by Ron Ripley
“Shane?” Courtney asked tiredly.
He turned and smiled at her. There were sleep lines on her right cheek, from where she had rested her head against his rolled up sweatshirt.
“Hey,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been thrown down a flight of stairs,” she answered, yawning. Then, in a darker tone, she asked, “Where’s Scott?”
“Living room,” Shane answered. He took a bottle of water out of his bag and handed it to her. She nodded her thanks, opened it, and took a long drink.
When she had finished, she asked, “What’s going on?”
“I’m getting ready to move my stuff into the lighthouse,” he replied.
“Why?”
He explained his reasons quickly and at the end she nodded. “I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t feel safe here?” Shane asked.
She shook her head. “Not to sound corny or anything, but I feel safer with you.”
He felt his face go red, and she smiled at him.
Scott walked into the kitchen. He looked coldly at Shane, then he turned his big, love-struck eyes to Courtney.
The affection was not returned.
Whatever feelings she had for him before this are gone, Shane realized.
“Shane’s moving into the lighthouse,” Scott said. “You and I are staying here.”
“I think you’re a little confused,” Courtney said. “You’re staying here, and Shane and I are going to the lighthouse.”
“I figure we can set up a–” Scott paused, furrowed his brow and said, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
Courtney repeated herself.
Scott’s face went nearly purple with anger. His eyes, rage-filled, moved rapidly from Courtney to Shane and back to the woman.
“You can’t go with him,” Scott sputtered, nearly choking on his words.
“I can,” Courtney replied, getting to her feet. “And I will. If Shane says it’s not safe here, then it isn’t safe here, Scott. Not only does he know a lot more about this stuff than we do, but he’s also the only one who’s been able to do something about it.”
“So that makes him more of a man than me?” Scott snarled.
Shane kept a careful eye on the young man.
“No,” Courtney answered. “It means we should stick with him because he knows what he’s doing.”
“I’m not going in there with some twisted, bald psycho,” Scott spat, “and definitely not with any whore!”
Shane stepped forward. Scott raised a fist, swung clumsily at him, and Shane blocked it easily. A casual movement of his left arm and Scott’s punch bounced haphazardly away.
Shane’s punch was not clumsy, and Scott didn’t block it.
The blow was delivered precisely, and with the barest amount of power to let Scott know he had been hit. The younger man’s head snapped back, his teeth clicking together loudly. Scott stumbled into the living room, but Shane didn’t follow.
He stood in the doorway, his hands held loosely at his side.
“Are you done?” he asked as Scott straightened up. A small trickle of blood leaked out of Scott’s right nostril.
“You hit me,” Scott said with surprise.
“You tried to hit him!” Courtney yelled.
“Shut up!” Scott said, stepping forward and pointing at her.
Shane reached up and took hold of Scott’s index finger.
“Stop it,” he said softly to the young man.
“You and your whore–”
Scott didn’t finish.
Shane bent the finger back sharply, causing the young man to screech and collapse to his knees, arm above his head. Shane was close to breaking the digit, but he held back.
“Scott,” Shane said, relaxing the tension.
Scott looked up, tears of rage and pain mingling freely in his eyes.
“Are you listening to me, Scott?” Shane said.
Grimacing, Scott nodded.
“Good,” Shane said. “Now I want you to understand something, in case you haven’t figured it out on your own. I do not appreciate you calling Courtney names. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” Scott replied through clenched teeth.
“Excellent,” Shane said. “Here’s a little information for you. I served in the Marines for twenty years. I did some exceptionally bad things. And I liked them. I liked them a lot. I can hurt you in ways which will never show, and I can cause you pain you can’t even imagine.”
Shane bent the finger back a hair’s breadth and Scott whimpered.
“Do you believe me, Scott?”
“Yes,” the young man whispered.
“I’m glad.” Shane let go of Scott and the young man instantly cradled his injured finger. “I’m going to leave you enough food and water for several days. If I hear anything about someone coming to take us off of this island, then I will tell you. If you’re in trouble, come on over to the lighthouse, or yell for me. If you get afraid, come on over to the lighthouse. I won’t hold a grudge.”
Scott got to his feet, glared at both Shane and Courtney, then he turned and left the house by way of the front door.
Shane went back into the kitchen, where Courtney was already dividing the food.
“I’m sorry,” Shane said.
“Don’t be,” Courtney said, giving him a grim smile. “He’s a jerk.”
“Fair enough,” Shane said.
In silence, they prepared to go over to the lighthouse.
Chapter 24: In the Waterman
George Fallon sat alone at the bar of the Waterman. He had finished three bottles of Budweiser, and three double shots of whiskey. Behind him, the lights of the wharf glowed brightly against the night sky. A few regulars were in the bar, but there was a new bartender, some young guy that George had never seen before.
George didn’t look at him too much.
He’ll cut me off soon, George thought dully. And then what’ll I do?
He couldn’t drive the image of the kid on the pier out of his head.
George couldn’t forget about how he had abandoned his friends.
Are they even alive? he wondered. What did I do?
The bell over the entrance rang, and George glanced into the mirror behind the bar. Around the bottles of top-shelf liquor, he saw an attractive blonde woman walk in.
George couldn’t be bothered with her, though. He needed another drink.
He looked up to the bartender, but the caution in the kid’s eyes told George he’d be lucky to get a seltzer water.
“You look like a drinking man,” the blonde said as she sat down next to George.
He nodded and straightened up a little. She smelled of sweetness and roses.
“What are you drinking?” she asked him.
“Whiskey with a beer chaser,” George answered.
She smiled and let out a light, beautiful laugh. “I like the sound of that.”
She raised a perfectly toned and tanned arm, gesturing for the bartender. The young guy hurried over.
“Hello,” the bartender said, smiling. “What are you drinking tonight?”
“Give me a pair of whiskeys and two beers. Whatever you have on tap,” she answered, putting a small purse on the bar.
The young guy frowned and said, as politely as he could, “Miss, I was about to shut him off. He’s too drunk to drive anywhere.”
“Don’t worry about that,” she said, almost purring. With a delicate hand, she opened her purse, took out several twenties and handed them over. “I’ll be taking him home tonight. And I don’t need the change.”
The bartender, George saw, was no fool. He nodded, got the drinks, gave George and the woman a pleasant smile, and went down to the other end of the bar.
She raised her whiskey and George did the same.
“To new friends,” she said, and they clinked their glasses together.
He knocked the drink back and was impressed to see she did the same.
“So,”
George said, taking a drink of beer, “what’s your name?”
“Let’s have a little mystery, right now,” she said with a wink. “My only question for you is, do you have a boat, and is it big?”
George let out a laugh, finished half of his beer and said proudly, “Sweetheart, ain’t nothing small about George Fallon.”
“I was hoping you’d say something along those lines,” she said, grinning. “Drink up, George, then maybe you can take me out on your big boat.”
George finished his beer, and she signaled to the bartender for another round.
Things are looking up, George thought drunkenly.
The bartender set another whiskey in front of him, and George smiled as he picked it up. All thoughts of Vic, Eric, and even the little ghost were gone from his mind as he looked at the woman beside him.
Yes, George thought, knocking it back. Things are looking up.
Chapter 25: In the Lighthouse
Shane didn’t like the lighthouse. Granted, he disliked the keeper’s house more, but the lighthouse was a close second.
Courtney felt the same way.
“You okay?” he asked her.
She nodded, her gaze traveling up the stairs. “Do we need to go up there?”
“Maybe tomorrow night,” Shane answered. He sat down beside her, draped his arms over his raised knees, and looked up to where the young man, Dane, had been killed.
“Why tomorrow?” Courtney asked. “Why not today?”
“I’m hoping someone will come and check on me in the morning,” Shane said. “I haven’t checked in since I arrived.”
“And if they don’t come?” Courtney said.
“Then I break the lantern,” Shane said. He fished out his cigarettes, lit one, and blew the smoke away from her.
“Why not now?” Courtney asked.
“It’s too risky,” Shane said.
She was silent for a short time before she said, “Because if you shatter the light and there’s already a rescue crew on its way, they might not be able to get to us.”
He nodded. “Exactly. If we break it tomorrow during the day though, whoever monitors the light on the mainland will send a boat out immediately. It has to be standard procedure because the lights are always on, they have to be for safety. Which means there has to be a boat on standby at all times. More than likely, a Coast Guard patrol boat. Maybe even a cutter. But there’ll be one ready.”
“And they’ll take us off the island,” she said softly.
“I hope so,” Shane said.
“What about the bodies?” Courtney said, looking at him. “Eileen’s neck was broken. Dane was ripped apart.”
“I’ll deal with the fallout of their deaths,” Shane said, the cigarette trembling in his hand briefly. “I don’t want to go to prison for a couple of murders I didn’t commit, but I’d rather be alive than dead and trapped here forever.”
“You think that’s what happens?” she asked softly.
“I do,” Shane said. “When I was up there, the ghost who killed Dane said he needed help to clean the lighthouse. I’m assuming that was why he killed Dane.”
“What? Like some undead indentured servant?” she asked, her voice quivering with a hint of revulsion and fear.
“Exactly.”
“What if he needs more?” she asked, trembling. “What if one isn’t enough?”
Shane reached out a hand, and Courtney took it.
“We’re in here together,” he said softly. “We’ll be okay. We know what to look out for.”
She hesitated and then asked, “What about Scott?”
“Scott has a choice to make,” Shane said gently, without any malice. “He can come and be safe with us, or he can sulk in the keeper’s house. It’s really his decision.”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “You’re right.”
Courtney leaned against him, pulling his arm up and around her shoulders.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“Now,” he answered, “we wait to see what happens, if anything.”
“Do you think it’ll be a quiet night?” she asked hopefully.
“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “I think someone will come in, and they’ll be coming for us. Maybe more than one of them. But we’ll be okay.
“How do you know?”
He kissed her forehead lightly. “I know.”
She nodded her acceptance of his statement, closed her eyes, and rested her head against his chest. Shane enjoyed it. He felt strong, but he knew the dead were coming and he needed to be prepared.
Of that I have no doubt, he thought, sighing.
Shane tugged the knuckledusters out of his back pocket, slipped them on, and flexed his fingers.
The girl fell into a light and fitful sleep, waking occasionally to look around and adjust her position.
Shane remained awake.
He chain smoked, careful not to drop ashes on Courtney. The base of the lighthouse was cool, the bricks and stones stained with age. Gallons of water were stacked along one portion of the wall, various tools and equipment a little further along.
Who’ll pay us a visit tonight? he wondered. And how many?
What’s Scott doing? Shane thought. Will he survive the night?
Chapter 26: In the Keeper’s House
Scott had literally backed himself into a corner. He sat on the floor in the kitchen, knees pressed against his chest. He was able to see into the living room and out the back door from where he was.
Shane and Courtney had taken the only light with them. Every few seconds, the house lit up with the glow of the rotating lantern in the lighthouse.
Scott shivered, not from the weather, but from the steady creak of the floorboards above him. He wasn’t alone in the house.
Stop, he thought, staring at the ceiling. Oh God, won’t you please stop walking?
He pictured the woman, Dorothy, and how easily she had killed Eileen.
She’s going to come down here and kill me, Scott thought, panic building up within him. I know she is. She’s going to do the same to me. She’s going to pop my eyes and snap my neck. Or worse. Oh, Jesus! It’s going to be worse.
Go to the lighthouse, he thought. Go. Just go. No shame. Shane told me I could. Even Courtney wasn’t being a jerk. Just go. Go. Go!
Scott hyperventilated as he sat in the kitchen, staring at the ceiling. He let his legs go slack, and he tried to stand up. As soon as he did, the noises above him changed.
The footsteps paused, then they moved away.
Towards the stairs, Scott realized, scrambling to his feet. She’s coming down.
Trying to get a handle on his fear, Scott turned to the back door. He had left it open to make certain he could run if he needed to.
Yet as he looked at the exit, a small boy blocked the doorway. The child was thin, see-through, a wicked apparition. As the dead youth stepped into the kitchen, the door slammed closed behind him.
“No,” the boy said gently, “you’ll not be leaving this way. Not tonight, no.”
The stairs groaned with an unseen weight.
I can make it to the front door, Scott told himself, each breath shallow and nearly futile. He took two small steps towards the living room, and when the boy didn’t follow, Scott’s courage was bolstered. He turned his back to the ghostly intruder and hurried into the living room.
As he entered it, the naked ghost of the man who committed suicide grinned at him.
“It’s not so bad here, Scott,” the man said, taking a step forward. “You’ll like it here. I know I do. Oh, the promises she’s made. You’ll do your time like I’m doing mine, but when it’s done. When it’s done, Scott, yes, then we’ll have our glory.”
Scott stifled a scream and raced for the front door, he shoved it wide open, stumbled over the threshold and fell face first into the grass. He got back up and let out a shriek.
Dane stood before him.
His friend wore the clothes he had died in. The sh
irt was slashed open diagonally, and his belly was sliced open the same way. Scott could see into his friend’s stomach. He could see the intestines, gray and bloated like a hideous, coiled worm.
Dane winked at him and asked, “Why are you running, Scotty?”
Scott tried to answer, to form words, yet his lips only trembled.
“You know what they say about running, don’t you, Scotty?” Dane asked pleasantly.
Scott could only shake his head in reply.
“They say not to,” Dane said. “And do you know why?”
“No,” Scott whispered.
“Ask why?” Dane said, grinning.
“Why?”
“Because you’ll die tired,” Dane said. He laughed, shook with pleasure at himself. Scott turned and threw up as his friend’s intestines spilled out onto the ground. Hot bile splashed onto Scott’s hands and forearms. The thick beef stew he had eaten cold from the MRE was hot and stinking in front of him. When he looked up, he saw Dane’s ghostly innards on the ground.
Scott scrambled backward, got to his feet and looked around desperately. The naked man was in the doorway to the keeper’s house. Behind Dane was the lighthouse.
The lighthouse, Scott thought frantically.
I need to get to the lighthouse.
Dane wasn’t going to let him by. Scott could see it in his dead friend’s eyes.
Scott looked over his shoulder and gasped.
Eileen was only a few feet away. Blood trickled down from beneath her misshapen eyelids. Her neck was wrong, something off about the way she held her head. Her dead lips spread into a wide smile before she said, “How do I look, Scott? Still pretty enough for your best friend?”
Scott tried to run, but his feet became tangled up together. He fell, hit the ground hard, and rolled down the small hill towards the pier. As he rolled, he caught sight of others on the pier. Twenty of them, maybe more.
He flung his arms out, managed to stop himself and got up, his stomach aching and his head pounding. His eyes locked onto the door of the lighthouse, and he launched himself towards it.
A terrible cold slammed into him, knocked him to his knees and swarmed, over him. Hands pulled at his limbs, his clothes. Yanked his hair out of his head and smothered his screams as the breath was stolen from his lungs. Hardened fists slammed into his flesh, sought out the soft parts of his body and punished him, relentlessly, without mercy.