by Ron Ripley
When he had reached the lantern, he examined it closely.
So many people saved by such a simple idea, Shane thought. He raised the sledge and swung it with all of his strength. The lens shattered easily, reflective material exploding outward from the force of the blow. Shane breathed deeply, then struck it twice more.
He brushed fragments of glass off of himself, frowning at tiny nicks and scratches on his arms from the flying debris. Still holding tightly onto the sledgehammer, Shane went down and joined Courtney and George. Shane dropped the tool onto the floor, kicked a few shards away, and sat down next to Courtney.
“What the hell did you do that for?” George asked, confused.
“Coast Guard must monitor the lighthouses, right?” Shane said.
George nodded. “Yeah. They monitor all of them. It’s a federal offense to mess around with them.”
“Good,” Shane said. “It’s the only chance we have for getting off this island alive.”
Comprehension brightened George’s eyes. “They’ll send a boat out to see what happened.”
Shane nodded.
“Still, you’re probably going to end up doing some time for the vandalism,” George said, grinning.
Shane smiled. “More than happy to. That means I’ll be alive.”
“Don’t worry,” Courtney said, reaching out and taking his hand. “I’ll come and visit.”
“Fair enough,” Shane said. “That alone, makes it all worthwhile.”
“Ahoy the lighthouse!” a voice called from outside.
Shane let go of Courtney’s hand and quickly stood up. Two long strides carried him to the open doorway, and he looked for the speaker.
Clark, the lighthouse keeper, stood a short distance down the path. Dane was beside him, a terrified expression on his face. Both men were difficult to see in the bright morning light.
“Mr. Noyes,” Shane called back. “What can I do for you?”
“You can first let me compliment you on your manners, my Marine,” Clark said cheerfully. “Ever polite you are. Well done, sir.”
Shane inclined his head slightly. “Many thanks. Now, back to my question, if you will.”
“Ah, yes,” Clark said, nodding. “Business. My wife, Dorothy, well she has laid a claim on the man who has come to you this morning. A relative of ours brought him here specifically for my wife. You’ve no right to keep him from her.”
“I have every right,” Shane said coldly.
“You’ll not send him out, then?” Clark asked, frowning.
“No,” Shane said, shaking his head.
Behind him, Shane heard George let out a shuddering breath.
“Anything else, Mr. Noyes?” Shane asked.
“Yes,” Clark said, his voice going cold, anger creeping into it. “I see you went ahead and broke my light.”
“I did.”
“Will you be repairing it?” Clark demanded.
“Of course, I will see it is repaired when I reach the mainland,” Shane answered.
“Damn your eyes!” Clark snarled, taking a step forward even as Dane shrank back. “Do you have any idea of the danger you’re putting those ships and crews in?”
“I do,” Shane said.
“You’re a monster,” Clark hissed.
Shane laughed, surprised at the comment. “Ah, Mr. Noyes, at least I didn’t condemn a boy to an eternity of servitude to care for a flashlight.”
“It’s a lighthouse, you twit,” Clark said, his voice low and thick with anger. “And it needs to be cared for.”
“It will be,” Shane said, all humor gone. “You’d best run along to your mistress now, Mr. Clark. Go be about her business since she won’t let you be about yours.”
“My mistress has plans for you, Shane Ryan. She will teach you to have a civil tongue, or she will take it out.” Clark turned and walked to the keeper’s house, Dane following quickly behind him. Once they had disappeared into the small home, Shane left the doorway and returned to his seat.
“They were dead,” George said after a minute.
Shane nodded.
“The lighthouse keeper,” Courtney hissed, her voice filled with both anger and bitterness, “and the others, they’ve murdered everyone.”
“Shane,” George said, his voice thin and fearful. “What’s going to happen?”
“We’re going to fight,” Shane answered. “First, I need some more coffee. Then I need to read the rest of Dorothy’s journals. I need to know more; I need to know her better.”
“Who is she?” George asked. “And why the hell do you need to know her better?”
“She’s the one in charge,” Shane said. Courtney started to help him prepare the coffee. “I need to understand her better so I can figure out how to destroy her. Hey, we’ve got powdered cream and sugar from an MRE, if you want a cup of coffee.”
Dazed, George nodded.
Shane whistled the Marine Corps hymn as he worked beside Courtney, her hand occasionally brushing his.
Chapter 40: Bad News
Amy pulled on an old t-shirt and a battered pair of shorts after she had taken a quick shower. She had washed off the stink of the bar, the sweat of George, and the dirty smell of the Marina. In the bathroom, she ran the hair-dryer and then unplugged it before she wandered tiredly out to her bed.
With an exaggerated sigh, she flopped down, adjusted the pillows and wondered if she would be able to get any sleep. She was excited.
Everything is nearly done, she thought, closing her eyes and smiling.
The locket on her chest suddenly felt like an ice-cube against her skin.
“Oh Christ!” she shouted, jumping up off of the bed pulling the chain up over her head. Pain screamed through her hand as she cast the locket onto the bed, the latch springing open and the bit of broken mirror, within the metal, started gleaming.
Dorothy appeared in the room, her dead face shrouded in a mask of silent rage.
“Great Mother,” Amy whispered, backing up nervously and sitting down in the chair at her vanity.
“Child,” Dorothy said, no affection or care in her voice. “I am displeased.”
Panic wormed its way into Amy’s heart. “What is it? What’s wrong? What did I do?”
A small smile appeared on Dorothy’s face. “You accept blame. And for that, you are forgiven. So few can do so.”
A minor tremor of relief passed through Amy, and she whispered, “What have I done wrong?”
“You left too quickly,” Dorothy said, the smile vanishing. “Shane and his young woman rescued the man you left for me. They are within the lighthouse. The keeper is in a rage for they have broken the light.
“And you know what shall happen without the light?” Dorothy asked, her voice growing cold.
“Nothing,” Amy whispered. “Nothing will happen.”
Dorothy nodded. “I will continue to be bound to the island, restricted to these brief excursions. I will not have enough souls to thrust me forward, to release me. I need the dead. I do not believe I can stress this enough, Child.”
“I know,” Amy whispered. Then she frowned and said, “The light. Why would they break the light?”
Dorothy looked at her coldly. “What do you think will occur when the lighthouse does not shine this evening?”
“Oh God,” Amy said in a small voice as she straightened up. She felt panic rise up within her throat.
I’m going to fail her! she thought frantically. I can’t fail her! I can’t!
“Someone will come,” Amy moaned. “They’ll be rescued!”
“Stop it, then!” Dorothy commanded. “This may be only a way for me to reach out and speak to you, but I promise, there are many other ways in which I can hurt you. And I will, in my own time.”
Amy swallowed dryly, nodded and said softly, “I will, Great Mother.”
Without a word or a gesture, Dorothy vanished. Amy’s body trembled, and it took her a few minutes to gather up the courage to stand up and walk to her bed.
Her hand shook as she picked up the locket and held it tightly in her palm.
The small piece of jewelry had passed through generations to her.
I will not fail you, Great Mother, Amy thought, closing the locket. It was no longer bitterly cold, only cool and comforting as she slipped it back over her neck. The lighthouse will be restored, and we will be great keepers again.
She climbed onto the bed, pulled a sheet over her, and sighed.
I’ve got a couple of hours, she thought. Get some rest, then find the Coast Guard and have a little chat.
She smiled, closed her eyes, and let herself search for sleep.
Chapter 41: Seeking the Way
I have played at this game for far too long. Five children with that witless oaf. The only child worth a damn gone to the mainland. And who can blame her? Certainly not I. And my hated father, the proverbial albatross about my neck. Would that he had gone down with his ship off the Grand Banks. A watery grave would have been best, and might still be if I can break my oafish husband of his sentimentality.
Fool.
Perhaps one day he will read these journals. Will he be intelligent enough to understand half of what I’ve written? A third? A quarter?
Yes, perhaps a quarter. But I distract myself with my complaints. I must remain focused on my task. I must not be distracted; it will lead to my ruination.
The oaf must be convinced of the danger the children present. And my father as well. He may balk, and if he does, he shall join them. I’ve no qualms about manning the lighthouse on my own; I have done so with a new babe in my arms and the oaf drunk with his damnable rum.
Can you imagine it, dear journal? A silent house? A well-kept house without the noise of children or old men? No husband to dirty the sheets. No children to scream for more food. No father to ask for help to the outhouse.
See the lighthouse, her brass gleaming, her bricks white and red so the world will see and know of the danger.
No child suckling at the breast. No husband’s rough pawing. No father demanding fealty.
None of it.
None of it.
None of it!
Shane closed the journal. It was nearly noon.
Courtney was stretched out by the tools, her mouth partially open as she slept. Her long lashes kissed the skin beneath her eyes. Her short hair was disheveled.
Beautiful, Shane thought. He put the journal down, took out his cigarettes, and lit one. He tilted his head back a little, exhaled towards the ceiling, and then looked to George.
The younger man sat a little back from the doorway, staring out at the ocean. He had a small cudgel in his hands, the top of it studded with iron nails pounded out of the remains of the lighthouse door. Shane noticed how the man had lost his dazed look, a hard expression on his face.
“George,” Shane said softly.
The man looked at him, his eyes dark and haunted.
“How are you holding up?” Shane asked.
George shrugged. “Got nothing to compare it to. Part of me doesn’t even believe any of this garbage is real. I mean, come on, ghosts? But then there’s the part of me that saw everything, and it’s saying, ‘Don’t be stupid, Stupid.’”
Shane chuckled, nodding. “Yeah. It’s a little rough.”
“You seem to be doing pretty well with it,” George said, looking back out the front door.
“Well, I also grew up in a haunted house,” Shane replied.
“Things went bump in the night?” George asked.
“Yeah,” Shane said bitterly, “and they eventually killed my parents.”
George blushed, and he said, “Sorry, man.”
“It’s alright,” Shane said, upset with himself for mentioning it. More tired than I thought.
“So this isn’t your first time?” George said.
“No,” Shane said. “Not by a long shot. I helped out on a couple of other hauntings, thought I could help with this one, too.”
“These ones tougher than you thought?” George asked.
Shane nodded.
“I didn’t really think the place was haunted,” George said after a short time. “We, me and my friends, we had a website. Murder scenes. Suicides. Stuff like that. People ate it up. Hell, it was how I bought my boat. When we heard about Mike’s suicide, we decided we’d come out, get a little video footage. Maybe some pictures of the whole place. We figured we’d do well with this one. The island being isolated and all.”
“That’s why you showed up yesterday?” Shane asked.
“Yeah,” George said, sighing. “Vic and Eric got out of the boat, saw the kid, and started to click away. I told them to get back in the boat. I told them.”
George stopped, and Shane waited patiently. Long minutes had passed before George spoke again. When he did, his voice was raw.
“I feel terrible about leaving them,” George said, staring out the door. “But they didn’t listen to me. And I ran. I had to.”
No, Shane thought. You didn’t have to.
But he kept his opinion to himself.
“I’m worried,” George said softly. “Worried I’m going to see them here.”
“You might,” Shane said.
George’s head snapped around, his eyes wide with fear.
“What?” he hissed.
“You might,” Shane repeated. “We’ve already seen the new dead. But I need to see the old dead, and I may be gone for a while.”
“What are you talking about?” George asked.
“In the cellar of the keeper’s house are five ghosts. The children and father of the ghost, Dorothy.”
“Why the hell are they down there?” George said.
“She put their bodies in the cellar after she had murdered them,” Shane answered. “They’ll be able to tell me more about her. If they have a mind to speak to me.”
“You’re going down there?” George asked.
“Yes.”
“While knowing there are ghosts in it?” George said.
“Yes,” Shane said. “I need everything they can give me.”
“Information?” George said.
“Yeah,” Shane said softly. “And an edge.”
“Why do you need an edge?” George said, confused. “I thought we just had to wait until the Coast Guard shows up about the busted light?”
“We will,” Shane said. “But I’m going to kill her, too.”
George opened his mouth to reply, but he was too surprised for any words to come out.
Chapter 42: Light’s Out
Lieutenant Sid Cristo was sitting at the desk outside of the captain’s office, playing a losing hand of solitaire. He always played house rules, on the off chance he might actually travel down to one of the casinos in Connecticut, and he rarely won. The captain had been on conference calls all day with command down in Boston, and then with someone else from the Coast Guard Academy in New London.
Sid frowned as he turned over his last hand. He flipped all of the cards over, gathered them into a pile, shuffled, and laid out another game.
As he finished, the door to the office opened.
Sid looked up and was surprised to see an attractive older woman walk in. The dress she wore was short and snug, leaving little to the imagination. She gave him a near-perfect smile, closed the door, and said, “Hello, I’ve come to tell you there’s a technical issue at the Squirrel Island Lighthouse. The contractor I have out there says the wiring may say the light is out.”
The solitaire hand was forgotten. “The light’s out?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head but still smiling. “The wiring may say it is.”
“Ma’am,” Sid said, “there’s no ‘maybe.’ The light is either on or it’s out. The wiring won’t send a false signal.”
She stepped up closer to the desk, revealing a lot of her ample chest, and winked at him. “Well, even if it is, we don’t have to worry about it, do we?”
Sid felt uncomfortably warm, his attention drawn to a locket hanging
from around her neck.
“Ma’am,” he said, forcing himself to look her in the eyes, “it is something we need to worry about. When the automated system does its check, it’ll kick back an alarm here. We need to take care of it as soon as possible.”
“Maybe,” she said, her voice still seductive, “I should speak with your commanding officer?”
Sid grinned. “Ma’am, I think that would be a wonderful idea.”
He pushed himself away from the desk, stood up, and walked to the commander’s door. He knocked, opened it, and said, “Captain, we have a person here who wants to speak with you.”
Captain Ellen Root glanced up from her desk. “Show them in, please, Lieutenant.”
Sid looked back at the civilian, saw the shocked expression on the woman’s face, and smiled as politely as possible. “Ma’am, Captain Root will see you now.”
He managed not to snicker as she walked dejectedly past him.
Sid sat back down at his desk, looked at the hand he had dealt himself, and started to play.
Chapter 43: A Decision Must Be Made
Amy lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She fought the urge to chew on her fingernails, a nervous habit she’d broken herself of twenty years earlier.
Damn it, she thought, sitting up. What am I going to do? She needs them.
The desire to see the lighthouse controlled by her family once more burned with the intensity of a fever in Amy’s breast. The power of life and death on such a grand scale. There was no greater power in the world, and she and Dorothy would ensure the family had it again. She got up and paced about her bedroom.
When the Coast Guard gets out there, George may still be alive, she told herself. I don’t have to worry about Shane or that girl who’s attached herself to him. Just George. George can say I kidnapped him. Threw him there. No one will believe ghosts did any of it. But George can mess it up. He can mess all of it up.
Amy walked to her closet, flipped on the light, and found an old pair of jeans and sneakers. The sweatshirt she had taken from George’s boat lay on the floor. She picked it up, pulled it on, and then dressed quickly. She pulled her hair back in a ponytail, wrapped it around and tucked it up as a bun. A battered Boston Red Sox baseball cap kept her hair up and out of sight.
