff can’t use the lockers, however – we provide one for you in the kitchen. Throughout the day, you will need to come in and make sure the guests didn’t leave any plates or glasses behind.

She studied his face to make sure he understood, and he nodded. Sammy was beginning to get the feeling that this wasn’t an interview after all, like he already had the job. He tried not to get his hopes up though, especially based on his past disappointments in this department.

Alright. Now follow me to my office, and we’ll fill out the paperwork. We should be done soon.

Sammy stood motionless, stunned. Stammering, he said, Y-you mean, I got the job?

Well, yes, I thought Allen explained that we had an opening to fill.

RUN.

At first Sammy didn’t know how to respond. Then, after a pause that seemed much too long, he ignored the voice in his head and said, Thank you so much, I am so excited about this and can’t …

Dolores interjected, We’ve been waiting for someone like you for a long time. Can you start at noon tomorrow?

Without waiting for a response she moved past him and continued down the hall. Sammy followed her, almost running to keep up with her pace. The hallway seemed to go on for some impossible distance, weaving around like a snake’s body past doors and, once in a while, some painting or other, until they reached the lobby. He was about to follow Dolores through the threshold into the main, sunlit part of the building when he felt it.

There was a sudden cold blast, as if someone had turned on an invisible fan that was pointed toward him. It felt like something had walked by him – no, run by him – and, though he later concluded the experience had been a hallucination, he thought he had seen a shadow move across the wall. He stopped walking and stood there, trying to figure out what had happened.

Then the elevator music stopped. Sammy, forgetting about Dolores and the paperwork for the moment, looked around at the nearby guests to see if they noticed. Everyone was going about their activities as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. Either this glitch with the music and the sudden change in room temperature happened regularly, or he was imagining things.

He was about to forget the whole thing and catch up with Dolores when another sound took the music’s place – a deep sound, indistinct and full of static, that swallowed all other sounds. It was a raspy breathing, like that of a chain smoker, but it wasn’t completely human – it was too deep