After he’d left Harold’s, Richard used his mobile phone to call the landline at the house. No one answered on any of his seven attempts, and that sent his mind racing through a multitude of worst-case scenarios.
It was a small miracle Richard didn’t kill himself, barreling up the winding stretch, but he refused to slow down until he reached the manor’s front entrance.
He burst into the foyer, shouting Penny’s name, and continued calling for her as he searched through the house. But he saw no sign of Penny anywhere, and after scouring the entire house and grounds for the better part of an hour, Richard finally accepted Penny wasn’t there.
Richard decided to wait to see if she showed up on her own, but he somehow knew that wouldn’t be happening. He ended up in the master suite and flopped down on the bed, unwilling to accept defeat but unsure how to proceed.
He stared out the picture window, into the world beyond, as the last rays of light disappeared off to the west. As the darkness enveloped the island, Richard contemplated his next move. He was at a total loss. His mind began to succumb to despair.
And then he saw it. Off in the distance, on the far side of the island, the light from the lighthouse began to pulse rhythmically. It was calling to him, a ray of meager hope, helping to assuage his desperation.
Richard immediately knew where he must go. He didn’t know if Penny would be there, but if Brooks was somehow involved in all this and knew where to find her, Richard would beat it out of the man … if that’s what it took.
The lighthouse rose into the night sky like a garish, white dagger, its tip gleaming brightly with each pulse of light.
As Richard stood, looking up at it, he was filled with a sense of almost insurmountable dread.
The light was a signal to ships at sea, warning them away from the treacherous rocks along the island’s shore. But Richard wondered if the light of this beacon served another purpose, a much darker purpose. What if this lighthouse, instead of warning ships away, was calling something forth, something nefarious and vile? Richard’s mind couldn’t process the thought and still allow him to retain his sanity.
He focused on the task at hand.
He wasn’t relishing the idea of confronting Brooks and found himself wishing he’d brought along a weapon of some kind. Harold’s account of murderous cultists—Brooks was supposedly one of them—had spooked Richard good and proper.
But he swallowed his fear and forced himself to move ahead. He found the entrance to the lighthouse and discovered it was unlocked.
Once inside, Richard found himself standing in the circular room at the base of the structure. It was furnished as a simple living area.
He saw a small kitchen along one side of the room, and opposite that sat a worn recliner in front of an old television set. A record player rested on a table against the far curve of the wall. A forty-five rpm record was spinning on the turntable; the strains of The Platters singing “Only You” drifted from the speaker, filling the spartan space. Richard used to like that song, but it seemed eerily unsettling at that moment.
The tower’s spiral staircase rose up along the wall to the floors above. Seeing no signs of life, Richard considered calling out, thought better of it, and headed upstairs. At the second floor, he saw a single door in front of him, while the stairwell continued up toward the gallery and the lantern room above.
Richard opened the door and stepped through to find an austere, utilitarian bedroom. As far as he could tell, it was the only sleeping quarters in the entire lighthouse, seeing as how no other floors existed between that one and the gallery above. A single, twin bed and a chest of drawers were the only pieces of furniture in the room.
Kind of cramped quarters for a man and his full-grown son, Richard thought.
Finding the room empty, Richard was about to leave, but something caught his eye. On the dresser, he saw at least a dozen framed family pictures. Displayed prominently in front was a copy of the photo Harold Johnson had shown him, the group shot of those Harold believed were cult members.
Richard scrutinized the other pictures. Many were photographs of people he didn’t recognize, but several of the portraits on the dresser featured the younger version of George Brooks.
One in particular was a posed photo of Brooks with a young boy of about five years old. Richard deduced that it must be the young Ed Brooks, whom neither he nor Penny had ever laid eyes on, despite the fact they’d been on the island for several weeks. Brooks told them Ed helped run the lighthouse, but Richard had seen no actual evidence of that fact. If this was George Brooks’s room, where did Ed stay?
Another photograph caught Richard’s attention. In the foreground, he saw two children, playing in what Richard recognized as the solarium at Blackwater Manor. One was the little boy from the previous picture. The other was a young girl about the same age. Behind them sat George Brooks and a woman Richard recognized as Eugenia Mallow. Something about the scene was familiar to him. He couldn’t say why.
An impulse seized Richard then. He grabbed the picture off the dresser and frantically fumbled with the clasps on the back, trying to free the photo from its frame. He tore the backing off and stared at what was written on the reverse side of the photo.
George and Eugenia
Edward and Ellie
The date indicated the photo was taken almost thirty years earlier.
In the back of Richard’s mind, something stirred. It was the same feeling he got when he couldn’t think of a word he wanted to use in his novel. It would be on the tip of his tongue, but it just wouldn’t come.
Richard removed the photograph from its frame and flipped it over. He stared at it intensely, studying every detail. He looked at young Edward, then at the girl named Ellie. Then Eugenia and George, sitting together and looking very chummy. Then back to Edward.
A thought started forming in Richard’s mind, but even as he was beginning to think it, he knew it was something he couldn’t bear to realize. And that innate part of one’s psyche that protects people from unknowable truths pushed the idea back into the hidden recesses of his brain.
Find Penny, he reminded himself. That’s what you’ve got to do now. Just find her.
“Can I help you with something, son?”
Richard was taken completely off guard by the voice behind him. He spun around and saw George Brooks, standing in the doorway, staring at him intently.
All thoughts of being confrontational about Penny’s whereabouts vanished in a instant. Without being sure why, whether by instinct or premonition, Richard sensed he was in more danger than he previously realized. He decided to exercise caution rather than bravado.
Richard moved his body to block Brooks’s view of the dresser and the unassembled picture frame on top of it. He hid the photo behind his back, folded it, and shoved it into his back pocket.
“I–I’m looking for Penny,” Richard’s said. “She’s missing. I can’t find her anywhere.”
“Oh, dear,” said Brooks. “You don’t think she fell into another hole, do you?”
“I don’t know. She’s been acting very strangely. Sleepwalking at night and … well, things that are very out of character for her.”
“Sleepwalking! Oh, my. Well, I boarded up that shaft in your garden pretty tight. Doubt she could’ve misstepped her way down that one again, even if she were sleepwalking.”
“Still, I’m worried sick,” said Richard. “I think she could be in real trouble.”
Brooks seemed to consider that solemnly for a moment. “Come on downstairs, son,” he said, finally. “We’ll call the constable on the mainland. See if we can drum up some help. I just put a kettle on. We’ll have some tea. It’ll help you relax.”
Brooks seemed genuinely willing to help, and Richard started to wonder if he’d been silly to listen to Harold Johnson. Maybe getting the authorities involved was the right decision. Still, something seemed off.
Richard followed Brooks downstairs where the caretaker used the phone t
o call over to the mainland. The Platters forty-five had reached the end, and the record player needle had nestled itself back onto its cradle. Brooks appeared to reach someone named Tom, to whom the caretaker briefly explained Richard’s predicament.
“The lady of the manor’s gone and got herself lost, Tom,” Brooks said into the receiver. “Ayuh … he’s in quite a tizzy about it.” A pause. “I understand. Better bring some boys over to take care of things.”
Richard listened intently to the conversation without interrupting, despite his gut-felt belief the situation was somewhat more dire than Penny merely getting herself lost.
When Brooks was off the phone, he said, “Have a seat, son, and try to calm yourself.”
Just then the kettle began to whistle.
“Tea’s on,” said Brooks. “Hope you like earl grey. It’s all I drink.”
As Richard sat at the little kitchen table, he felt the folded photograph crumple in his back pocket.
“Mr. Brooks, I was wondering, where’s your son?”
“My son?” Brooks said, absently, as he emptied boiling water from the kettle into a teapot. “Oh, he’s close by.”
Richard pressed the subject. “He lives here with you at the lighthouse?”
“Oh, no,” said Brooks, pouring tea into a pair of mismatched cups. “He lives … elsewhere.”
Brooks carried the two cups over to the table and put one in front of Richard before sitting down with his own. “Drink up. It’ll help you calm down while we wait for the constable.”
Richard was never much of a tea drinker. As a writer, he’d always been a devoted admirer of coffee (and sometimes bourbon). Nevertheless, he took a sip of the hot beverage, taking care not to burn his tongue. The stuff was bitter, much more so than Richard expected, but he forced himself to take a few more sips before putting the cup down.
“You have a daughter, too?” Richard winced, involuntarily, as he said it. He felt compelled to ask about Edward’s playmate from the photograph, but Brooks looked confused.
Richard clarified. “I’m sorry. I saw in the pictures upstairs—”
“Oh, you mean Ellie,” said Brooks. “No, no, she’s not my daughter. Ellie was the grand niece of Ms. Eugenia. The girl’s mother was from the Landing. Spent a lot of time at Blackwater when she was a small thing.”
Richard took another sip of the bitter tea, attempting to puzzle out what the caretaker was telling him. It seemed important, but for some reason, Richard couldn’t get the pieces to fit together as quickly as they should. It was as if his brain was working a little more slowly than normal.
“She was … would that have made her a cousin to my Penny?” Richard noticed his words seemed slurred. What came out sounded more like “a cushion fur muh Penner.” He wondered why his voice sounded so odd and why his tongue felt so thick.
Brooks seemed unconcerned by Richard’s sudden speech impediment. “Not exactly,” the man said.
His head began to stretch like a reflection in a funhouse mirror.
Then the room was spinning, and Richard felt himself falling, slowly falling, for what seemed like minutes. He landed on the floor with a dull thud, but the spinning sensation continued. He reached out for something to keep him from falling off the whirling carnival ride but found only the floor.
Brooks, who kept doing his best impression of a painting by Picasso, was standing over Richard, smiling almost sweetly.
“I’m glad you’re back, boy,” he said. “We've been waiting a long time.”
And then Richard’s world went black.
7. The Cabal
When Richard woke, it took him a moment or two to realize he was even conscious. His brain was slowly and groggily rebooting itself.
The first thing he became aware of was the cold, hard feel of the stone beneath him. Then the dank, musty smell of mildew.
Richard opened his eyes, but everything was dark. He had the impression of a source of light in his periphery, but otherwise, he saw nothing but a murky blur.
He realized he was cold; his body was shivering. Somewhere he heard water dripping, like rain from a leaky roof, and beyond that, more faintly, the sound of ocean waves.
Richard tried to move, and by that time, he’d gone from a semi-conscious state to being fully aware. He quickly realized his hands were securely tied behind his back. Panic set in, and he kicked furiously with his feet, at once discovering his shoes were missing. But he managed to push himself up against a frigid, stone wall.
When Richard’s vision finally cleared, acclimating to the dimness around him, he could see he was in a small cell, carved out of the rock. It wasn’t much bigger than he was and not even high enough for him to stand fully upright. He saw an iron grate in the ceiling; it appeared to be the only way in or out of the tiny chamber. Thin beams of light were shining through the bars.
Richard called out. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
A moment later the light shifted, and he could hear the shuffling of feet against rock. Someone was coming, and Richard was reasonably sure he wouldn’t be pleased to see whoever it was.
Brooks had drugged Richard and stuck him down in this hole, but he was at a loss as to why.
The metal grate swung open, its rusty hinges emitting a high-pitched creak, and a bright light streamed into the tiny cell, blinding him. Then he heard George Brooks’s voice.
“Pull him up, Tom. No need to be harsh, if it’s all the same to you.”
Someone reached into the little chamber from above and yanked Richard up into another room.
Three figures were standing there, all wearing robes with hoods and masks that covered their faces below the eyes. One of them was obviously George Brooks, though it took Richard a moment to ascertain which one. Brooks was holding up an old-fashioned lantern, shining its light into Richard’s face.
He guessed the man holding him by the arms was Tom, the person Brooks had been speaking to on the phone back at the lighthouse. The identity of the third person was a total mystery.
“What’s this about, George?” said Richard. “Let me go! You can’t do this!”
But Brooks said nothing as Tom and the third man dragged Richard from the room, following their leader down a damp, stone passageway.
Richard’s sense of fear and panic intensified exponentially. Harold had been right. It was a cult, and Richard was their prisoner. He dared not imagine what dark intentions lay behind his captivity. And where was Penny? Was she there somewhere, too? Without thinking, he started screaming for help until the man named Tom struck Richard on the side of the head.
Pain exploded in his brain, and he blacked out for just an instant. He heard a deafening ringing in his ear and could feel blood trickling down his face. When the ringing subsided, he could hear Brooks scolding the man who hit him.
“—should treat him with a little more respect, Tom,” Brooks was saying. “He’s my gift to give, and I’d rather not present him more sullied than need be. I hope we’re clear on that.”
Tom didn’t respond.
Richard’s robed captors proceeded to drag him, somewhat dazed, down the passage, his bare feet scraping haphazardly along the stone floor. They were covered with raw, bloody abrasions by the time Richard was able to get his legs to work properly again.
“George, why are you doing this?” Richard’s words were slurred.
Brooks, again, didn't respond.
The passage opened up into a massive, cathedral-sized room. Torches along the walls and candles in suspended chandeliers provided moderate illumination. The light flickered, casting eerie shadows onto strange carvings on the walls and on the pillars that lined the room.
Richard saw images of strange creatures with ghastly tentacles and demonic wings. In some of the depictions, these monstrosities appeared to be subjugating men.
And Richard saw other creatures as well, represented in the carved images—strange animals with hundreds of eyes and others with odd, barrel-shaped bodies and heads resembling starfi
sh.
Richard and his captors stood at one end of the large room on a raised and slightly inclined platform. Upon it was a grotesque statue, a magnified version of the idol he and Harold destroyed. This version’s tentacles stretched out over the platform, creating a kind of canopy. Chains with manacles attached to the ends hung down from two of these outstretched protuberances, which wrapped around a pair of pillars erected on either side of the statue.
The two men leading Richard cut his bonds but didn’t give him an opportunity to struggle. Even if he’d been fleet enough to do it, he was still reeling from the blow to his ear. The pain was excruciating, and he was becoming acutely aware of a near total loss of hearing on that side. He thought his eardrum might have ruptured. But as the robed men secured Richard’s hands in the suspended manacles, he realized his damaged ear was the least of his worries.
The robed men bound Richard’s feet to a matching pair of manacles, rising up from the floor. These, he noticed, were attached to chains that disappeared into small holes in the platform.
Richard tried to mentally regroup. He studied his surroundings a bit more. In front of the platform was a circular pool of water, which appeared quite deep. He could taste salt in the air and guessed the pool was filled with seawater.
Beyond the circle of water were rows of pews, like in a church, and Richard realized, with a jolt, that was exactly what the place was, the unholy temple Harold spoke of, erected by the English settlers who’d come over with Captain Perry.
Brooks appeared again beside Richard. The man had shed his cowl and mask.
“What is this place?” Richard said, even though he already knew the answer. “What are you? Satanists? Witches?”
“No, son, no,” Brooks said. “We are the servants of the Watcher, the Old One, who came to this world eons ago from the stars. Before there was man upon the earth, the Watcher ruled from his kingdom in the sea. And when humankind appeared, he made them his servants to do his bidding.”
The Lurkers & Other Strange Tales Page 5