The Lighthouse (Berkley Street Series Book 2)

by Ron Ripley

  “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 f
rom 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?”

  Hawkins shook his head. “Far too many questions, my lad. Far too many. I don’t think we’ll ever have any answers.”

  The first mate looked as though he might say more, but the sharp, high note of a squeeze-box cut him off.

  Hawkins looked at Ewan, and together they got to their feet.

  Ewan looked down on the island, walking around the interior of the lighthouse before coming to a stop. In the open area behind the keeper’s house were six men. One of them played a squeeze-box quite well. The others moved in a slow, somber dance around him.

  And Ewan could see through each of them. They were thin, almost faint sketches as if they weren’t truly men at all.

  “Sir,” Ewan whispered.

  Hawkins came and stood beside him. He sighed deeply and said, “Step away, lad. Let’s sit down a bit more, shall we?”

  Ewan let himself be turned away from the sight. Hawkins sat him down, and then joined him.

  “Were they real?” Ewan asked shortly.

  Hawkins nodded.

  “Dead?”

  “Aye, lad,” Hawkins replied.

  Ewan remembered all the tales of ghosts he had heard in Galway. The stories the men had told at night on the stoops in Nashua.

  Stories, Ewan thought. Nothing more. The old man who liked little boys on the first floor, he was real. And the woman butchered by her brother. She too was real. But ghosts? Never ghosts. Who had to worry about them when there was no food to eat, or when they told you father was dead?

  Ewan looked at Mr. Hawkins. “Are they real, sir?”

  “They are,” Mr. Hawkins replied. “You don’t believe your eyes?”

  Ewan shook his head.

  The first mate smiled bitterly. “They’re often a shock, the first time you see them.”

  “You’ve seen ghosts before?” Ewan asked, surprised.

  “Aye,” Hawkins said, nodding. “Down off the coast of Georgia, during the rebellion. We’d run down a rebel ship, right to ground. The men came streaming out of her though as soon as we came within range to pour in shot. They took to the jolly boats and rowed for us as though the hounds of Hell were after them.”

  “Were they?” Ewan asked softly.

  The first mate shook his head. “No. But it seems they ran aground at an old cemetery. Time and water had ripped at the land, left the graveyard open. I saw a few of the dead. They stood by their headstones and their markers. Whether they meant any harm to Johnny Reb, I know not, but they scared all of us. Hamilton and I pulled a fair few of the southerners out of the water, and then, once we had all we could see, the captain beat to quarters and off we went.”

  “Did you ever go back?” Ewan asked.

  “Would you?”

  Ewan shook his head.

  Hawkins smiled, got to his feet, and looked out towards The Thin Man. The smile faded.

  “Looks like the captain’s going to try his hand,” the man said softly.

  Ewan scrambled to his feet and looked out toward the ship.

  All of the jolly boats had been lowered away, and in the bow of each, a man held a boat hook at the ready. Those at the oars pulled carefully, the boats moving abreast of each other and keeping a fair course for the pier.

  Webb stood in one boat, and when a hidden force tried to pull an oar from a man’s hand, Webb lashed out with the boat hook. The oar was freed instantly, and the act emboldened the men. The pace of the boats increased, the oars rising and falling faster. Soon the rescuers had reached the pier and lines were made fast.

  “Quick, lad,” Hawkins said excitedly, “down the stairs and out the door.”

  “No,” a voice said, and a form materialized. A whisper of a shape against the glass of the lighthouse’s lantern. Whatever it was took hold of Mr. Hawkins, and smashed him against the window.

  Horrified, Ewan watched as the first mate was lifted off the floor and thrown down. Then the man was picked up and hurled against another window, which cracked beneath the force of the blow.

  Hawkins’ eyes rolled crazily in their sockets and a tooth hung by a strand of red flesh from his gum. The first mate struggled to get to his feet, but he let out a shriek and collapsed onto his stomach. Blood exploded out of his mouth, and Ewan screamed. A high, piercing sound which broke his voice, leaving him croaking in the lighthouse.

  All signs of life fled Mr. Hawkins’ eyes, and so too did Ewan flee the top of the lighthouse. His feet started down the stairs, and he tripped, stumbled, and fell towards the stone floor.

  Bonus Scene Chapter 5: On Squirrel Island

  Captain Michel Steiner was the first onto the pier, a boathook in his hand. He was tense, expecting a cold grip or a sudden blow at any time. His oarsmen came up quickly, equally nervous. After them, came Webb and Julius, Webb speaking rapidly to Julius.

  “He sees nothing, Captain,” Julius said in a low voice. “He knows they are still here, but they are hiding from him. They know he can see them.”

  “Well and good, Julius,” Michel said, scanning the island with his one good eye. “I am concerned only with Hawkins and the boy. You said they went into the lighthouse, yes?”

  “Aye, sir,” Julius said.

  “Then you and Webb with me, get a boathook for yourself,” Michel said. “Let us make short work of this.”

  Before Julius could reply the sound of a window being broken filled the air. A scream followed, and it was quickly silenced.

  Michel ran for the lighthouse. Webb and Julius were with him, as were the others. Their feet thundered on the pier and shook it on its pilings. Michel reached the door first, ripped it open, and stopped short.

  The men came up behind him, breathing hard.

  “Oh Lord and the man Jesus,” Julius whispered.

  The boy was dead.

  He lay on his back, arms spread wide and legs akimbo. A thin, almost delicate line of blood ran from the corner of the boy’s small mouth, along the rise of his pale cheek to drip onto the stone floor. Ewan’s soft gray eyes held nothing in them, staring up and seeing a world Michel could not. The boy’s briar pipe, the bowl black with use, lay a short distance from the body. Michel stepped into the lighthouse, and a strong hand gripped his arm.

  Miche
l looked back and saw it was Webb who held him. The man spoke softly, and Julius translated.

  “Webb says the boy is here,” Julius said softly, looking fearfully into the lighthouse.

  “His spirit?” Michel asked.

  Julius nodded. “He says to leave the body. Take nothing with us from this place.”

  The thought pained Michel, but he nodded. I cannot bring the boy’s body back with me. Nor anyone’s from this place. The crew would never stand for it. Best to report it.

  “Aye, Julius,” Michel agreed. “We will take nothing from this place. But I will make sure the boy has his pipe. He loved it over much, but he shall have it still.”

  Julius translated for Webb, and Webb nodded vigorously. He let go of Michel’s arm, and Michel walked into the building. A few steps brought him to Ewan’s side, and he crouched down by the boy. Sadly, Michel picked up the pipe and laid it on the child’s small chest. With a gentle hand, he went to close Ewan’s eyes and sighed thankfully when the lids moved.

  So often they do not, Michel thought. He straightened up, turned sharply on his heel, and left the lighthouse.

  “Back to the ship, lads,” Michel said without looking at his crew. “We’re to the dock tonight. I’ll report this ere we sail another mile toward New Brunswick.”

  In silence, Michel led his crew back to The Thin Man.

  Behind him, in the top of the lighthouse, Captain Michel Steiner felt the ghost of Ewan McGuire watch them go.

  *

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