Berkley Street Series Books 1 - 9: Haunted House and Ghost Stories Collection

by Ron Ripley

  Cookie’s face paled noticeably, and with fumbling hands, he reached up to the shelf above the stove. The man took down the leather-sheathed knife Ewan had given him.

  “I’ll be back as soon as is allowed, Cookie,” Ewan said, drawing long on his pipe and exhaling slowly. “I have to see to the Captain.”

  Without waiting for a response from the cook, Ewan left the galley, scrambling up the stairs and onto the deck. The clouds were a dark gray, the waves growing taller as he made his way to the helm. A few of the hands in the cross-trees, reefing the sails.

  Captain Steiner had the helm to himself, the tall, thin man an imposing figure. He had one good eye, the other a milky globe in a field of pale scar tissue. Rumor said the captain had lost it while he was whaling as a young harpooner out of Nantucket. Ewan knew the truth, though. The captain was a killer, having lost the eye in a brutal fight in Prussia at the end of their war with France.

  “Ewan,” Captain Steiner said, his voice carrying with it only the slightest hint of an accent. “We’ve a rough sea and worse weather is coming, yes?”

  “Aye, sir,” Ewan said.

  “Scour the deck, boy,” the man said, grimacing as he strained against the wheel. “Make sure all is battened down as it should be. Once you’re certain, slip away below decks and help Cookie square away the galley.”

  “Aye, sir,” Ewan said.

  The waves increased in size as Ewan hurried back to the main deck. He quickly checked lines and belaying pins, stayed out of the way of the men who sailed before the mast and the ship’s officers. It was all hands, and each was busy about a task which could mean death for the crew if not done properly. Ewan’s eyes were merely another set, one more pair to make certain no little item was missed.

  When he was satisfied that he could inspect nothing more, and positive he would be more hindrance than help on the main deck, Ewan went back to the galley.

  Cookie was struggling valiantly to get breakfast ready. And he had forgotten to secure his area. Pots and pans were rattling around. Tin cups and plates jangled against one another, spilling out onto the deck as a cabinet door swung open and struck Cookie in the back.

  “Oh Hell!” the man said in exasperation, and Ewan felt his own eyes widen.

  “Cookie,” Ewan said playfully, “my tender ears.”

  Cookie jerked around, his face flushed with embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry, Ewan,” Cookie said, stuttering.

  “No worries, you know,” Ewan said, laughing as he bent down. Quickly, he picked up the spilled dishes and put them away, locking the cabinet tightly. He adjusted the pots and pans and then locked their door as well. With long practiced motions, he fixed the coffee pot to the stove, and the frying pan Cookie was using as well. Ewan went over to the water barrel and saw it was nearly full. He put a bucket beside it and latched the handle of it to a beam.

  Cookie looked confused.

  “For the fire,” Ewan said. “Should we need to douse the coals. Better to drink cold coffee than abandon a burning ship, don’t you agree, Cookie?”

  Cookie nodded and grabbed hold of the bar over his head as the ship rolled heavily to port. He looked at Ewan and asked, “When will it end?”

  “End?” Ewan said. “Good Lord, Cookie. She hasn’t even started yet.”

  Bonus Scene Chapter 2: The Storm

  Unfortunately for Cookie, the storm grew worse.

  The captain and Hawkins, the first mate, stayed topside through the worst of it, as did Thomason, the second mate. The other crewmen hunkered down below deck to wait out the storm.

  Ewan stayed with Cookie, who was violently ill more than once.

  After the cook had thrown up for a third time, he smiled weakly at Ewan. As Cookie wiped his mouth with a pocket-square, Ewan asked, “Have you any more left in you?”

  Cookie shook his head. “Doesn’t mean a thing, though, Ewan. My body will continue to expel whether there is anything left to expel or not.”

  “I’m truly sorry, I am, Cookie,” Ewan said. He relaxed as best he could as the ship continued to roll. His stomach dropped as The Thin Man reached the crest of a wave and plummeted down.

  Cookie closed his eyes tightly, gasping.

  The ship leveled out with a sharp crack and slowly began her ascent once more.

  “Ewan,” Cookie whispered, “I’d have you know my Christian name in case I drown in this Godforsaken ocean.”

  Ewan resisted the urge to joke at the man’s expense. “Aye, go ahead.”

  Cookie opened his eyes and said, “My name’s Devon Williams. I was chased out of Hartford for, well, things a man shouldn’t do.”

  “Well and good,” Ewan said, patting the man on the leg. “You’ve made a clean breast of it, as far as I can see, so you’ve no fear now, have you?”

  Cookie shook his head. He winced as the ship shifted again and said, “How did you get here, Ewan?”

  “Me?” Ewan asked, surprised.

  The man nodded.

  “Easily enough,” Ewan said. “My father and I left Galway three years ago and settled in Nashua. There was work at the mills, then my father, he was killed when they broke up a strike. I was sent to a home, for a bit, run by the Protestants. They tried to break me of the faith, so I left. Made it down to Boston, and Captain Steiner took me as the ship’s boy.”

  “That’s a sad story, Ewan,” Cookie said.

  Ewan shrugged. “Happier than some. The Captain ensures I suffer no abuse. I see the priest whenever we make port, and I am fed and well-clothed. My life is fair, Cookie.”

  “Do you not miss your parents?” Cookie asked.

  “Sure enough, I do,” Ewan said. “I smoke my father’s pipe, and he always said I had my mother’s eyes. They’re with God, so I cannot be too sad.”

  “Don’t you wish you had a home, though?” Cookie said. “A place to call your own?”

  Ewan laughed. “You know, some of the women at Saint Catherine’s have asked the same of me. The Thin Man is my home, Cookie. And there, that hammock is a place I call my own.”

  The ship pitched forward, someone yelled, and Cookie leaned forward dry heaving.

  Ewan shook his head at the man’s suffering and readied a fresh pipe for himself.

  Bonus Scene Chapter 3: The Afternoon

  The storm was violent but short. By two in the afternoon, the rough weather was gone, and the seas were as calm as they had been before. Captain Steiner and the first mate’s deft handling of The Thin Man had brought them through unharmed and the ship wet from stem to stern. But nothing worse.

  The same could not be said for the ship they saw on the windward side of Squirrel Island. She was a barque, like The Thin Man, and her masts were gone. The tattered remains of one of her jibs still hung from her lines, but the rest of the sails were in tatters. The ship listed heavily to port, and there wasn’t any sign of a crew about her.

  Captain Steiner called for his glass and when Ewan brought it to him, the man took it out of its leather case and searched for the name.

  “Hells bells,” the captain muttered, closing the glass and handing it back to Ewan to put away.

  “What is it, Captain?” Hawkins asked.

  “It’s The Queen’s Fist, out of Bar Harbor,” Steiner replied.

  “Hamilton’s ship,” Hawkins said, looking out at the vessel worriedly.

  “He’s a right smart sailor,” Steiner said to Hawkins. “I’m sure he’s fine, yes?”

  Hawkins nodded and walked away.

  “Captain?” Thomason asked.

  “They served together,” Steiner explained, “in the Federal Navy during the War of the Rebellion. They are good friends. He is worried for him.”

  “None of the jolly boats are at their davits, Captain,” Ewan said, looking hard at the ship.

  “Aye, Ewan,” the captain said. “Perhaps they went round to the pier. Helm, bring us to the pier, let’s see if we can’t lend a hand to the crew of The Queen’s Fist.”

  As the
men went about the process of tacking the sails and the helm adjusted course, Ewan stared at the stricken ship. She looked forlorn and sick, a great water beast waiting for death. The sight of it chilled him and reminded him of the closeness of death on the ocean.

  The Thin Man curved around the island, the lighthouse standing tall against the fall sky. No smoke came from the chimney on the keeper’s house, and as they came in sight of the pier, they saw a single jolly boat tied up.

  “Where are the other two, Captain?” Hawkins asked in a low voice when he returned to stand beside Captain Steiner.

  “I don’t know, Patrick,” the captain replied. “Perhaps they made it into port. I’d hate to think Hamilton abandoned ship so close to land, only to be lost.”

  “He was a better sailor than that, sir,” Hawkins said, frowning. “Much better.”

  Orders rang out for the anchor to be dropped, and Captain Steiner called for a boat’s crew. Hawkins gathered three men to him, as well as the ship’s medicine chest.

  “Can I go, sir?” Ewan asked, glancing at the lighthouse. “I’ve not seen the inside of a lighthouse before.”

  Captain Steiner hesitated, and Ferl, one of the deck hands said, “Squirrel Island is haunted, boy. There’s been a sight of killing here, and most of it bad.”

  Ewan looked at the island and crossed himself. “I’ll take my chances, Mr. Ferl, if it is well and good with the Captain for me to do so.”

  “I’ll believe in a Jonah aboard my ship than a ghost on the island, Mr. Ferl,” the captain said. “Don’t go putting fear into a boy who has none. Ewan, if Mr. Hawkins will have you, then so be it.”

  “Come aboard and be true Ewan,” Hawkins said, smiling tightly. “You’ve always brought me luck, and I hope you will bring it for me again.”

  “Aye, sir!” Ewan said happily. Once the jolly boat was in the water, he scrambled over the side and down into the small craft. He was joined a moment later by Hawkins and Julius and Webb, freed men from Louisiana. The men greeted him, shipped the oars, and spoke to one another in their curious patois, none of which Ewan could understand.

  Within a short time, they pulled in alongside the pier, and Ewan sprang up and out of the jolly boat. Hawkins threw him a line, and he made the boat fast. The men joined him, and all of them stood still.

  The island was quiet save for the steady drone of the waves. No gulls called, and no pipers sang.

  Julius and Webb spoke quickly in patois. Finally, Julius said in crisp English, “We cannot go farther, Mr. Hawkins. This place, it is no good, do you understand? Webb, he sees what we do not. Hears what we do not. The dead are here, Mr. Hawkins, and they are not pleased. The woman least of all.”

  Mr. Hawkins nodded. “Stay here with the boat then, though if I shout you need to come running.”

  Julius and Webb hesitated, then nodded in unison.

  “Alright, my stalwart man,” Hawkins said, rubbing Ewan’s head. “Let’s see what can be found here, if anything.”

  “Aye, sir,” Ewan said. He put his pipe in his mouth and followed Mr. Hawkins along the pier. They reached the path and traveled up it towards the keeper’s house and the lighthouse.

  The doors to both buildings were closed over, and there was no sign of any life.

  Ewan felt uncomfortable. As though someone was watching him. He glanced around nervously.

  “Do you feel it too, boy?” Hawkins asked softly, slowing his pace.

  Ewan nodded.

  “Be true,” Hawkins said. He veered to the right. When he reached the keeper’s house, he put his hand on the door latch, took a deep breath, and pressed down.

  The weathered portal opened, and a smell of sickness and death rolled out over them.

  “God in heaven!” Hawkins gasped, stepping back. As he did so, Ewan saw into the dimness of the home. Within a heartbeat, his eyes had adjusted, and the scene before him was from a penny dreadful.

  All of the furniture in the neatly appointed room was occupied. A pair of young men sat on the settee. An older man sat in a high back chair while two more men sat in Shaker ladder backs. They were arranged around a dining table, the top of which was cluttered with the remains of a meal. Glasses and plates, serving dishes and flatware.

  And bones.

  Far too many bones.

  A giant ribcage from some unknown animal.

  “Ewan,” Hawkins hissed.

  Ewan felt the man reach out, snatch him up, and pull him back.

  “They’re dead,” Ewan whispered as Hawkins reached back and slammed the door closed.

  “Aye, lad,” Hawkins said, a sickly note in his voice.

  “They ate someone,” Ewan said, looking at Hawkins. He saw his own horror mirrored in the first mate’s eyes. “They ate him. Didn’t they?”

  Hawkins only nodded in response.

  “Why?” Ewan asked. “Why in the name of God would they do that, sir? Why would they eat a man? They weren’t marooned!”

  “Stand tall, sailor!” Hawkins snapped, holding himself stiffly. “Remember who you are, Ewan!”

  Ewan swallowed back his horror and fear, straightened his back, and stood up as tall as he could.

  “I don’t know what happened,” Hawkins said, “or why, for that matter. But I’ll need to check the lighthouse. I want you to return to the jolly boat. Stay with Julius and Webb until I return.”

  “Aye, sir,” Ewan said. Part of him wanted to stay with Hawkins. The short distance from the keeper’s house to the pier had multiplied by thousands. He could see the two men standing by the jolly boat, watching him and Hawkins.

  “Aye, sir,” Ewan repeated.

  Reluctantly he left Hawkins’ side and fought the urge to run.

  If I run, he told himself as he walked along the path, I will look the fool. And what then? The men will laugh that you ran from the dead. What type of sailor will you be then?

  In a short time, he reached the pier, and as he walked along its worn length, he waved to the men.

  Julius and Webb returned the gesture, then Webb’s eyes widened in fear. He shouted something and Ewan recognized only one word.

  “Run!”

  Ewan didn’t run. Instead, he turned to see what Webb had seen, and he saw nothing.

  But as he stood on the pier a bitterly cold wind passed through him. It dropped him to his knees and left him shaking, a foul, acrid taste in his mouth. A yell from behind Ewan brought him to his feet, and as he turned around, he saw Julius stumble back, twist around and fall off the pier. The man landed heavily in the jolly boat while Webb chanted in some ancient tongue.

  Webb shifted his position as if he were blocking someone from going after Julius. Ewan watched as Webb’s head jerked back suddenly, blood exploding from the man’s nose. Webb reached up, pulled the old iron cross he wore around his neck from beneath his shirt and ripped it off. With the religious symbol clutched in his hand, he struck out at the unseen force.

  A painful shriek caused Ewan to put his hands on his ears. He watched as Webb was lifted and thrown off of the pier as a second, unseen attacker assaulted him. Julius rowed over and then pulled Webb into the jolly boat. Webb took an oar, and they made for the pier again when the entire bow of the craft was jerked down into the water.

  Webb dropped his oar, twisted around, and punched the water. The bow sprang up.

  “Go!” Hawkins shouted, suddenly standing above Ewan. “Tell the captain!”

  Ewan dropped his hands as Hawkins picked him up, threw him over his shoulder and ran back to the lighthouse.

  From his bouncing position, Ewan could see Webb grab his oar, adjust it in the lock, and join Julius in rowing madly for The Thin Man.

  Hawkins reached the lighthouse door, which was opened, and hurtled in. Ewan felt himself roughly dropped to the floor.

  The first mate slammed the door closed, and stood behind it, hands resting on the wood. His chest rose and fell as he panted. After long minutes of silence, Hawkins straightened up, turned, and looked at Ewan. />
  “Ewan,” he said.

  “Aye, sir?” Ewan asked.

  “Do you still know your prayers?”

  “Aye, sir,” Ewan replied.

  “Best to say them, lad,” Hawkins said, taking his hat off and running his hands through his dark brown hair. “I doubt either of us will leave this island alive.”

  “Why, sir?” Ewan asked, his voice shaking. “Why do you think such a thing?”

  Hawkins pointed up.

  Ewan lifted his head and followed the line of the first mate’s finger.

  A man hung from one of the stairs, the hangman’s knot done properly.

  Ewan crossed himself, looked at Hawkins, and asked, “Is it the keeper?”

  The first mate shook his head.

  “No lad,” Hawkins said sadly, “it’s Captain Hamilton, my brother-in-war.”

  Bonus Scene Chapter 4: In the Lighthouse

  Hawkins had cut down the body of his friend and carried it outside. He had covered Hamilton’s face with the man’s jacket, weighing it down with stones to keep the wind from taking it.

  Ewan was glad. He had no desire to see the gulls devouring the soft parts of the man’s face.

  He and Mr. Hawkins sat in the top of the lighthouse, the lantern dark.

  They could see The Thin Man. She was still anchored close by. Julius and Webb had reached the ship safely, and the jolly boat was hoisted back aboard. For a while, Ewan had watched the crew scramble about the deck, Captain Steiner occasionally peering at the lighthouse with his glass.

  “What do you think they’ll do, Mr. Hawkins?” Ewan asked, finally sitting and looking at the first mate.

  “Captain Steiner, you mean?” Hawkins asked.

  Ewan nodded.

  “He’ll try and rescue us, of course,” Hawkins said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “But since it seems we cannot see the ghosts and spirits like Webb can, he will be hard pressed to make any headway.”

  “But he’ll try, sir?” Ewan asked.

  “Yes,” Hawkins said. “Do not look to hope, though, lad. Webb is a strong man. As is Julius. Both were beaten back by this thing that Webb can see. And let us not forget the scene in the keeper’s house. Who knows what drove the men to do what they did? And why are they dead? Did they all take a draught of poison? Was it Hamilton? Did he kill them all before himself?”