by Ron Ripley
Chapter 29: Close to Dawn
Courtney awoke, hungry and miserable. She lifted her head off of Shane’s lap and sat up. He closed the ledger he was reading and smiled softly at her.
“How are you feeling?” he asked her.
“Terrible,” she replied. She could smell whiskey and cigarettes, sweat and concern, which she found strangely comforting.
“Understood,” Shane said. He picked up a bottle of water and passed it over to her. “Rinse and spit out the first mouthful. The rest will taste better.”
“Spit where?” she asked, opening the bottle.
He grinned. “Anywhere you like, Cort. We won’t be here much longer, one way or the other.”
A chill raced through her at his words. She did as he said with the water, and found he was right. She drank all of the water quickly.
“You’ve figured a way out?” she said softly. “Or are we out of luck?”
“A way to stop Dorothy, and the others,” he said. “And I’ll be smashing the absolute hell out of the lantern if I can’t do what I’m planning.”
“How are you going to stop her?” Courtney asked.
Shane lifted up the ledger. “With this. All three of them, actually. Everything she was, she wrote in here. And when she was afraid someone might read her words, she wrote Latin. She was a smart woman. Angry, but smart.”
“You read Latin?” Courtney asked, surprised.
“Yup,” Shane said, smiling. “Lots of other languages too. But what she wrote in Latin, is the key to the power over her.”
“What do you mean?” Courtney asked.
“Here,” Shane said, opening the ledger up. He flipped through several pages, stopped and said, “Let me read this to you,
“We have been here too long. Far too long. Ione has left us. The willful girl, and I doubt I shall see my eldest daughter again soon. This leaves me with the task of caring for my beastly husband and the remainder of our wretched children. My father will not survive long. He will move on to the next world, either by God’s will or by my hands.”
A painful terror gripped Courtney’s empty stomach, and she whispered, “She planned her father’s death?”
“His, and the death of her children. Her husband as well,” Shane said. “She hid the bodies. Both to avoid punishment and out of shame. There’s more. Revelations about past sins, and those she wished to commit. By hiding them from all others, even in her private thoughts, she’s shown there is a power over her through them.”
“What are you going to do?” Courtney said.
“Find her and bind her to the physical world,” Shane said.
“What then?” Courtney asked.
“I’ll break her,” Shane said. “Break her and cast her to Hell, because I’m pretty sure she’s headed there when all is said and done.”
He set the ledger down, grabbed an MRE, and opened it, passing it over to her. She dumped it out onto the floor in front of her, spotted a package of crackers and another of peanut butter.
“Breakfast of champions?” she asked tiredly.
“You’ve no idea, Cort,” Shane said, smiling. “I ate those damned things for years, out in the field. And when you’re hungry, and you can’t stand the sight of them, you still choke it down.”
She tore open the peanut butter, ate some of it from the small container, and then said, “You’re a strange man.”
“Me?” he asked, surprised.
“Yes, you,” she said. “Here you are, retired military and ghost hunter, and you read Latin.”
“More than just Latin,” he said in a voice suddenly tired and worn.
“Really?” she said, opening the crackers. “What else?”
“French, Spanish, Portuguese, Russian, Greek, German,” Shane said. “And a whole lot more than that.”
“How can you read all of those?” she asked, surprised.
“Read, write, and speak,” Shane said. “I don’t know how, exactly. Languages are easy. I hear it, and I can speak it. And if I can read it, then I can write it.”
“That’s amazing,” Courtney said. “What do you for work? I mean, you can’t be a full-time ghost hunter, right?”
“Right,” Shane said, smiling. “I’m a freelance translator. Plus, I have my pension from the Marine Corps, in the end, so everything’s working out pretty well. Even this.”
“What do you mean?” Courtney said, her heart fluttering.
“I got to meet you,” Shane said softly. “I wish there wasn’t so much death around us, but I’m pleased we met. Exceptionally pleased.”
“Me too,” Courtney said, and she took out a cracker to eat, her smile too big to hide.
Chapter 30: Seeing the Sunrise over the Atlantic
George felt as though a thousand little fists were hammering against his head. His mouth was painfully dry, and when he tried to move, he found he couldn’t. He cracked open an eye, but the sun was breaking the horizon, filling the Atlantic with its powerful light.
I’m on the boat, he realized dully.
He tried to move again and was able to roll over onto his back. Blinking he tried to focus, and he saw he was on the deck. In the chair so recently occupied by Vic, sat Mystery.
Even after sleeping in her clothes, and on board a Boston Whaler, she was stunning. She sat with her legs crossed delicately and sipping from a bottle of water. When she saw he was awake, she adjusted her mirrored sunglasses and smiled at him with full, red lips.
“Good morning, George,” she said pleasantly.
“Morning,” he replied grumpily. In spite of his efforts to sit up, he couldn’t. Something held him back. I’m so hung over.
“You, my fine, fat friend,” she said, grinning, “can drink a lot of whiskey. I was impressed. I thought for certain I’d have to roll you out to your boat, but you made it.”
George closed his eyes. Licked his lips, swallowed once to try and moisten his throat, and then said, “Where are we?”
“We are windward of Squirrel Island, looking at the back of the lighthouse and the keeper’s house,” she replied.
George stiffened and kept his eyes shut. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Not at all,” Mystery said happily.
“Why the hell did I bring us out here?” he asked with a groan.
“You didn’t,” she said. “I did.”
George opened his eyes and looked at the woman. “Why, in God’s name, would you do that?”
“Afraid, are you?” she asked, her voice taking on a dangerous calm.
“No,” George lied.
“Of course, you are,” she said softly. “You left your friends out here to die. You know it.”
Did I talk when I was drunk? he thought frantically. Good God, what did I say?
His panic must have shown because Mystery laughed, a pleased and joyous sound.
“No, you fat, cowardly drunk,” she said, smiling. “You said nothing. Well, at least not about the lighthouse. No, not a word. But I know.”
Terror took over him. “I know all about your abandonment of your two friends,” she said. “I agree, they were stupid not to have gotten back into your boat. Your own effort, perhaps, should have been greater, to get them to go away with you. And, failing to do so, you should have remained.”
Her face went hard as she leaned forward. “You should have remained. You have caused me a great deal of inconvenience, George, and you shall suffer for it.”
“I didn’t do anything,” he said, his voice was hoarse with fear.
“Liar,” Mystery said, lounging back in the chair. “Liar, liar, liar. You’ll get yours, though, George. You will indeed. I expect her to be here soon. Very soon.”
“Who?” George whispered.
“My great-grandmother,” the woman said sweetly. She adjusted her sunglasses, tilted her head back slightly and said, “Watching the sun rise over the Atlantic is always an occasion to treasure. Always.”
George writhed on the deck, trying to get up.
“What will she do with me?” George whispered.
“If you’re lucky,” Mystery said, smiling softly, “you’ll drown and be on your way.”
“And if I’m not?”
“If you’re not,” she said, the smile fading away, “you’ll drown and be here until the end of time.”
Chapter 31: Risking a Look
Shane stank.
His body smelled of old sweat and fear. Although he had managed to clean up a little with some wet-wipes he had brought along, it hadn’t made much of a difference.
She doesn’t smell, he thought, looking at Courtney.
He pulled out a flameless heater from an MRE and prepped a bag for coffee.
“You look like you know what you’re doing,” Courtney said, coming over and sitting down next to him.
“Looks are deceiving,” he said with a grin. She had been crying again earlier, but it was to be expected.
I’ll worry if she doesn’t cry, he thought.
“Not in your case,” she said confidently. “Everything you are is right out front, isn’t it?”
Shane could tell the question was rhetorical, but he nodded in agreement anyway. “I don’t see a need to hide anything. Not anymore. I played things pretty close to the vest for a long time. Can’t really tell your friends the house you lived in killed your parents.”
Her eyes widened, and she said softly, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Shane said, sighing, “it was a long time ago.”
He shook the bag with the coffee in it and added water to the flameless heater’s bag. Once the chemicals in the heater reacted, he slipped both the containers into a cardboard sleeve, propped them up against the wall at an angle, and relaxed a little more.
“Did you sleep at all?” Courtney asked.
“A little, here and there,” he said.
“How much is a little?”
“Maybe an hour altogether,” Shane said. He tried not to think about how tired he felt.
“Do you want to sleep now?” she asked.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It would only make it worse. Better to stay up until everything is done.”
“What do you want to do after the coffee?” Courtney said, glancing over at the door.
“Take a walk,” Shane replied. “I want to see if we can find some more iron somewhere.”
“Where would we find iron?”
“We’ll take a quick look around the house,” Shane said. “Then we’ll go down by the pier. We’ll do it together, though. They may be a little cautious around me, and we’ll have to work with what we have.”
“Yeah,” Courtney said, “I’m not leaving your side, Shane.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said, smiling. “Coffee’s about ready. Want some?”
“God yes,” she said, sighing.
Shane poured the brew out into their sole cup and handed it to her.
“Thanks.” She blew on it to cool it down, took a sip, and winced. “Damn, that’s strong.”
“We need it to be,” Shane said. “Sometimes, when we were out in the field, and we were all jonesing for a caffeine fix, we’d take the instant coffee from the MREs and use the crystals like they were chew.”
“I have no idea what that means,” she said, grinning.
“You know, chewing tobacco?” Shane asked. When she nodded, he said, “Well, we would stick a pinch of the instant between our gum and cheek. Sort of suck the caffeine out of it.”
“Sounds absolutely disgusting,” Courtney said.
“It was,” Shane said, smiling as he remembered. “But you do what you need to do.”
“And what we need to do today is find iron?” she said.
“If we can,” Shane said, nodding.
“What if we can’t?”
“Hope like hell that we can,” Shane said with a shrug of his shoulders.
Together they drank the coffee, ate some less-than-appealing breakfast, and got ready for the day. Shane gave Courtney one of his clean t-shirts to wear and politely turned his back while she changed. She extended him the same courtesy while he switched out all of his clothes.
“Ready?” Shane asked her, his hand on the latch.
She nodded.
“Remember, we go everywhere together.”
“Got it,” Courtney said grimly.
“Okay.”
Shane took a deep breath and opened the door. The sun had come up only a short time before, and the wind was stronger than it had been. The waves were in a frenzy, the whitecaps mad as they danced along the breadth of water between the mainland and the island. The pier and the stones suffered beneath each wave.
Shane stood still and looked out at the island.
He saw nothing out of place. No one walking around, no ghosts waiting for them.
“Alright,” he said, glancing back at Courtney.
His eyes widened.
What remained of Scott stood behind her, and smiled at Shane.
Chapter 32: In for Rough Weather
The Boston Whaler pitched and rolled with the ocean. The waves were getting larger, and George could see them from his position on the deck.
She’ll be swamped soon, George thought, depressed.
The mystery woman was either unaware of the danger or didn’t care. She continued to lounge in her seat. He could see the knuckles on her hands whiten as the boat rose up, and then followed the curve of a wave down.
“How are you feeling, George?” she asked pleasantly, no hint of concern in her voice.
He didn’t respond.
“Oh, you don’t want to talk now?” she said, laughing. “I couldn’t get you to shut up last night. The promises you made.”
George kept his comments to himself. He was afraid. Not of her, but of whatever was coming from the island for him. He had no doubt about it. Somewhere, something was on its way.
And I’m going to die, he thought.
Mystery stood up suddenly, a triumphant smile on her face. She retained her balance and poise as the boat rolled with the waves.
“Great Mother,” she said respectfully, taking off her sunglasses.
Without knowing why George twisted to see who the woman spoke to.
A middle-aged woman, her face harsh and severe, had arrived, somehow. Her hands were clasped loosely together in front of her, and she looked disdainfully at George.
George’s heart lost all sense of rhythm, beating erratically as he looked through the new arrival. The edges of her body had no clear sense of definition, and the world beyond was disturbed, as though by a gossamer curtain.
George struggled as panic flooded him, and his frantic efforts brought a cold smile to the Great Mother’s face.
“His fear is palpable,” the new arrival said. “You’ve done well, girl. Exceptionally so. Soon we’ll have enough to put the lighthouse to right.”
“Thank you, Great Mother,” Mystery replied, a sense of awe in her voice. “Do you require more?”
“A few. Just a few.”
George continued to struggle, his hands and feet numb from hours of being bound. All of his attempts were useless. Finally, he let out a cry and closed his eyes as he gave up.
“Bring him to the island,” the Great Mother said. “I must put the newest of the help through their paces.”
The Whaler’s engine started up, and George felt the boat begin to move. He risked a look and opened an eye. He saw Mystery at the helm, her back was to him.
“I’m sorry, George,” she said over her shoulder, and there was no true note of sympathy or apology in her voice. “You will not be drowned today. Something worse, I’m sure, but at least you won’t be drowned.”
George shuddered.
I’d rather drown, he thought miserably. Dear God, please kill me now.
God didn’t answer, and George began to weep.
Chapter 33: Uninvited and Unwanted
Shane closed the door carefully, never taking his eyes off of Scott. Or rather the horror which had been Scott. The dead had mangled the young man. His clothes were gone, but he wasn’t naked. It was worse.
Scott was nothing more than a bloody sketch of what he had been prior to his death. His eyes were gone. Destroyed sockets seemed to stare at Shane. He had been flayed, all of the muscles laid bare for the world to see. Teeth were broken, shattered remnants of what they had been. Each finger was a twisted horror, a nightmare idea of what the digits should be.
What did they do with the body? Shane wondered. Did they drag it down into the ocean after? Did they stuff it down amongst the rocks for the crabs and fish to eat?
“Why’d you close the door?” Courtney asked, confused. “I thought we were going out.”
“We will be,” Shane said, keeping his eyes on Scott as he answered her. “Cort, do you trust me?”
“Yes,” she said, frowning.
“I’m going to tell you to do something, and I need you to do it exactly as I say. Do you understand?” Shane asked.
She nodded, fear replacing the confusion.
“Good. Without looking around, I want you to sidestep to your right and never take your eyes off of me. When you reach the wall, sit down, close your eyes, and keep them that way until I tell you to open them.”
He saw her swallow nervously, but she did as she was told. Shane kept his attention fixed on Scott. Finally, he said, “How are you, Scott?”
The destroyed visage focused on him, and the mouth moved as Scott said, “I won’t lie, Shane. I have been a whole lot better.”
“Kind of figured that out,” Shane said. “Are you in pain?”
“No,” Scott answered. “Got to tell you, it wasn’t pleasant.”
“I don’t imagine it was.”
“Thanks for opening the door, by the way,” Scott said cheerfully. “For some reason, I couldn’t get through it last night.”