Demons of the Ocean

by Justin Somper

  I’ll tell you a tale of Vampirates,

  A tale as old as true.

  Yea, I’ll sing you a song of an ancient ship,

  And its mighty fearsome crew.

  2

  THE UNINVITED GUEST

  It was the day after the funeral and the twins had climbed to the lamp room at the top of the lighthouse. Beneath them, the bay glittered in the noonday sun. Small crafts shuffled in and out of the harbor. From this height, they seemed like white feathers skimming the blue waters.

  Connor and Grace had always liked this room, as had their father. It was a place to come and think, to gain perspective on Crescent Moon Bay and see it for what it was — a tiny patch of land, crammed with too many houses, teetering on the cliffs. In the days since their father’s death, the lamp room had taken on extra meaning for the twins. Dexter Tempest had spent so much time in the room that it was impossible for either of the twins to enter it without feeling close to him.

  Even now, Grace could see her father sitting in front of the window, his eyes fixed on the harbor below, humming an old sea shanty. She found herself singing it, too.

  There would be a flask of hot tea at his side and, almost certainly, one of his dusty old books of poetry. As she’d come in, he’d turn and smile at her.

  “I say, I say, anyone at home?”

  The distinctive accent of Lachlan Busby signaled an unwelcome trespasser in the room. Connor and Grace turned from the window as the red-faced bank manager appeared at the top of the stairway.

  “Well, I declare, I’m obviously not as fit as I’d like to believe! Did your father really climb up and down these stairs every day?”

  Connor was silent. He had no wish to get into conversation with Lachlan Busby. Grace simply nodded politely and waited for the bank manager to catch his breath.

  “Would you care for some water, Mr. Busby?” she asked at last. She poured a glass and passed it into the bank manager’s clammy hands.

  “Thank you, most welcome, most welcome,” he said. “Did I hear you singing something just now? A strange tune. I didn’t quite catch the words. I’d love to hear it if you felt like singing it again.”

  Connor shook his head and Grace decided it was best to proceed with caution. Clearly, Lachlan Busby was not a man who would climb 312 steps purely for a social visit.

  “It’s an old sea shanty our father used to sing to us,” she explained politely.

  “A shanty, eh?”

  “He used to sing us to sleep with it when we were small.”

  “A lullaby, then, a pretty song of calming things?”

  Grace laughed lightly. “Not exactly. In fact, it’s about pain and death and horrible things.”

  The bank manager appeared alarmed.

  “The point is, Mr. Busby, to remind you that however bad your life appears, things could be far, far worse.”

  “Ahh, I think I understand, Miss Tempest. And, well, may I say how impressed I am at your . . . stoicism, in the current situation.”

  Grace attempted a smile, though it came out as more of a grimace. Connor looked at Lachlan Busby with undisguised hatred. He was also trying to remember what stoicism meant.

  “You two have experienced a loss that no child, no person of your age, should have to deal with,” Lachlan Busby continued. “And now you find yourselves with no parent and no income and no home!”

  “We have a home,” Connor said, breaking his silence. “You are standing in it.”

  “My dear boy,” Lachlan Busby said, reaching out a fatherly hand to squeeze Connor’s shoulder, then thinking better of it, “if only this were still your home. But, without wishing to pile misfortune upon misfortune, it’s my sorrowful duty to tell you that your father died with many debts. This lighthouse is now the property of the Crescent Moon Bay Cooperative Bank.”

  Grace frowned. She had suspected as much, but somehow hearing the words made her fear more tangible.

  “Then we’ll live on our boat,” Connor said.

  “Also now the property of the bank, I’m afraid,” said Lachlan Busby, his eyes sadly downcast.

  “Your bank,” said Grace.

  “Indeed.” Lachlan Busby nodded.

  “What more have you to tell us, Mr. Busby?” Grace decided it was best to hear the worst and be done with it.

  Lachlan Busby smiled, his perfect white teeth glinting in the sunlight. “I’m not here to tell you anything, my dears, just to make you an offer. It is true that, as of this moment, you have nothing and no one in this world. But I have many things. I have a beautiful home, a thriving business, and the most super wife a man could wish for. And yet, the tragedy of our lives is that we have never been blessed with —”

  “Children,” interrupted Grace. Everything suddenly became horribly clear. “You have no children and we, we have no parents.”

  “If you came to live with us, you would enjoy every advantage that being a Busby in this town can afford.”

  “I’d rather die,” Connor said, his eyes blazing.

  Lachlan Busby turned to Grace. “You seem more rational than your brother, my dear,” he said. “Tell me what you think of my little proposal.”

  Grace made herself smile, even though she felt sick inside. “It is very, very kind of you, Mr. Busby.” The bile rose up in her throat and she struggled to swallow it back down. “But my brother and I do not need new parents. It’s very generous of you to offer us your home, it really is, but we’ll do just fine on our own.”

  Lachlan Busby stopped smiling.

  “You will not do just fine. You are merely children. You cannot live here by yourselves. In fact, you cannot live here at all. At the end of the week the new lighthouse keeper will arrive and you will have to pack your bags and leave.”

  Lachlan Busby stood up to go. He turned to Grace one final time before departing.

  “You are a clever girl,” he said. “Don’t be too quick to dismiss this offer. Others would give their eyeteeth for it.”

  As their unwanted guest disappeared down the stairs, Grace put her arm around her brother’s neck and buried her face in the dip of his shoulder.

  “What are we going to do?” she said.

  “You’ll think of something. You always do.”

  “I’m running out of ideas.”

  “Doesn’t matter what we do,” Connor said, “just as long as we’re together.”

  Grace nodded. She started to sing softly . . .

  You’d better be good, child — good as gold,

  As good as good can be.

  Else I’ll turn you in to the Vampirates

  And wave you out to sea.

  Connor remembered his father with his arms around them, gazing out to sea. Though the words were threatening, sending shivers down his spine, there had been something appealing about the idea of sailing off into the night. Now more than ever.

  He cuddled up close to Grace and they set their eyes on the sparkling waters of Crescent Moon Bay. As bad as everything seemed, they would be okay. Things couldn’t get worse than this.

  3

  THINGS GET WORSE

  Crescent Moon Bay was a poor town, but if you could sell a whisper, it would have been the financial center of the world. And that day, in the harbor market, the whispers had just one theme — the offer Lachlan Busby had made to the twins and how Connor and Grace had sent him away empty-handed.

  This latest event only confirmed the popular belief in the twins’ terrible pride and aloofness. No one in the bay could offer the twins a better second chance than the Busbys.

  Strange as it may seem, there was not a jot of sympathy for the strange pair, who had always been misfits but now seemed to have withdrawn utterly into the lighthouse that would soon cease to be their home.

  There was just one person, besides the Busbys, who still entertained the thought of offering shelter to the Tempest twins. Even now, she was turning dirty sheets inside out to make up two bunks for them, and emptying out a warped little cupboard to ho
use their possessions. As she added a drop of oil to the squeaking hinge, Polly Pagett smiled. In twenty-four hours, the twins would step through the tall green gates and enter her domain. They had left themselves with no other option.

  Up in the lamp room, Grace and Connor looked down on the antlike swarm of people below.

  “Time’s running out,” Grace said.

  Connor said nothing.

  “What are we going to do? Tomorrow night, the bank forecloses on Dad’s loan and takes the lighthouse.”

  Connor wasn’t sure what “forecloses” meant but he understood the gist. In twenty-four hours or so, he and Grace would be out on the streets, or bedding down at the Crescent Moon Bay Orphanage. Neither was an enticing prospect.

  “Maybe we should reconsider,” Grace said at last.

  Connor turned his face to hers and broke his silence.

  “Can you imagine what our lives would be like with the Busbys? They don’t want children, they want pets!”

  Grace nodded. She shivered. She and Connor had always been free to do what they wanted, go where they wanted, think what they wanted. Their father had given them those gifts. It was a rich and rare legacy and one they could not betray. To go and live in the luxurious and suffocating realms of the Busbys would have been a complete betrayal of everything their father had stood for, everything he had believed in.

  “Why can’t we just stay here and operate the lamp, like Dad did?” Connor said, unable to see beyond his frustration.

  “You heard Mr. Busby. He said he’d already taken on a new lighthouse keeper.” Grace sensed that their options were diminishing. “Besides, he’d probably say it was an unsuitable job for two kids.”

  “Kids!” Connor spat the word out.

  “I know,” said Grace, “I know. He makes out he’s so caring, but you either fall in with his plans, or forget it.”

  The next day, Grace was making breakfast when she heard a plump white envelope slip through the mailbox. Setting the coffeepot to one side, she picked up the envelope, which was addressed in scratchy ink.

  Miss Grace Tempest and Connor Tempest, Esq.

  Grace opened the envelope and unfolded the thick single sheet of notepaper. Seeing the name at the end, she frowned, then began scanning the words.

  My dear Grace and Connor,

  Today marks the last day of your old life. At midnight tonight, the new lighthouse keeper will be given the keys to the lighthouse and take on the burden of lighting the lamp and watching the harbor below. There is, as my old father used to say, a kernel of goodness in the nut of misfortune — you just have to bite down hard enough to find it. For you, my dear children, it will not be so hard to see what good is coming your way. Tomorrow marks the FIRST day of your new lives. You will be free from the burden your father shouldered all these years. Come down from the lighthouse. Come and accept a new carefree life such as children of your age should enjoy. Some say I am a proud man, but I am not too proud to offer you a place in my family ONE LAST TIME.

  What do you say? When you think about it, what other options do you have? My wife and I will give you everything you could want from this life. Just ask and it shall be yours. Meet me at the lighthouse door at midnight. Pack only a bag of memories — for we will soon be making new memories, as a proper FAMILY!

  With open arms,

  Lachlan Busby, aka “Dad”!

  Grace dropped the letter to the floor in horror and stood there feeling the tide of fear at last rise up over her.

  “What’s that?” Connor asked, striding into the room, bouncing a basketball. Seeing his sister’s expression, he let the ball drop, each bounce a sad echo of the last, until it rolled to a stop in the corner of the room.

  He picked up the letter and read it, taking in each sugarcoated threat. Finally, he took the sheet of paper and tore it, scattering rough pieces over the floor like confetti.

  “That’s a fine gesture, Con, but it doesn’t change anything,” Grace said. “We’ve run out of options and now we’ve run out of time.”

  Connor looked his sister squarely in the eye, and rested his hands on her shoulders. He smiled and shook his head. “On the contrary, Gracie. You may have run out of ideas. But I’ve worked everything out. Now, let’s have some toast and peanut butter and I’ll tell you exactly what we’re going to do!”

  4

  HELL OR HIGH WATER

  Barely an hour later, the twins stood at the gates of the Crescent Moon Bay Orphanage. Each had packed only a single bag of belongings.

  Polly Pagett caught sight of them from the office window. She gave a small wave through the cracked glass and beckoned them through the gates.

  The twins waved back, but they did not step forward, and a moment later they were gone. Confused, the little woman pushed open the warped door and stumbled out into the bright sunshine.

  As she reached the gates, squinting in the bright light, she saw Connor and Grace heading off toward the harbor road and the sea beyond.

  “Come back, come back!” she cried. “This is your home!”

  “As if!” Connor threw back over his shoulder.

  “Good call,” Grace said, squeezing her brother’s hand.

  In the morning sun, the Busby residence glittered like a fairy tale castle.

  “That will be my wing,” Connor said, pointing into the distance.

  “And that will be mine,” Grace said.

  “I’ll persuade Mr. Busby to let me drive all his sports cars.”

  “And I’ll fill the swimming pool with roses, just because I can.”

  They both laughed, and for a moment they didn’t see Loretta Busby, waltzing through her Tudor knot garden, pruning shears in hand.

  But she had spotted them.

  “You came!” she cried. “You came early!” Dropping her shears on the lawn, she ran toward them, wobbling like jelly in layers of pink chiffon.

  “Time to get out of here!” said Connor. And, grabbing his sister’s hand, he ran.

  The twins only stopped running when they reached the harbor. It was buzzing with activity, as always on a fine morning like this. The fishermen had already returned with their catches. On the wharf, the sorting process had begun. They threw fish into the air like jugglers, this way a tuna, that way a snapper, over here a cod. Beyond the sorting deck, the wharf was crowded with lobster pots, fresh from the ocean. Inside the cages, the purple creatures still moved about, as if looking for a way to escape.

  “Okay,” Connor said. “We’ve said our good-byes. There’s not much time.”

  Grace took one last look around, then nodded.

  Beyond the fishermen’s wharf, the harbor gave way to the moorings of private boats. In the distance, the palatial cruiser belonging to Lachlan Busby gleamed in the sun. It dwarfed its neighbors. Dexter Tempest’s boat was moored among the smaller crafts. It was a simple yacht, fashioned in the old style, aboard which the twins had spent many happy hours with their dad. Grace and Connor hurried along the wooden jetty that led toward it.

  “Here she is,” Connor said. He reached out a hand and touched the side of the boat, his fingers running across its name — Louisiana Lady.

  “Do we dare?” he asked.

  “Yes, we dare,” Grace answered.

  At that moment, the sun was blocked by a passing cloud. A surprisingly chilly breeze snaked around Grace’s body and she shivered at the sudden drop in temperature.

  The twins’ presence on the jetty had begun to provoke comment. People were stopping to stare and whisper. What were Grace and Connor doing here? Shouldn’t they be packing up their possessions and preparing to vacate the lighthouse? The boat no longer belonged to them, as was clear from a hastily erected wooden sign on board — property of the crescent moon cooperative bank.

  “We’ve come to say good-bye to our dad’s boat,” Grace called.

  The crowd made sympathetic noises.

  “Can we have a moment to ourselves?” Connor asked, bowing his head.

  The
people moved away, their whispers now indecipherable hisses. They were soon distracted by the arrival at the harborside of two out-of-breath, clearly distressed middle-aged women.

  In one swift, smooth movement, Grace jumped onto the boat while Connor uncoiled the ropes that tied the craft to the dock.

  “Stop them!” rasped Polly Pagett.

  “Grab them!” cried Loretta Busby.

  As Connor leapt on board, Grace looked up at the low clouds scudding overhead and felt the breeze run through her hair. “It’s a following wind, force two, maybe three,” she said as Connor brushed past her.

  “Mainsail up,” he said. The sail billowed out, filling with the wind that would propel them away.

  “Cast off forward,” called Grace, neatly winding the loose rope.

  “Cast off aft,” called Connor, “and we’re away!”

  Released from all its moorings, the boat slipped smoothly away from the jetty. As Connor gradually let out the boom, the mainsail swelled gratefully with the extra air and the boat quickly picked up speed.

  “Good-bye, Crescent Moon Bay,” Connor cried.

  Looking back toward the lighthouse, he could have sworn he saw his father up in the lamp room, waving them good-bye. He closed his eyes, opened them again, and the image was gone. He sighed.

  “Good-bye, Crescent Moon Bay,” Grace echoed. “Oh Connor, what have we done? We need food! We need money. Where are we going?”

  “I told you, Gracie, we’ve got time to work all that out. All that matters is that we get away from here just as quickly as we can. And that we’re together.”