Mooncusser Cove

by Darragha Foster

  Jin proceeded down Main Street, the ends of Maria's shroud flapping in the breeze like the town's pennant.

  It was nearing dusk. The sky glowed pinks and purples, framing the red-ringed sun like angel's wings. The wind would be whipping up tonight. No rain until late. A good night for a fire at Mooncusser Cove. A good night to put an end to the horror of the beach once and for all.

  At the old-timey town gazebo, Abidjan took center stage. “Citizens!” he called into the forming crowd. “One of your own has been murdered by the hand of evil."

  He looked down at Jin, standing to the side, below the platform encased on two sides by latticework. “And another has been violated. I don't know how many more of you have made the trip to Mooncusser Cove and been infected with Hell's passion, nor do I know how many of you have suffered dark, sleepless nights plagued by unexplainable urges. But I want to know. Step forward. Step forward if you have been wrecked by the Mooncussers."

  One by one, every man gathered in the streets of Marshes Coomb, stepped forward.

  Bynder Argyle, a town elder, spoke up, his ancient voice barely wavering. “I am eighty-nine years old, and the taste of honey has never left my lips, though when I looked for the hive, it was nowhere to be found. Some seventy years I've been waiting to stick my nose in the honey pot."

  A hand flew out and struck him on the shoulder. The crowd twittered. Mrs. Argyle didn't want her husband of fifty-plus years getting into the honey. She'd fought against that sweetness all her life.

  Sheriff Abidjan smiled at the crowd of fools standing before him. “Our forefathers fought the Mooncusser clan—those literally blood-thirsty demons—by erecting the lighthouse. In time, they all moved on. Or so we thought. One stayed, citizens. Think hard. You'll remember her. And this is what she will do to all our youth,” he reached down and dramatically lifted the sheet off Maria's cold, blue, nude body. A roar of disbelief and horror flowed through the onlookers. “This innocent girl had her blood stolen."

  Jin bit his lips to withhold a banshee-like shrill cry of delight. “The Lady of the Beach drugged me! She forced me to kill Maria. She wanted virgin's blood. Virgin's blood for her rituals at the cove."

  The crowd rumbled and fell into shock like dominos being toppled. The words virgin, blood and ritual passing from person to person in collective hysteria. One woman, clutching her wide-eyed, fearful daughter to her side, stepped forward. “What are we going to do? Sheriff?"

  "We cleansed the cove by bringing light to it the first time. Our people put up that lighthouse! We need to light the darkness once again. Once again and forever.” Abidjan reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a pad of paper and book of matches. He struck a match and lit the small tablet ablaze, turning it over in his fingers to avoid being burned. He held the flames out before him like a shield. “We need to burn her out. Burn her out and crush the Mooncusser demons. Burn the old house. Burn anything that is hers. Leave her no safe place. Leave her nowhere to hide, nowhere to work her evil sex magic."

  Mr. Argyle, his taste for Vesper's honey not diminished in the least, but being way overshadowed by the primal urges of a mob mentality, raised his feeble arms into the air. “Peine forte et dure! I call for a reenactment of the law allowing next of kin to mete out justice in a wrongdoing. I say we give her the hard and forceful punishment. Press the breath from her as she has pressed the breath from those she's straddled over the years."

  Jin shivered. This was better than he had hoped. “Who is family to this girl? Who will place the first stone upon the witch board to crush the life from the unholy specter of Mooncusser Cove?"

  A hundred arms went up.

  "So be it.” Abidjan scanned the crowd for the curator of the town's small museum. “Mr. Mondragon!” he called. “Take some men. Bring the plank and stones. Dust them off. They're about to end their time as an exhibit for our witch-trial days, and once again serve their rightful purpose."

  "Shouldn't we just phone the state authorities?” Coombs newcomer and first-grade teacher Pamela Moeller called. “You're all acting crazy. Vigilante crazy. Someone murdered this poor girl, and you're dragging her corpse through the streets. Planning a lynching is prehistoric in thought! This is more like a scene from Frankenstein than a day in the twenty-first century! What's the matter with you people? What about the children here?"

  Pam turned as her shoulder was tapped from behind. A large fist socked her one across the chin, and the words "They can use smaller rocks." echoed in her ears as she went down.

  Abidjan nodded at the man who'd silenced the one dissenter in the crowd. “Lock her up.” He tossed his handcuffs into the crowd. He stepped down.

  "Mr. Pennywise, bring your hay wagon and team to the square. You others with trucks, fill your beds with the Coomb's finest citizens. We'll meet back here in half an hour.” The sheriff raised his chin, addressing the heavens as if in prayer. “Gather your children to you, mothers. Teach them the history of the Coomb. Have them wrap their baseball bats in oil-soaked cloth—after all, what's a good storming of a castle without torches? Bring your gas cans, your shovels, your rakes and hoes. It's time to reclaim our souls from the Mooncusser clan."

  Chapter Eighteen

  The hairs on the back of Vesper's neck wouldn't relax. They prickled and tickled and stood on end as if something creepy-crawly was working its way across her scalp.

  A decidedly unpleasant inland breeze was clinging to the salt air like a parasite as she and Jerrod strolled to the lighthouse. She couldn't shake the sense of dread in her gut. She knew it was too late to flee.

  She glanced over her shoulder. The road to the Coomb seemed alive with fireflies. The will-o'-the-wisps were dancing. Apparitions, ghostly images of her future were divvying up her karmic bill, and it wasn't a Dutch-treat meal. She owed every penny.

  She knew it was time to pay up.

  She'd seen her demise. But she was not the last. What of Jin—and Maria? Will they survive my death to perpetuate the curse without the benefit of the kin's knowledge? I am not the last accursed beast on this beach.

  The rain had left the air perfumed with purity, and a light mist rolling in off the bay seemed to shroud the area in a veil of tranquil surrender.

  Dirt bike tracks shot off the trail from here and there, but mostly, there was just sand. Sand and grass along a gentle slope leading to the white brick lighthouse with its cheery red door.

  "Automated, huh? What a pity. I fancy the life of a lighthouse keeper was invigorating,” Jerrod said at the front stoop. “Reminds me of the old radio show Three Skeleton Key."

  "Another memory?” Vesper asked.

  Jerrod nodded. “I remember sitting in a dark room with my cousin listening to a tape cassette recording of this old radio program called Lights Out. Three Skeleton Key was one of the stories."

  "Oh, darling. Do tell,” Vesper replied. She turned the knob on the lighthouse door. The old brass and wood door creaked open. “Take my mind off the approach of impending doom, all right?"

  Moonie bolted inside between their legs, her nose to the floor and tail wagging madly.

  "These three lighthouse keepers lived on a key down south. A storm blew a ship in and it crashed on the reef. There were no survivors. The ship had been adrift for months—maybe years. The only living things on it were thousands upon thousands of hungry, feral rats."

  Vesper switched on the single electric light bulb illuminating the spiral staircase leading to the globe of the lighthouse. “Rats,” she said softly, wrinkling her nose.

  "Lots of rats. They stormed the lighthouse, trapping the men. They ate through the wood barriers until the only thing standing between the men and the rats was a single steel trap door."

  "Oh, like this one?” Vesper asked, pointing above them.

  Jerrod laughed. “Yes, I suppose so.” He glanced around nervously. “Moonie?"

  The pooch bounded up the steps, panting.

  "Come on, Jerrod. There's nothing in here that will eat the dog. Espec
ially not a teeming mass of hungry rats.” Vesper began her ascent.

  Jerrod followed. “The bad nasty rats ate through all the wood around the trap door and the last thing in the show is screaming. Screaming of men being eaten alive."

  "Such lovely shows they used to air. I was probably alive when that aired. What? ... About nineteen forty-eight?"

  "Something like that. You know, for such an old woman, your ass is smokin',” Jerrod said, reaching up to pat Vesper's round bum.

  "I'm older than dirt, and thanks. I'm glad you like what I have—because it's staying put. No diets or derriere crunches for me. I like the bit of cushion I have."

  "Me, too.” Jerrod patted her butt again. “This staircase is amazing."

  "Wrought iron. Intricate as Hell and not a person to enjoy it. I've managed to keep this one particular lighthouse off any historic registry to keep away tourists and other such enthusiasts. Once Vespers by the Sea opens, that's likely to change. I'll probably hold mixers out here. Set an open bar and some nice chairs. Maybe hire a classical guitarist. From your land, the sunset here at the cove with the lighthouse dead center of it is amazing. Of course, I may never get to open my B and B."

  "Don't be so morose, Vesper. Remember, change is a good thing. Though I must say that this handrail leaves a bit to be desired. You'll want do something about this before serving liquor to horny guests,” Jerrod said, elbowing the single strand of rope lining the curved staircase.

  "I'll jump off that bridge when I get to it. For now, if you're bothered by the set-up, just don't look down and don't fall.” Vesper pushed up the metal hatch and climbed into the turret of the lighthouse. “In its heyday, this lens flared every ten seconds and shone out to sea for twenty-seven miles. Now the light comes on for about four hours—between midnight and four, flashing every three minutes. It's all battery-operated, fed off solar cells. The coast guard comes out here every so often and does an inspection. Nice men. They usually stop for tea."

  "Do they taste good?” Jerrod asked, pushing the dog up before him.

  "Not too bad. A little salty for my tastes.” Vesper licked her lips teasingly.

  "Vampire,” Jerrod said, pushing himself through the opening and closing the trap.

  "I've been this way for so long I barely remember how being mortal feels. The one thing I do recall, however, is what it feels like to be a Mooncusser. Proud. Courageous, with a strong sense of community and belonging."

  "Tell me more,” Jerrod said, pulling up a crate to sit on.

  "Mock me not, bright moon, for my face is constant whilst thine is ever changing."

  "Ah, so you really did curse the moon,” Jerrod replied.

  "We did. Of course, some of the curses were much more colorful, as you can well imagine. Bright nights brought no profit—and later, bright nights brought hungry bellies. In the middle war years, we could beach two ships during the course of one dark night.” Vesper paused. “When we took on a slaver, we set all captives free. We didn't even speak the same language. I think Uncle Hez did learn a few words in Bantu before the war was over. Something to the effect of, 'Run, freedom lies north!’”

  "That's amazing. Thieves with hearts of gold."

  "We were abolitionists. We knew every inch of our beach so well that we could outsmart the English, the French and the Hessians. We hid the good guys and killed the bad guy when it suited us to do so."

  "Ever kill the good guys?” Jerrod asked, jotting down notes as Vesper spoke.

  "Probably. After the curse we couldn't afford to take sides. Good or bad, humans became nourishment."

  "Vampire,” Jerrod whispered. “In fact, that's what I call the book: Mooncussers: American Vampires."

  "But now, it may all be coming to an end,” Vesper replied.

  "You made it for a long time, Vesper. You and yours have managed to live off the grid and under the radar for so long..."

  "It is so damned hard to live off the grid. I had a blind trust set up to take care of all my household expenses. That was a huge issue. I don't have a birth certificate, a Social Security card, driver's license or passport. It took months for me to manufacture or procure the proper documentation. I made up a maiden name for my mother to access my back account. Mother's maiden name? Hell if I know! She was born in the early eighteen hundreds and was literally traded to my father in marriage for a milk cow and bag of turnips,” Vesper continued. “No one back then recorded every waking moment of a person's life like they do now."

  Jerrod laughed. “A bag of turnips was the bride price? And your father was a wealthy Mooncusser?"

  "I don't know the whole story. My father wanted my mother desperately..."

  Jerrod interrupted, “If you're anything like her, I can fully understand his desperation."

  Vesper blushed. “My grandfather on my mother's side was a very simple man. Father could have offered him land or gold—but grandfather was a man who couldn't grasp the concept of wealth. If he couldn't fish for it, hunt it or smoke it—he liked his tobacco—he didn't recognize it. So, father offered him a nice sturdy cow and enough turnips to keep him through the winter. And grandfather gave my mother to my father. They were wed in good Mooncusser fashion and produced lots of fat, happy babies."

  "Naming them after Catholic prayers."

  "Yes. Lauds, Terce, Sext, Nonne, Matins, Vigil and Vesper."

  "You're the baby?” Jerrod asked.

  Vesper nodded. “I'm the baby."

  "So, did your mother know she was marrying into a wealthy clan of land pirates?” Jerrod asked.

  "Considering that she jumped right in and worked side-by-side with the other women after a wrecking, I'd say she did know. Auntie called my mother a first-rate stripper."

  Jerrod laughed. “A stripper?"

  "Of boots and valuables. Mother could strip a man clean in seconds. I figure my grandfather wanted his daughter to never know hunger—so he married her into the clan."

  Jerrod stroked Vesper's arm lovingly. “You know, Vesper ... I won't quote my sources. Your secrets will be safe with me."

  "You're talking like we're going to make it out of the impending battle alive. I remember the way things were, and I believe I can rally to the cause, but I sometimes feel quite that I've lost my fire, Jerrod. My internal Mooncusser bonfire has gone out. I'm not sure I have the strength to fight the tide any longer. I guess once the situation is upon me, I'll know for sure.” Vesper sighed and leaned up against the smooth glass wall of the lighthouse's dome. “I love the view from up here. I hope I'll get to see it for years to come—but I'm afraid I may be chained up in an oubliette before too long."

  "Do you have an oubliette? Really?"

  Vesper nodded. “We do. It's never been sealed off, so other than being damp and filled with cobwebs, I'm sure it's still useful. In a macabre fashion, of course. That and immurement were fairly common forms of persuasion back in the day."

  "A thousand books cometh from my journey to Mooncusser Cove. I say we make peace with the locals and explore the horizon. Starting right here,” Jerrod reached out to caress Vesper's hip.

  "Incorrigible, that's what you are, sir. Incorrigible,” Vesper teased. “And the townies crave blood more than I do, Jerrod. Make peace? I don't think so."

  "I think of my book, and I'm so filled with excitement, wanting to inhale this place whole and exhale it back out onto paper, that I can barely contain myself. And then there's you. You are one sexy woman, and I'll be damned that after forty-eight hours, I feel more at home with you than ever I have before. I know that. I don't have to remember it. I feel it. I am not going to let you go, nor am I going to let them hurt you."

  Vesper leaned forward. “Jerrod, I am your book. I am the last Mooncusser. Inhale me. When you exhale, you will find your book written as magically as if elves came in and wrote it for you during the night."

  Vesper slid into Jerrod's arms. They shared a long, slow, exploratory embrace. Vesper trembled in Jerrod's arms as their lips parted.

 
"What's wrong? You're freezing,” Jerrod asked.

  She whispered into the safety of Jerrod's strong chest, “They're coming."

  "The angry villagers?"

  "I can smell their rage on the wind. It's so strong now. Something bad—very bad—has happened, and I'm being blamed. This most certainly is not the first time a Mooncusser has been blamed for injury, hardship or blight—but I believe it will be the last."

  "We should leave. Now,” Jerrod replied.

  "I won't run. This is my home."

  "You know, Vesper ... this is the twenty-first century. All this hard power stuff you're so concerned with ... being pressed to death under a plank ... pitchforks and rakes—I'm sure there's a better way. Bribery, perhaps? Money talks."

  "That would be your department. The Paladins always negotiated with the local authorities on our behalf,” Vesper replied.

  "I'm a rich man, Vesper. I'm willing to give it all away to save you,” Jerrod said.

  "I never imagined that I would fall in love with my Paladin—but I am falling in love with you, Jerrod. If we survive this night, I want to explore a long-term relationship with you. Make a home with you,” Vesper whispered.

  Jerrod smiled. “I accept—and that's why I think we should leave. Nothing means as much as a chance for real love, Vesper. Not land. Not traditions. Not pride."

  The slow hum of engines and wheels on pot-marked pavement echoed inside the globe chamber, alerting Jerrod and Vesper that the townsfolk had arrived. They peered out the thick window. Headlights danced alongside the will-o-wisps. Torches crackled in the breeze.

  "They're storming the castle, Vesper. Just as you feared,” Jerrod said. “I guess it's time to put on my game face."

  "Jesus Christ. Old Pennywise hooked up his Percherons and hay wagon for the lynching. I count five land yachts, too.” Vesper paused, straining through the thick glass, trying to focus her eyes on the parade. “I see Jin. But I don't see Maria."

  "What do we do, Vesper?” Jerrod asked.

  "Jin is the puppet master for this performance. He's calling the shots. I suppose I need to give him what he wants, and he'll pull the wool over the villagers’ eyes again, and life will go on,” Vesper replied.