Skeleton Tower

by Vanessa Acton

  “Ugh, I give up,” says Morgan. “We’ll just have to keep using our phones.” She starts examining the wall displays. A minute or so later she says, “This place was closed down for longer than I realized. Right after the skeleton tower was built, the original light station and cottage were abandoned. They were empty until just a few years ago. That’s when the foundation started fixing things up.”

  “You’re not seeing anything about anyone named Laura Lee?”

  “I’m not seeing any names at all. This is all vague information about lighthouse keeping in general. What are you doing?”

  Currently I’m squinting to read the title of a slim volume. It turns out to be Top Ten Lighthouses of the Western World. Next to that is Lighthouses through Infographics. “I’ll tell you when I’m done. Carry on, Captain.”

  She snorts quietly. I haven’t called her that in a long time. It really used to annoy her. Of course, when she was fourteen and I was thirteen, everything about me annoyed her, and vice versa. That hasn’t changed. Much.

  On the bottom shelf I find a bulky book with no title printed along the spine. I pull it out to get a look at the front cover.

  I don’t know what I was expecting. Some dusty old volume, I guess. But this book looks brand new. It has a glossy cover that blends in with all the other souvenir-type offerings. A generic color photo of the Earth seen from space. A businesslike font for the title.

  But that title is definitely not tourist-friendly.

  “Morgan,” I say, “it’s here.”

  “What’s here?” she says, still shining her phone along the walls.

  I hold up the book. “The Atlas of Cursed Places.”

  Chapter 8

  Without warning, the lights flicker on. Then off again. Then on. Then off.

  Then they stay off. But that doesn’t stop Morgan and me from sprinting up the stairs. I clutch the book in one hand and my phone in the other. When we get to the landing, Morgan practically body-slams the apartment door.

  It doesn’t open.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she growls. “This place is definitely haunted.”

  “Cursed.”

  “What’s the difference?!”

  “I don’t know, but I assume there is one!”

  The logical next step would be to pound on the door. Mom or Dad would wake up and let us in.

  Of course, they’d also ask questions. Questions we don’t yet have answers for.

  “It might just unlock on its own eventually,” Morgan whispers. “Like the bathroom door did for Mom.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “But in the meantime what do we do?”

  She shrugs. “Wait at the top of the steps?”

  Something about that idea doesn’t appeal to me. Probably the steps part. I’m still a little squeamish after almost getting blown out to sea.

  “Or . . .” I start.

  She cuts me off. “I’m not going back downstairs. That light show almost gave me a seizure.”

  I raise my eyebrows at her. Even though she probably can’t see them in the dark. “Morgan, are you actually scared?”

  “Well, I’m kind of stressed out at this point, yeah.”

  “Stressed out or scared?”

  “Stop splitting hairs! You’re so immature.”

  I shouldn’t smile, but I do. She probably can’t see that either. For the first time in, well, our lives, I feel like we’re on even footing. Equally scared. Equally clueless.

  “Okay, well, if you’re too stressed out to be in the visitors’ center, we could go outside.”

  There isn’t actually a clap of thunder at that moment. But we both pause, listening for one.

  ***

  It’s freezing outside. Welcome to October in the Bay Area. It’s also incredibly dark. Like wearing a blindfold. Except for the rotating light of the skeleton tower. Tonight that beacon reminds me of an action movie hero, surrounded by enemies. Spinning around in a circle, pointing a weapon at all the bad guys. Not ready to accept being cornered.

  Morgan crosses her arms to block the wind. “Well, I feel a whole lot safer out here.”

  “Hey, beggars can’t be choosers.”

  “Fair enough. Where do you want to sit and read this thing?”

  The beacon swoops overhead, and I catch sight of something. At this point, what I see doesn’t surprise me. And it only mildly creeps me out. “How about the old lighthouse?”

  “Isn’t that locked up for the night?”

  “It should be. But the door’s wide open.”

  Morgan sucks in a breath through clenched teeth. “Figures.”

  ***

  We stand in the doorway of the lighthouse. From what we can see by the lights from our phones, the first-floor service room is empty. No burglars. Or cockroaches.

  “You sure it’s a good idea to come in here?” hisses Morgan.

  “Nope. But you’re not cool with the visitors’ center and I’m not cool with the stairs. So this is what’s left.”

  Morgan shoots a nervous glance at the door. “Should we leave this open?”

  “It doesn’t seem to matter,” I say. “The curse does whatever it wants.”

  “You mean the ghost does whatever it wants. Curses can’t want anything.”

  “Like you’re an expert. Here, let’s find out what the atlas has to say about this.”

  “Actually, let’s go up to the lantern station,” says Morgan. “That way we’ll have the light from the skeleton tower, shining through the glass.”

  I take a deep breath. “Okay, Captain. After you.”

  She leads the way up the spiral steps to the glass-walled room at the top. She was right about there being more light up here. I’m not sure if that makes the place less creepy or more so.

  We sit down on the wood floor near the giant lens. I set the book on the floor between us. Morgan flips it open. “I guess we should check the index,” she says. I hold my phone light over the pages while she thumbs through them. “Okay—California . . .”

  She flips to the right page. It looks like an ordinary map of the state. Until you see the tiny skull icons stamped at various spots. “Are those the cursed places?” I ask.

  “Looks like it.” Morgan traces her finger along the west coast. “Oh man, Jason. Here it is. Point Encanto Lighthouse. And it says ‘see page 31 . . .’”

  She flips forward a few pages. And there’s a lovely brochure-type photo of our new home. In daylight, on a day with no fog, it looks innocent. Cute. Almost boring.

  I lean closer and start reading the text for the entry.

  Point Encanto Lighthouse has carried a curse since the year 1887. This curse targets the light’s keepers and their families. It is most active between sunset and midnight. Shortly before the curse was first reported, Seth Blake (1830–1888), the lighthouse’s first keeper, allowed the light to go out during a storm. The date was October 25, 1887. Without the light to guide them, the merchant ship Laura Lee steered too close to Point Encanto’s rocks. The ship was wrecked, and most of the crew drowned. The doomed sailors of the Laura Lee are believed to have laid a curse on the lighthouse’s keepers.

  “Laura Lee,” I whisper to Morgan. “Not a person. A ship.”

  Morgan nods. “We’re being haunted by a ship,” she murmurs.

  “Cursed by a ship.”

  “Whatever.”

  Due to his lapse, Blake was dismissed from his position. He then suffered a nervous breakdown. The next keeper, Alva Waggener (1845–?), disappeared without a trace in 1889. Later keepers were often struck by severe health problems. Others were injured in freak accidents. In 1904, a fire nearly destroyed the keeper’s cottage. In 1913, the roof of the cottage collapsed during a storm . . .

  “Morgan,” I mutter. “I know I’ve said this before. But this might actually be the worst move Mom and Dad have ever made.”

  Chapter 9

  We skim through the rest of the lighthouse’s history. “Seems like the curse calmed down after the ske
leton tower was built,” Morgan notes. “No more fires or whatnot.”

  “Well, there weren’t any keepers after that,” I say. “And the curse was targeting the keepers. So it makes sense that all the weirdness would’ve stopped. At least until a few years ago, when the old lighthouse reopened.”

  “Didn’t you say earlier that Mom and Dad aren’t real keepers, though?”

  “I’m not sure the curse cares.”

  Based on what’s happened today, Morgan can’t argue with that.

  We read the last paragraph of the entry.

  Emma Blake Shields (1871–1967), the daughter of keeper Seth Blake, mentioned the curse in several family letters. Shields herself worked as a lighthouse keeper. She tended the Martine Bay Lighthouse for more than fifty years and had a spotless record. She is thought to have kept a diary during her family’s time at Point Encanto Lighthouse. This diary, which has never been located, may contain further references to the curse.

  Morgan’s been running her finger along the page as she reads. When she reaches the final period, her finger flutters, like it’s not sure what to do now.

  “Wait, that’s it? It doesn’t tell us how to break the curse?”

  “Apparently not,” I say.

  “But we have to figure out how to break it,” says Morgan.

  “Or we could just leave,” I suggest. “I mean—convince Mom and Dad to leave.”

  She glares at me. “You’re the one who’s always complaining that we never stay in one place.”

  “Yeah, well, most places we’ve lived haven’t been cursed!”

  Morgan makes a disgusted noise in her throat. “That’s no excuse.” She slams the atlas shut.

  “How is that not an excuse? We could get seriously hurt if we stay here, Morgan!”

  “I get that, Jason. But Mom and Dad aren’t just going to pack up and leave. We haven’t even been here twenty-four hours. And you know they wouldn’t buy into the supernatural stuff. Besides, even if we could get them to quit, we’d be leaving this mess for the next keepers to deal with. That’s not exactly fair, is it?”

  Morgan’s a fan of fairness. And of disagreeing with me.

  “Our best bet is to try to break the curse,” she insists.

  “Before it breaks us,” I say darkly.

  “Exactly.”

  “And how do we do that?”

  She stands up and crosses her arms, like she’s cold again. “I don’t know. I don’t even know if we can get back into our rooms.”

  I check the time on my phone. “The atlas said the curse is most active between sunset and midnight, right?”

  “Right. So?”

  “So, it’s 12:02. Let’s see if our apartment door is unlocked again.”

  ***

  We make our way back down the winding stairs of the lighthouse. Each metal step clangs under our feet. The acoustics in this lighthouse are pretty good. We’re creating a massive echo.

  The front door is still open, letting in a brisk sea wind. We sprint outside. Behind us, I hear a creak of hinges, and then a bang. The lighthouse door just shut itself.

  ***

  We have no trouble getting back into the cottage. Ditto with the second-floor apartment. We agree to get some sleep and come up with a plan in the morning.

  In my new bedroom, I step over my suitcases and set the atlas on the dresser.

  The words of the previous keepers’ letter come back to me.

  Get out while you can.

  For the first time, I realize I don’t know for sure who wrote that letter. It could’ve been the previous keepers. Or . . .

  It could’ve been whatever wrote Beware Laura Lee on our bathroom mirror.

  It could’ve been the dead sailors, giving us fair warning.

  ***

  I wake up to the sound of a voice downstairs.

  I jolt upright, my heart break-dancing in my chest.

  “Good morning, keepers! Ready for training?” The voice belongs to Mr. Shen.

  I exhale slowly. The ghost-sailors of the Laura Lee haven’t invaded the cottage. Or if they have, they’re keeping quiet.

  “Come on up, boss!” Dad hollers down the stairs.

  Mom knocks on my door. “Rise and shine, kids! The shower’s working fine now!” From her tone, you’d think last night’s incident was just an ordinary plumbing glitch. “If you hurry you can job-shadow us!”

  “Greaaaaat,” I moan. “Living the dream.”

  Job-shadowing my parents is pretty much the last thing I want to do. But maybe Mr. Shen knows something about the curse. Maybe if Morgan and I tag along for Keeper Orientation, we’ll get some useful information out of him.

  I reach for my phone on the dresser. My hand grazes the Atlas of Cursed Places.

  Which is lying open.

  I sit up and stare at it. It was closed when I set it on the dresser last night. But now it’s open to the Point Encanto entry.

  And the bottom corner of the right-hand page is folded over. A triangle of creased paper now covers the final word of the entry. Which is, of course, curse.

  I reread the entry’s last sentence. And suddenly I know what we have to do.

  ***

  Mom herds me into the bathroom before I can tell Morgan about my idea. I shower and dress in record time. And not just because I’m half-expecting to see cockroaches in the tub.

  As soon as I get out of the bathroom, Dad shoves a doughnut at me. “Mr. Shen brought us breakfast! And sandwiches for lunch, too. And he says you and Morgan can tag along for our training. Sweet deal, right?”

  He claps a hand on my shoulder and steers me toward the door. “Come on, we’re about to start.”

  Mom, Morgan, and Mr. Shen are all waiting by the stairs, doughnuts in hand. “Morning, Jason,” says Mr. Shen brightly. Too brightly. The smile, the doughnuts—the man is trying too hard. “Feel free to eat as we go. As long as you don’t leave crumbs on any historic equipment.” That nervous laugh again. Too nervous.

  We all traipse downstairs. While Mr. Shen explains the ins and outs of the cash register to Mom and Dad, I whisper in Morgan’s ear.

  “Emma Blake.”

  “What?”

  “Shh. Emma Blake. The first keeper’s daughter. The atlas said she kept a diary. Maybe it’s still here. Maybe we can find it. It might tell us how to break the curse.”

  Morgan chews thoughtfully on her doughnut. “Yeah. I mean, obviously. But how are we supposed to find it? The atlas didn’t leave any clues, did it?”

  I glance toward the info session we’re ignoring. “Shen might know. He knows more than he’s letting on. Remember yesterday? He made sure to leave before sunset.”

  She gives me a fraction of a nod. “Good point. Let’s see if we can squeeze anything out of him.”

  We spend the rest of the morning trailing after Mr. Shen and our parents. I have to admit, some of the training is actually interesting. Like learning exactly how the original light works. How to turn on the electric bulb that sits nestled inside the giant lens. How to crank the gears and pull the weight that moves the lens. But the window-cleaning routine? The floor-cleaning routine? Not as cool.

  Finally we take a break for lunch. As we all climb down the lighthouse steps, I place myself behind my parents and in front of Mr. Shen. Morgan brings up the rear. Halfway down the stairs, I stop. Mom and Dad are chatting excitedly about their keeper duties, so they don’t notice. “Everything okay, Jason?” asks Mr. Shen, a few steps above me. “Just a second,” I say, bending down. “Shoelace came untied.”

  I fiddle with my perfectly tied lace until Mom and Dad reach the bottom of the steps. I can’t see them anymore because of the stairway’s curve. But I hear them go outside, still talking. Meanwhile, Morgan takes her chance.

  “Mr. Shen, do you know anything about the Blake family?” she asks.

  There’s a long, heavy pause. “Oh, the first keeper? Not much. We don’t have many records from the early years.”

  I straighten up and
turn to look at him.

  Definitely too nervous.

  “It seems like Seth Blake was here longer than any other keeper,” pressed Morgan. “From 1880 to 1887. The others only lasted a couple of years.”

  “Yes, well, it was a demanding job.”

  “You’ve mentioned that,” I said.

  He glances at me for just a second. Then his eyes slide away. We were wise to block him in. The stairs are too narrow for him to squeeze past me. And I can tell he’s wishing that wasn’t the case.

  “But lots of people spent decades doing it,” Morgan plows on. “In fact, didn’t Seth Blake’s daughter become a lighthouse keeper? And didn’t she have that job for ages?”

  “I’m not sure.” He glances at me again. “All set, Jason?”

  “We’re actually really interested in Blake’s daughter,” I say. “Emma, right? Have you ever heard anything about a diary that Emma Blake might have kept?”

  That completely throws him off. “I—can’t say I have. Sorry. Um, I don’t know about you but I’m pretty hungry. Ready to go eat?”

  Not quite. “Mr. Shen, do you think the lighthouse is cursed?”

  Morgan grimaces. She was probably hoping I’d play it smoother. But I’m more interested in Mr. Shen’s reaction.

  Behind his glasses, his eyes get huge. “Who told you it’s cursed?”

  I cross my arms, hoping I look tough. “That’s not an answer. In fact, you haven’t answered any of our questions.”

  “We just want to know what we’re dealing with here,” adds Morgan. “Anything you can tell us would be helpful.”

  “I, uh, I’m glad to see you two have strong imaginations. That’s a great thing in young people—”

  “Fine,” I say, turning around. “Don’t tell us. Just don’t be surprised when we leave like the other keepers did.”

  I start down the stairs again. Mr. Shen actually grabs my arm to stop me. “Hold on—I—that’s not what—I mean it would be such a shame if—”

  “If you had to go through the hiring process all over again? Yeah. I bet it would be. So what can you tell us?”