Seventh Island Light
Christopher Setterlund
Copyright
© 2011, 2023
All
Rights Reserved
Cover
Image by Christopher Setterlund
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Used: Liberation Serif
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rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form whatsoever without prior written permission
from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in
critical articles and reviews.
Chapter
1
“So
you’re really going to do it, huh?” Alan said with a wry smile.
“Of
course, it’s going to be a celebration,” Blake replied as he
stuffed a fuzzy gray sweater into his gym duffle bag. “You sure you
don’t want to go?”
“Nah,
I can’t get the day off even though it is the Tuesday before
Thanksgiving. Besides, you’re going to have enough trouble getting
out there by yourself, let alone carrying my ass along too.” Blake
laughed and zipped up his duffle with one quick pull.
“Suit
yourself, but it’s going to be fun. A cottage, way out on 6th
Island, some beers, and the sound of the waves.” Alan, Blake’s
roommate, and friend of ten years patted him on the back.
“I
am sure you will drink enough for both of us. Just remember don’t
drink and boat. See you when you get back.” The two friends laughed
and Blake headed for the front door of the apartment.
The
air was surprisingly warm and sweet smelling, especially for late
November in mid-coast Maine. Blake hustled across the apartment
parking lot to his silver Jeep Liberty. There were a few stops he had
to make before his ultimate goal could be reached. The first stop was
the corner of Washington Street and Hampton Avenue and Mid-Coast
Liquors.
It
was 2:30pm when Blake pulled into the small, pothole-filled, parking
lot. He had to laugh to himself, even though he lived in a small,
family-oriented town the liquor store still seemed to find a way to
feel like it was out of the ghetto. The automatic front doors
squeaked and struggled to slide open as he approached them. Blake
knew exactly where he was headed. He strode confidently down the
center aisle of the small liquor store knowing that although he did
not look twenty-four years old his valid Maine driver’s license
said otherwise.
Facing
the coolers of six-packs of beer Blake grabbed his favorite and
headed for the register. He almost always bought the same beer no
matter if he was at home or out at the bar. It was a fact that caused
him some ridicule at the hands of his friends while he was a student
at Central Maine University. He didn’t care though, Blake knew what
he liked and that was that.
The
man behind the counter gazed skeptically at the baby-faced young man
carrying the clinking collection of beer. He rang in the price before
asking the obvious question.
“You
have some I.D.?” The man said while chewing on what Blake thought
was gum. It made an awful slurping noise which was annoying. Blake
fished his license out of his black leather wallet and slide it
across the counter.
The
man picked it up with his bony white thumb and index finger and
breathed loudly out of his nose while his eyes scanned back and forth
from the license photo to Blake’s face. He slid the license back
and motioned for the money. Blake always enjoyed the looks of
disappointment on the faces of most liquor store cashiers once they
realized they weren’t going to be busting anyone for underage
drinking. He took it as a compliment.
With
the beer in hand, Blake got back in his Liberty and set out for the
beach. It wasn’t just any beach, it was a private beach located
near the end of the dead-end Shore Road. He slowed down as he passed
a guard shack bordered on either side by sections of white picket
fence. This was the sight of his ‘celebration’ as he had
mentioned to Alan earlier. He gave a quick look toward the guard
shack. He didn’t see anyone but knew that there was somebody always
there. That shack was the entrance to a set of very private islands
numbered one through seven.
Blake’s
grandparents had been well off and had been able to build a
two-bedroom cottage back in the early-1940’s on what was called 6th
Island. The island itself was only about a square mile in size even
back then and the ocean had been reclaiming the land ever since. Now
the cottage was no more than thirty feet from the ocean. Sadly it was
going to be torn down on Friday, the day after Thanksgiving.
Having
spent many carefree summer days in and around that cottage Blake was
understandably upset that it was going to be taken down. He had
decided after hearing the news a few weeks earlier that he would find
a way to get out there and enjoy one last night at the old cottage.
Getting
out to 6th Island, which was about 5 miles offshore, would have been
difficult enough on its own. However, the cottage had been passed
down to Blake’s Uncle Kevin about five years earlier when Nana and
Grampa Jackson had been put in a retirement home in Southern Florida.
Uncle
Kevin did not get along with Blake and they had not spoken more than
a handful of words since the cottage changed hands. There was no
chance that he would allow Blake to visit the cottage out of the
goodness of his heart. This was the reason why Blake passed by the
entrance to the private islands. Even if Blake was a perfect
gentleman to the guard he would still have to call Uncle Kevin to
vouch for his identity. Knowing that was never going to happen Blake
had to go to Plan B.
Plan
B involved Alan’s Dodge Ram Pickup. With that beastly piece of
machinery, Blake was able to take his modest fifteen-foot Runabout to
the private beach and stash it in the dunes just off of the parking
lot early that same morning. The boat was a gift from his father so
he made sure to hide it well. He had a slight hint of worry even
though it was small-town Maine and it was Thanksgiving week. The
chances were pretty good that nobody was going to be strolling around
those dunes.
The
parking lot of the private beach was empty as he had expected it to
be but just to be safe Blake parked his Liberty as far from the road
as he could and locked it. There was a bit of a breeze coming off of
the water but it was warmer than he had thought it would be during
November in mid-coast Maine. He was a little uncomfortable in the
three layers of clothing that he had worn. Rather than suffer Blake
tossed one sweater back on the floor of the Liberty behind the
driver’s seat.
‘It’s
only for one night,’ he thought to himself, justifying leaving a
layer of clothing behind. Besides, he had a sleeping bag, pillow, and
of course, his six-pack of beer to keep him warm in the cottage on
6th Island.
Blake
lugged his sleeping bag, duffle bag, battery-operated lantern,
flashlight, and beer into the Runabout and loaded it all inside. The
tide was high but the boat was still out of the water. Blake and Alan
had put the boat where they thought that the tide would come in. The
anchor was even dropped along its side to keep the boat from drifting
out to sea. Now the anchor was sitting a few inches into the moist
sand and the water was a good ten feet away from the Runabout.
Pushing
the boat into the water had not been anticipated. He was happier now
that he had gotten rid of one of his sweaters. The only saving grace,
and it was not that much of one, was the fact that the particular
Runabout that Blake owned was one of the lightest produced. Made of
fiberglass it weighed in at a shade over 700 pounds. It would not be
easy but Blake knew he could get the boat into the water.
A
forty-minute struggle ensued. Blake rocked and twisted the boat in
the sand creating what looked like a sand angel. After pushing and
pulling and breaking a sweat the rear of the Runabout slipped into
the cool ocean water. It was nearly 3:30pm and Blake knew the sun
would set within an hour. He needed to get out to 6th Island before
dark to settle in for the night and it was about five miles on the
open water to get to the cottage.
Wanting
to avoid being spotted by anyone at the guard shack Blake purposely
drove the boat away from where the islands were. He headed nearly a
mile offshore. Figuring even powerful binoculars couldn’t see him
he turned and headed east. The sea was a bit choppy but nothing that
he could not handle. His father had let him take the wheel of the
very same Runabout on the same stretch of water from the time he was
ten years old so a little chop was nothing to Blake.
Chapter
2
The
sun had disappeared, leaving behind a warm orange and red glow by the
time the bottom of the fiberglass Runabout struck the soft sand on
6th Island. Blake dropped the anchor off of the port side and brought
his things up to the porch. He stopped and gazed at the sunset which
lit up a very familiar sight to him: 7th Island Lighthouse.
“Should
have brought a camera,” Blake said. 7th Island Light had been as
much of a fixture in Blake’s childhood as the cottage itself. He
remembered sitting and playing in the wet sand facing the lighthouse
and wishing that he could go up inside it and see what he could see
from there. Grampa Jackson always said he would take him there
someday but that day never came. When Blake would ask why Grampa
always had an excuse. Sometimes the wind was too dangerous. Other
times the weather simply ‘wasn’t good.’ On a few strange
occasions, he would tell Blake that he had gone over to the
lighthouse before Blake had awakened and asked the keeper if they
could go up in it but he had said ‘no.’
Those
times were the most confusing because Blake remembered his father
telling him that the lighthouse was ‘automated’ when he had asked
him one time. There had been lighthouse keepers but the cost of their
living out there had proved to be too much. It was much cheaper to
use solar power to keep the lighthouse running. Blake never pressed
Grampa for more information and never questioned his father about the
lighthouse being automated. He accepted what they both said as fact.
Now
there he stood, alone on 6th Island at the cottage that he had called
his second home for so much of his life. As the light slowly faded he
took the time to walk around the property and take in everything he
remembered about the sixty-plus-year-old cottage. There was no
electricity on the tiny island. Grampa used to have a strong
generator located underneath the kitchen window that supplied all of
the power necessary. Blake remembered how the generator’s low hum
would help him get to sleep at night. It was soothing and made him
feel safe.
Then
he nearly bumped into the old clothesline. Oh, how he loved watching
the clothes sway in the ever-present sea breeze. His mother had told
him when he was older that it was the best babysitter she ever found.
Blake would park himself in his small beach chair and stare at the
clothes flapping. She had often worried about his eyes as Blake would
watch the clothes with no regard for whether the sun was beating down
on his face. Luckily his vision was still great now in his
mid-twenties. He did almost bump into the clothesline but that was
beside the point.
After
doing a lap around the cottage Blake finally decided to bring his
things inside. The front door was locked but he knew how to get
around that and he jimmied the lock with a credit card. It would not
work on many doors, but this lock had not been updated since the
1970s so the credit card trick still worked there.
Blake
dropped the sleeping bag and duffle beside the door and felt around
in the dark for the end table which had always resided next to a
wicker couch with pink-flowered cushions. This would be the spot
where he placed the battery-powered lantern. He walked slowly, hands
extended, feeling in a sweeping motion. Step by step he began to
realize that there was nothing there. He backtracked to be sure and
then decided to turn it on in the middle of the living room.
The
lantern came on in a brilliant flash of light. Once Blake’s eyes
had adjusted to it he was able to see that the cottage was empty. To
be certain he picked up the lantern and walked into the kitchen and
then into both of the bedrooms. There was nothing. Blake was not sure
why he was disappointed, the cottage wouldn’t even be there in a
week. Still, seeing the emptiness of this cherished childhood memory
hit him in the heart. He sat down against the wall in the bedroom
that he had always claimed as his own. Blake closed his eyes and
listened to the ocean waves as one by one they pulled a little more
sand from 6th Island.
He
allowed himself to meditate a little bit before going back out into
the barren living room. Each of his footsteps echoed off of the
walls. In a last-minute addition to his packing, Blake had remembered
to bring food. Beer alone was not going to sustain him through the
night. Granted he had only brought a few granola bars and a bag of
trail mix but it was good enough. Although it was five miles offshore
Blake still was paranoid that even a tiny fire to cook with would
alert someone at the guard shack of his presence.
Dinner
consisted of sitting cross-legged on the porch and eating a granola
bar. He was transfixed by the immense shadow of 7th Island
Lighthouse. It had gotten colder once the sun had gone down, feeling
much more like November in Maine than it had on the way to the beach.
Blake was thinking that he should have brought that extra sweater.
The
ocean waves were soothing, lulling Blake into a dreamlike state even
before he had cracked the top on the first beer. His mind wandered so
much in fact that he had finished both granola bars and was well into
the trail mix before he noticed something strange. The beacon of the
lighthouse was not shining, there was no light crawling across the
water looking for vessels to warn. Blake sat with his back against
the cottage. He began to think back to his childhood times there. He
was not sure if he had ever seen the beacon of 7th Island Lighthouse
for that matter.
‘It
must have shined, right? It is a lighthouse.’ Blake thought as he
dipped his hand to the bottom of the bag of trail mix. He figured
that it was just something from his childhood that he could not
recall. After all, he had so many wonderful memories from the cottage
on 6th Island that he was bound to forget something as trivial as
whether the lighthouse beacon was shining.
It
was not going to bother him though. Once Blake had finished the trail
mix he decided to go inside and ‘warm up’ with a few beers. It
was only 7:00pm according to his cell phone but it felt later because
of the cold and darkness. He had almost not taken his cell phone with
him out to the island since there was little chance of having a
signal five miles out in the ocean. He was right, there were no
‘bars’ on his phone’s display which made it essentially only
good for telling the time.
A
few sips into the first beer and Blake began to not care as much
about the cold, his phone, or the lack of light from the nearby
lighthouse. He grabbed the lantern and walked around the cottage
again. He needed to see for sure that there was nothing left inside
of it. Back through both of the bedrooms, the bathroom, and the
attached kitchen and dining area. There was nothing but patches of
sand near where a window must have been left open at some point
recently. Then Blake remembered the attic.
Yes
the attic, Blake remembered it well because it was only accessible by
ladder through a hole in the ceiling. He also remembered it because
he had never been allowed to go up there. Grampa Jackson used to tell
him that when he was older he would show him what was up in the
attic. Blake used to think it was a magical place and he could not
wait to grow up. Now there was nobody to stop him except for the
ladder which was gone with everything else in the cottage.
“Damn
it,” Blake mumbled to himself. He went over to where his six-pack
of beer was sitting and popped off the top on a second one. He sat
and pouted until he spotted the bookcase which was built into the
wall. It was close enough that he could climb it and pull himself up
into the attic through the hole. He chugged the fresh beer and let
out a wall-rattling belch before proceeding over to the bookcase with
the smaller flashlight in hand.
Blake
cautiously climbed up three shelves before tossing the flashlight up
through the opening in the ceiling. Then came the tricky part of
trying to figure out where the lip of the opening was with little
light. Blake reached back with his right arm while still clinging to
the bookcase with his left. He swung his arm around until he found
the opening. It was only a matter of doing a pull-up after that and
Blake was up where he had never thought he’d be.
The
first thing he noticed was how much colder it was in the attic. There
was a small vent at the end of the house facing 7th Island which
seemed to be a magnet for the cold wind. Shivering a little Blake
grabbed the flashlight and started looking around. The next thing he
noticed was that there was not very much room if Blake even tried to
stand up he would smash his head into the wooden beams.
The
‘exciting adventure’ only got worse when it seemed as though the
attic was empty as well. Still, he was there so he felt obligated to
look around. Blake crawled along the plywood from end to end and saw
nothing. He was disappointed and ready to drop back down into the
living room when the flashlight’s beam reflected off of something.
He crawled over and found a few photos. The cold had become almost
unbearable so Blake tossed the photos down through the hole and
headed down to retrieve them.
Blake
tried to drop the flashlight down on top of the bookcase as gently as
he could. This of course meant the light dropped with a crash and
turned off as it hit the floor. He noticed the cottage felt colder as
he scaled down the bookcase himself and onto the floor. This was
because the front door was still open. Closing it did not make that
much of a difference. He went searching for the handful of photos he
had dropped down from the attic.
They
were impossible to see in the dark but with the aid of the
flashlight, Blake corralled the photos. He took them to his old
bedroom where the lantern was to look at them. The wind whistled a
bit through a gap around a bedroom window, Blake shivered and went
back to the living room to retrieve his sleeping bag to use for heat.
He unzipped it and wrapped himself up in it as best he could.
The
photos were amazing. There were five of them, all featuring one or
both of his grandparents not too long after the cottage had been
built in the 1940s. The black and white photos had a sort of
perforated edge to them as lots of photos did back then but the
quality of the photos was remarkable, especially for sitting up in
the attic for so long.
Blake
smiled as he looked at each photo. Each had a handwritten description
on the back. One photo was of his grandparents standing together on
the porch with ‘The Happy Couple’s New Home’, scrawled in black
ink on the back. They were snapshots of a simpler time in his
grandparents’ lives. It was a time when children, grandchildren,
and being placed in a retirement home were far from their minds. It
made Blake sad as he looked upon their youthful faces while sitting
in a cold empty cottage that was a week away from being torn down.
He
was about ready to put the photos down and grab another beer when he
did a double take on the last photo. It was a shot of his grandfather
standing on the shore of 7th Island with the lighthouse in the
background. This was not anything special. However, it was the
inscription that caught his eye. On the back of the photo in black
ink was written: ‘7th Island lighthouse, as close as I ever want to
get to the scene of the crime. What did you see?’ Blake furrowed
his brow and looked off into the darkness.
“Scene
of the crime? What does that mean?” He looked at the photo again,
studying every millimeter of the black-and-white image. Blake racked
his brain, there did not seem to be anything inherently odd about the
photo. The eerily ominous words in his grandfather’s handwriting
gave him chills though. Blake took a deep breath and then got out
from the warm grasp of his sleeping bag and grabbed another beer
before walking out to the porch again.
The
moon had risen. It reflected off of the surrounding water and also
made the lighthouse into an imposing silhouette in the distance.
Blake shivered as he stared off at 7th Island Light while going over
his grandfather’s words in his mind. Blake had always been a fan of
true crime shows, trying his best to solve whatever crime was
featured before the solution was revealed. To him, this seemed like
something similar only he had nothing to start with except for the
lighthouse. Blake debated momentarily in his mind before realizing
he’d likely never have the chance again. He would go snoop around
the lighthouse for any ‘clues’ to this sixty-plus-year-old
‘mystery.’
Chapter
3
Blake
loaded the anchor back into his Runabout for the quick 200-foot trip
across the water to 7th Island. After running the boat aground to
make sure he did not have to step into the chilly saltwater Blake
dropped the anchor and turned around. It was the first and probably
the last time he would ever see Nana and Grampa’s cottage from that
vantage point. With the moon shining bright the cottage was visible
and Blake became lost in his memories as he gazed across the narrow
channel toward his summer playground.
7th
Island ironically was even smaller than 6th Island. It was ironic
since Nana and Grampa Jackson’s cottage was being torn down while
the lighthouse remained untouched. The reason for this was that as
erosion began to threaten the lighthouse in the early 1980s the Coast
Guard asked the Maine government for help. They had already lost the
keeper’s house to the ocean and were trying desperately to save 7th
Island Light.
The
government allowed for tons of sand to be dredged from the harbor and
placed around the island. This deepened the harbor to allow safer
passage for vessels and also padded the area around the lighthouse.
To be sure that the erosion was slowed as much as possible there were
five breakwaters built, each stretching out about fifty feet into the
ocean. This made 7th Island look like a starfish, the nickname stuck,
and ‘Starfish Island’ was featured prominently in several local
Maine tourist guides. This became sort of humorous as the name of the
island changed but the lighthouse was always referred to as 7th
Island Light.
The
lighthouse sat almost a hundred feet from the water’s edge and
stood forty-five feet in height. The enormous shadow cast by the
moonlight nearly reached where Blake stood meaning his walk to the
lighthouse would be in total darkness. He quickly turned on the
flashlight and started up the sandy path bordered on either side by
thick beach grass.
There
was only the sound of the lapping ocean waves and the soft muffled
crunch Blake’s sneakers made in the sand. It seemed as though
everything had become still once his boat had touched the shore of
7th Island. Blake shined the flashlight straight ahead as it began to
barely touch the side of the conical light tower. Then he heard
something. It sounded like a rustling in the beach grass but there
was not even the hint of a breeze at that moment. Blake froze and
shined the flashlight toward where he thought the sound was coming
from.
It
was deathly quiet again and Blake thought his imagination and the
beer were playing with his mind. He started walking and did not even
make it three steps before he heard the noise again, this time
louder. Blake thought about turning back and forgetting about this
last adventure out on the islands but he was so close to the
lighthouse that he forged ahead. The rustling in the beach grass
stopped as he approached where he thought it was coming from. Blake
shined the flashlight and focused on a small mound of sand.
Step
by step he crept up. It was an effort to try to see without getting
any closer. Then there was a high-pitched screech and a breeze caused
by something rushing past him. Blake dove to the ground and shielded
his face. He shined the flashlight around but saw nothing. He looked
around frantically and then caught a glimpse of something on top of
the lighthouse. There was a seagull perched on top. It was the bird
that he had stumbled upon and frightened. Blake’s heart was
pounding in his ears and he yelled at the gull before staggering back
to his feet.
Still
shaking, Blake continued until he stood directly in front of the
granite behemoth. He stuck his hand out; the stone was cold to the
touch. It felt rough and weathered like this lighthouse had been
through many big storms but still stood. Blake had finally made it
over to 7th Island after so many summers of wishing he could. It felt
like a major achievement and made him glad he had come out for one
last night at the cottage even though it had grown steadily colder
since the sun had gone down.
The
mystery of Grampa’s inscription on the old photo returned to
Blake’s mind. He started looking around the base of the lighthouse
with the flashlight. There were no plaques or markers near the
lighthouse that might reference some ‘crime’ like had been
mentioned in the photo. Blake decided to try to open the front door
just for kicks even though it was probably locked. The handle was
severely rusted, a shade of reddish brown, it seemed a bit odd. Blake
thought that if the Coast Guard had cared enough to have tons of sand
dumped around the island they could have at least kept up on the
simple maintenance like a door handle.
It
was coldest on the eastern side of the lighthouse where the next
piece of land you’d hit was in Europe. Blake had not found anything
on the island worthy of a mystery besides the mystery of the
nocturnal seagull. He decided that it would be best to pick up the
search for the mystery after he had returned to his apartment the
next day.
He
turned and walked back to the Runabout all the while in the shadow of
the imposing lighthouse. Once back on the shore of 6th Island Blake
anchored the boat and looked back at the lighthouse. Even after being
scared to death by the sleeping seagull, it was still an exciting
achievement to have been able to touch the granite walls of something
that had always seemed so far out of reach. This called for a
celebratory beer inside the empty cave that was his grandparents’
cottage.
Blake
took his time nursing the third beer. He tried to stay warm by
singing a few songs loud enough to cause echoes off of the living
room walls. It was a fun, albeit slightly cold final evening at Nana
and Grampa’s cottage. Not wanting a hint of a hangover the next
morning Blake stopped at the third beer and decided it was time to
curl up in his sleeping bag. He checked his cell phone and it was a
little after 10:00pm, early for a normal night but just fine for that
night. Blake wanted to be sure that he was out of the cottage and
back on shore before 8:00am the next morning. For all of the fun and
excitement that the night had provided it could easily be ruined if
he was caught and possibly arrested for trespassing. An early night
would mean a jail-free morning.
Blake
slept in his old room, curled up in a corner using his duffle bag as
a pillow. It was a rough go of it at first as the wooden floor did
not give any support and Blake knew one way or another he was
probably going be sore in the morning. Eventually, he settled on
lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. The moon was bright
and lit up the bedroom, he stared at the two rectangle shapes of
milky light on the wall opposite the windows. The sounds of the ocean
helped lull Blake to sleep even without finding a comfortable
position on the wooden floor.
At
some point during the night, Blake was awakened by a loud noise. It
pulled him from a dream and thrust him back into the cold and
uncomfortable night. He opened his eyes. The room was darker now as
the moon has ascended to a point where its light did not filter into
the windows anymore. Blake had no idea what the noise was that
awakened him and after a minute his eyes started getting heavy and he
began drifting back to sleep.
His
eyes were just about closed when the noise returned. It was a
high-pitched shriek. Even though it was far away it was shrill enough
to cause Blake to wince a bit. What was it? He waited a moment to see
if the noise would happen again so that he could further analyze it.
It did not. Blake remembered his walk earlier in the evening on the
sand at 7th Island. He remembered the sleeping seagull that he had
stumbled upon and scared. That seemed to be the logical answer in
Blake’s mind. There were probably other seagulls on the small
island that he had not seen and now they were up for a late-night
frolic. He even cursed out loud from his sleeping bag on the hard
wooden floor.
“Go
to sleep you damn birds!” Blake yelled before starting the process
again of falling back to sleep. He let out a deep, forceful yawn when
the noise came back again, louder than before. He cut himself off
mid-yawn and blinked his eyes. That was no bird cry.
He
thought about simply ignoring these bone-chilling shrieks. He had
seen enough horror movies to know that curiosity often killed the
cat. Still, even half-asleep Blake thought about the last ‘great
adventure’ at Nana and Grampa’s. He’d love to have some more to
tell Alan and the other guys at the bar tomorrow night. Slowly he sat
up and unzipped the sleeping bag. After a quick stretch, Blake crept
down the hall and toward the front door.
He
gripped the ice-cold doorknob and pulled the door open. On the porch
facing 7th Island, there was nothing but the sound of the waves
casually lapping the sandy shores. Part of him hoped that he would
not hear anything and then he would be able to go back to sleep
knowing that he had tried to have an adventure even though it didn’t
materialize. He decided to give it about five minutes of shivering on
the porch before calling it a night.
Blake
clutched onto one of the posts on the porch and stared across at 7th
Island which at this point in the night was lit on the front by the
moon. Again Blake wished he had brought a camera as it was an
impressive-looking scene. His mind began to wander and he felt
himself slipping away toward sleep again despite the cold
temperatures outside. Blake decided that the noises he had heard were
probably those seagulls and he turned around to go back inside.
Before
he could close the door Blake heard the noise again. It was much
clearer since he was outside. It sounded like a woman’s scream but
that was impossible. He had been over to 7th Island only a few hours
earlier and had not seen or heard anything besides the lone seagull.
Then Blake thought it might be a passing boat whistle. He was trying
to find some other solution besides the obvious one.
Shivering
and tired Blake waited some more just to confirm that the noise was
not a woman screaming. He didn’t know why he needed more
confirmation. Perhaps a minute later he heard it again. There was no
denying that it was a woman screaming from 7th Island. The only
question now was what Blake intended to do about it. Should he ignore
it and try to sleep, or should he get back in his Runabout and go to
investigate?
Several
times Blake turned to go back inside and then subsequently turned
back to face the brightly moonlit 7th Island Light. He ran his hands
through his hair before deciding to go for it. He closed the front
door even though there was not another soul around for miles, or so
Blake thought. He walked down to the water’s edge where the
Runabout bobbed slowly up and down as the tide started flowing out.
As
quietly as he could Blake pried the anchor from the cold wet sand and
lay it in the boat. Then he heard the scream again which gave him a
chill. It sounded as though the voice was crying ‘Help!’ Blake
hesitated.
‘I
must be crazy,’ he thought to himself before pushing the boat
sideways and jumping in.
Chapter
4
The
Runabout began to turn toward 7th Island with the current which was a
good start. For just such an occasion where stealth was key, there
were a pair of three-foot-long oars that were kept in a compartment
where the First Aid kit was. Of course, Blake could not feasibly row
the Runabout, but he could use one oar to steer the boat to the other
shore since it was a short 200 feet away.
Blake
leaned to his left and began pushing with one oar to make sure that
the boat would touch the opposite shore at the furthest point from
the lighthouse. He felt the bump as the water turned to sand and
Blake quickly jumped out and secured the anchor in the sand. The wind
and waves had muffled most sounds as Blake had crossed the narrow
channel from 6th Island to 7th Island for the second time. He was not
sure if the voice had cried out again.
Despite
trying to be stealthy the bright moonlight that shone down onto the
island made it very difficult for Blake to hide. He walked straight
toward the lighthouse and heard the scream for help again when he was
only about fifty feet away. Blake froze and turned sideways,
contemplating retreating to the boat. It was quiet again but for the
gentle ocean waves. Blake continued, but slowly. He took each step
deliberately to give him ample opportunity to hear any further
communication.
Hearing
nothing Blake continued walking up to the lighthouse. He reached out
and touched its cold granite exterior with his left hand and guided
himself cautiously around the conical shape until he reached the
locked front door. By force of habit, Blake still tried to open it
even though he knew it was locked. Now in the shadow of the
lighthouse, Blake looked around. As far as he could see the ocean was
a milky gray color around the island fading to black the further it
got away.
The
lighthouse was locked, that was for certain, so where was the voice
coming from? There were no other boats that Blake could see near the
island which made it more confusing. He turned back to the lighthouse
and saw a small window to the right of the door that he had forgotten
to check. For the hell of it, he walked up and wiped a bit of salt
spray from the glass. He looked quickly around the room and did not
see anything out of place. He was about to turn back for his boat
when something on the floor of the lighthouse caught his eye. Blake
put his face up to the glass even putting his right hand over his
eyes to shield any stray moonlight.
He
pulled away quickly in shock and rubbed his eyes. It couldn’t have
been what he thought it was. Blake stepped back to the window and
peered in again. His eyes were not deceiving him there was somebody
inside the lighthouse face down on the floor! Not knowing what else
to do Blake began tapping on the window to see if he could rouse
whoever it was inside. There was no movement from the person inside
but the scream for help was heard again, this time from directly
overhead. It was coming from the catwalk area of the lighthouse.
Blake
backed away from the lighthouse to try to see more of the catwalk
area. He was too stunned by what he had seen inside to call out to
the female voice, instead, he looked and listened.
The
voice cried out ‘Help!’ Blake did not hesitate and called out to
her.
“Hello?
Are you all right?” He yelled toward the catwalk. Then he saw
movement. A shadow appeared at the top of the lighthouse, possibly a
head and shoulders but it was difficult to make out.
“Help!”
The voice cried out again. Then, just as quickly as it had appeared
the shadow disappeared from view. Blake was about to call out again
when he heard a horrifying scream. This was no call for help, this
was a cry of pain. It made Blake’s blood run cold. It was a
helpless feeling knowing that there was something terrible happening
at the top of the lighthouse and there was nothing Blake could do but
listen and wait.
“Help!”
The female voice yelled again, this time with much more urgency.
“I
don’t know what to do!” Blake called out. There was another
blood-curdling scream, followed shortly thereafter by another that
was quickly muffled. Then there was silence. Blake stood, staring up
toward the catwalk. He was no longer cold as the stunning
developments on 7th Island filled him with adrenaline. Seconds felt
like hours as Blake hoped to hear or see something else from the
mysterious female at the top of the lighthouse. Instead, he saw
something much worse.
Up
at the top of the lighthouse appeared a shadow, head, and shoulders
like before, then another appeared, and a third. Three shadows were
peering down over the side toward where Blake was standing. He was
frozen with fear. These people must have been the reasons that the
female voice was calling out for help. They must also have been the
ones who killed the person on the floor at the bottom of the
lighthouse as well. Blake was sure he wanted to run but his legs felt
stuck in the sand.
“You
there!” One of the shadows called out in a haunting baritone voice.
Blake did not answer.
“What
did you see!?” The second shadow shouted in a slightly higher
pitch. Blake knew he had seen the body inside the lighthouse and even
without seeing what happened to the female he knew that he needed to
get out of there before he became a third victim. Getting another
rush of adrenaline Blake took off running. It was a hundred feet to
shore which seemed like a mile.
“He
must not escape!” The third shadow yelled in a deep growl upon
seeing Blake fleeing for his Runabout. Blake heard the threat which
made him run even faster. Once alongside the boat, he yanked the
anchor from the sand and tossed it in the back. Blake jumped in and
turned around to pull the cord for the outboard motor. Standing next
to the lighthouse, side by side, were the three shadows. They did not
move but were an ominous sight.
Blake
did not hesitate any longer. He took off across the narrow channel
between 6th and 7th Islands. The Runabout slammed into the shore of
6th Island nearly tossing Blake out of the boat. He hurried into the
cottage and slammed the door behind him. It was imperative that he
grabbed his things and get to shore to alert the police as to what he
had seen.
It
was hard enough to see in the dark cottage when things were calm.
After the horrible events that he had just witnessed Blake was barely
able to make it down the hall and into his old room. He had to get a
grip for a moment. While he was on 7th Island he had not seen any
sort of vessel which could carry the three suspected killers across
the narrow channel. Still, that did not mean that there wasn’t one.
In
the milky moonlight, Blake shoved everything he had into his duffle
bag and rolled up his sleeping bag as best he could into a ball. He
shoved the shaft of the flashlight into his pants pocket and grabbed
the battery-powered lantern which was on the living room floor. He
was all set to go. While reaching for the front door handle he
glanced out of the window on the left. His eyes grew wide and the
lantern dropped with an echoing thud onto the floor. There on the
shore of 6th Island, standing next to his Runabout, his escape
vessel, were the three shadows.
Blake
was frozen with fear. They must have swam across in the cold water
since he did not see any sign of a second boat. The shadows did not
move. They were as still as scarecrows. Blake could not tell which
way they were looking. One thing he knew was that it would not take
long before they figured out where he was. Blake needed an escape
route and fast.
There
was no back door to the cottage. He was more concerned about getting
to the boat and it was surrounded. Then he had an idea. Maybe
escaping was not feasible at that moment, but it might be later on.
If he could only find a hiding spot and wait out the killers there
would be a chance that he could escape later on in the night. Of
course, Blake had a perfect hiding spot up through the hole in the
ceiling in the attic.
His
eyes had not left the three shadows on the beach and they had not
moved a muscle in several minutes. It was quite peculiar as it made
Blake wonder what they were waiting for. He wondered if his eyes were
playing tricks on him. Snapping back to the moment he slowly backed
away from the window toward the bookshelf.
First,
the sleeping bag was tossed up through the hole without incident.
Next was the duffle which also went through the hole easily. Rather
than heading straight up the shelves after his belongings, Blake
stepped back to check if the shadows were still lurking near the
Runabout. As he moved through the darkness he accidentally kicked the
remaining three beer bottles in the six-pack. The glass clinked and
then made a terrible racket as the bottles rolled across the wooden
floor and into the wall.
“You
there!” The first shadow yelled in the distance. There was no more
time to waste. The three killers would soon be inside the cottage.
Blake jumped up the bookcase’s shelves and swung his way up through
the hole in the ceiling into the attic.
Blake
crawled away from the hole and curled himself up by clutching his
knees to his chest. It was bitterly cold in the attic and he shivered
uncontrollably. Down in the cottage, it was eerily quiet. A few
minutes passed and Blake had not heard the sound of the front door
opening. He began to wonder again what the killers were waiting for.
Trying to control his violent shivering Blake leaned forward and was
about to crawl back toward the opening to take a look.
“You
there!” The first shadow yelled from almost directly underneath the
hole. The voice echoed off the walls. Blake stopped in his tracks and
held his breath.
“What
did you see?!” The second shadow followed up with. They were in the
cottage looking for him. Blake knelt a few feet from the opening
shivering and silently praying that the killers would lose interest
and leave the cottage.
“He
must not escape!” The third shadow added. That particular voice was
quieter. It sounded as though it was coming from down the hallway.
Blake made a bold decision; since the three killers were inside and
heading further from the front door he might be able to make it to
his boat. He did not want to risk jumping down into one of their
waiting arms so he went another route.
Carefully
Blake turned his body around and crawled on the plywood to the other
end of the attic. There he gave a gentle push to the small vent which
faced 7th Island. It was loose enough that it could be removed, but
it would have to be pushed out.
“You
there!” The first shadow called out once again but from down the
hall in one of the bedrooms. There were only so many places they
could search. Blake knew there was no time to hesitate. He reached
back with his cold, shaking right hand and gave an open palm thrust.
The vent moved but did not fall out. The noise was surely enough to
alert the killers down the hall. Blake reached back and hit the
wooden vent again, and again, and again. His palm throbbed in pain
but after four tries the vent tumbled to the soft sand below.
The
cold wind poured in through the hole, and Blake stuck his right arm
and shoulder out into the night. He was thin enough that he was able
to fit through. It was just a matter of trying not to fall head
first. Even though it was beach sand below it was a ten-foot drop and
he would likely be injured.
Once
he was halfway out of the vent Blake rested his waist on the opening
and reached up for the small lip of the wood at the top of the vent.
He needed to grab it, do a pull-up, and swing his legs out before
letting himself drop. Blake reached up and grabbed hold of the
one-inch protrusion from the house. He strained his fingers to hold
on which was tougher with the cold wind causing them to start to lose
feeling. That was his undoing. Almost as soon as Blake lifted his
legs to begin the pull-up process his fingers slipped and he fell.
Luckily he did a bit of a turn and landed on his knees. It was almost
as painful as if he had hit concrete. The fall and the cold caused
pain like an electrical current running through his legs.
The
fall had not made much of a sound which was his saving grace. Blake
knelt facing the outside wall of the cottage just right of the
window. He tried to recover quickly knowing that soon the killers
would realize he was not inside and come out. Blake stood up and
turned around. He staggered down to the shore. His heart sank when he
noticed something was wrong. He had not anchored the Runabout when
he had slammed onto the beach. In his haste, Blake had made a
critical mistake and now the boat was floating with the current out
to sea. All he could do was watch it drifting a few hundred feet
offshore and getting further. There was no way that he could catch
it. Blake hung his head.
“You
there!” The first shadow shouted in its baritone voice. It startled
Blake out of his self-pity. He turned around and saw the three
shadows standing side by side on the porch in the same manner that
they appeared next to the lighthouse on 7th Island. Blake did not
know what else to do so he began running along the shore of 6th
Island to the right of the cottage.
“What
did you see?!” The second shadow called out. Blake kept running on
the more compact wet sand along the water despite his legs still
being sore from the fall. Running across the entire length of the
island amplified to Blake just how much erosion had taken from it.
After passing the wooden clothesline there were only another thirty
feet of shore until the waves were lapping at his sneakers.
“He
must not escape!” The third shadow growled in the distance. Blake
turned at the edge of the water and saw the three perfectly straight,
motionless silhouettes against the moonlit sky. They stood just on
the other side of the clothesline but did not pursue him. It seemed
like a game to them and they figured they had Blake cornered.
What
the suspected killers had not anticipated was the fact that Blake had
been a state champion swimmer in high school, and was on the team as
well at Central Maine University. Swimming the distance from 6th
Island to 5th Island was not going to be a problem. He was aided by
the fact that the tide was on its way out; this made the
shore-to-shore tally a manageable 120 feet. The distance was not the
problem, the water temperature was. In late November in Maine, the
water temperature hovered anywhere from forty-five to forty-seven
degrees. Hypothermia becomes a serious threat when the water dips
below sixty.
“You
there!” The first shadow bellowed out from near the clothesline.
Blake knew he did not have any longer to debate whether swimming was
a good idea or not. He needed to dive in and get out as fast as he
could. Otherwise, he risked becoming another victim of the three
killers stalking him. He turned back to the rippling waves and dove
in.
The
shock of the cold caused him to immediately lose his breath like
someone was putting him in a bear hug. Blake trod water for a second
as he gasped for air. Then he took off like a shot. He did not think
about the cold or the killers, Blake only thought about getting onto
the beach of 5th Island. The 120 feet was traversed by Blake in just
over thirty seconds; slower than his normal best for a similar
distance but he was not keeping score at that particular time.
He
crawled out of the water and onto the wet sand. Blake took several
wide-open mouth breaths. His extremities had already lost some
feeling. Once out of the water, he began shaking his hands and
stomping his feet to get the blood flowing again. He turned back to
the gray semi-circle of land where his grandparents’ cottage stood.
There was no sign of the killers and Blake had hoped that they had
given up and gone back to the lighthouse.
Chapter
5
Feeling
safe momentarily Blake sat in the sand and took several more deep
breaths. He was shivering but he tried his best to block it out. 5th
Island did not have any homes and it was barely more than half a mile
in length. There was little in the way of vegetation, no trees, and
some beach grass that sparsely covered the sloping dunes which peaked
at roughly twenty feet above sea level in the middle of the island.
Not surprisingly 5th Island had never been of much interest to Blake
growing up. Who could give a second thought to a barren pile of sand
when there was a fascinating lighthouse on the other side?
It
took him a few minutes to feel up to it but Blake knew that the cold
and lack of shelter from the bone-chilling winds meant he had to keep
moving. He wearily stood up and began the walk to the other side of
5th Island. The moon still hung high in the sky, Blake had no idea
what time it was since he had left all of his possessions behind in
trying to escape from the killers.
The
gradual grade of the dunes on 5th Island normally would not have been
any trouble for the very fit Blake, but the short swim in the
sub-fifty-degree water had caused his muscles to tighten up. He
stopped for a moment at the top of the dunes in the center of the
island and looked back again at his grandparent’s cottage on 6th
Island. Part of him was wishing now that he had not come out here on
one last grand adventure. Now when he thought of the cottage on 6th
Island he would always be drawn to the images of the body inside the
lighthouse and the sounds of the poor woman screaming for help. Those
sounds and images came to the forefront of his mind yet again in the
silence of the moment.
Blake
jogged down the back end of the dunes toward the shore to escape his
thoughts. He stopped at the water’s edge and looked across into the
milky moonlight. He was having trouble gauging how far it was to the
shore of 4th Island. The fact that he could see it meant it was no
more than a few hundred feet. It was a manageable distance except of
course for the cold water.
He
had a little time to prepare himself for the next leg of his journey.
Blake stretched his legs, bending at the waist, and took some deep
breaths. It was as if he was preparing for a swim meet in high school
all over again. He bent down and wrapped his hands around his ankles.
He took a deep breath when he heard something in the wind. Slowly he
raised and cocked his head to one side. Then he heard it again.
“You
there!” The first shadow shouted in the distance. Blake whirled
around and caught sight of the three shadows standing at the top of
the dune no more than a hundred feet away. The three silhouettes
stood in a line, perfectly spaced apart, with their arms by their
sides not moving a muscle. There was no time for Blake to question
how they managed to get onto 5th Island in the first place. After a
deep breath, he dove into the cold, salty ocean.
The
cold hit him like an electric current and for a moment Blake lost his
bearings and began to swim perpendicular to 4th Island. When he
looked ahead and saw only the ocean he managed to pull it back
together and keep pushing across the channel. His mind was racing and
his body was tingling. Blake knew he had gone a couple of hundred
feet and was praying to feel the sandy bottom soon before hypothermia
began to get to him. His prayers were answered when he felt the push
from underneath.
Blake
crawled out of the water gasping for air and trying to wring out his
wet clothes with his numbed fingers. His abdominal muscles ached from
the constant contraction. The killers could not be seen or heard but
Blake did not trust the silence. His body was shaking uncontrollably
but he knew that there was no time to be in pain. He needed to muster
all the strength he had and keep on moving. Mind over matter at that
point was easier said than done.
The
tide was still going out. Blake stood at the shore of 4th Island and
hoped that the most recent swim was the longest of the night. 4th
Island stretched out over a mile in length and was dotted with some
scrub pine trees which were a pleasant break from sand and beach
grass only. It also gave him some potential hiding spots if need be.
Blake
knew nothing of the island except for the fact that it also did not
have any homes on it. Of the seven islands in the chain only 2nd and
3rd Islands were inhabited, along with Nana and Grampa’s cottage on
6th Island. Slowly the feeling began to return to his extremities.
Blake began to think about possibly trying to seek shelter in one of
the empty summer homes on 2nd or 3rd Island as a way to ride out the
night and keep safe from the seemingly ever-present shadows.
Blake
staggered a bit as he walked up a natural sandy path among the scrub
pines. The moon drifted in and out as a few wispy clouds had begun to
drift toward the coast from the White Mountains of New Hampshire. The
cold was unbearable at times. When the slightest breeze kicked up it
made his wet sweatshirt feel like a sheet of ice pressed against his
skin. He continued to rub his arms and stomp his feet to get the
blood flowing properly again.
The
only thing Blake remembered about 4th Island from growing up was that
it had a strange natural formation of rocks called the ‘Witches
Cave.’ It was on the southern shore of the island and there were
stories Grampa Jackson would tell of a witch who had died while
fleeing from English settlers in the 16th century. She fled to 4th
Island but fell into the cave where she died. It had always scared
Blake and he had sworn that he’d never go to see the ‘Witches
Cave.’ Now here he was, alone in the dark, and only a few hundred
feet from the supposed haunted cave. He never thought he’d be there
and also never thought that it would be the least of his fears at
that moment.
Blake
trudged on, the sand became firmer as the beach grass became more
plentiful. He was making better time and started to think the worst
might be behind him. From out of the corner of his eye he saw a
light. It was from a passing boat no more than a few hundred yards
offshore. Blake forgot everything else that was happening and ran
toward the light.
“Over
here!” He yelled as he got down to the edge of the water. Blake
waved his arms frantically. Just then the moon broke free of the
clouds and lit up the island and the area around it. Surely the
passing boat would see him now underneath the moonlight.
“I
am over here!” Blake yelled as loud as he could until his throat
was sore. The boat kept going toward the harbor. The light grew
dimmer until it disappeared. Blake hung his head, knowing that a
golden opportunity to end this nightmare had just sailed by.
“You
there!” The sinister baritone of the first shadow yelled from in
the distance. Blake’s exuberance over the passing boat had alerted
the persistent killers to his location.
“What
did you see!?” The second killer followed up in rapid succession as
if on a cue. Blake did not wait around. He took off running down the
beach desperate to get off of 4th Island. His running took its toll
on his already weakened body. Blake could feel his legs tightening up
and began to doubt whether he could make the swim to 3rd Island.
Sure, the tide was going out but it was going to be at least a couple
of hundred feet from shore to shore. How much did his body have left?
“He
must not escape!” Blake could hear the third shadow growl. The
voice was fainter as if they were playing with him. They were like
cats with a mouse, letting him get far enough away and then making
their move. Despite this torturous game Blake needed to find a place
to hide and recoup his strength. There was only one place he knew of,
the ‘Witches Cave.’
In
the moonlight, it was quite easy to spot. The shoreline of 4th Island
gradually began to rise and to Blake’s left appeared a rock
outcropping, sticking a good twenty feet out into the ocean. He ran
as quickly as he could up to it but then had to slow down to maneuver
his way through the slippery rocks and into the shelter of the cave.
It
was a daunting task to find his way inside through a narrow, three to
four-foot gash in the rocks on the west side of the cave which faced
3rd Island. Blake kicked himself for leaving all of his belongings
behind at the cottage, particularly the flashlight. The waves,
although smaller as the tide flowed out, echoed with loud crashes as
they entered every crevice of the Witches Cave. Blake entered into
the darkness and felt around for a dry spot, preferably one where he
could sit and rest.
Luckily
he was able to find one such spot thanks to a hole in the ‘roof’
of the cave. The moonlight shone down on a makeshift rock chair which
Blake gladly partook in using. He closed his eyes but remained alert.
The three killers would surely be on their way to find him again in
their macabre game of Hide and Seek. Still, Blake’s eyes grew heavy
and he wondered if it was feasible for him to try to take a little
catnap.
The
rhythm of the waves hitting the outside of the cave started to get to
him. It was not comfortable, nor was it warm, but the Witches Cave
began to feel more and more like a bedroom for the weary young man.
Blake gave in and closed his eyes.
It
was not certain how much time had passed. Blake’s cell phone was
back in the cottage on 6th Island. However, Blake knew that he had
slept because he awakened after a particularly loud wave crashed
along the outer rocks of the Witches Cave. He stared straight ahead,
several little beams of light sprinkled the rocks from where the
moonlight was able to find its way through the cracks. Blake yawned
and then looked up toward the opening at the top of the cave.
While
in the middle of a stretch, he immediately froze with fear. There at
the top of the cave, staring down at him through the opening were the
three shadows each with a pair of dull blood-red eyes. How long had
they been there? Why had they not come inside to get him while he was
sleeping? Blake was even more terrified when he began to realize that
it seemed as though these shadows were enjoying the ‘chase’ and
could probably take him out whenever they felt like it.
Further
proving this idea was the fact that they continued to stare down at
him as he sat still, too scared to move. Their blood-red eyes never
blinked, they just stared. It was a horrifying game of chicken. Blake
sat completely still with his eyes transfixed on the six eyes staring
down at him. Someone had to blink at some point. Blake decided it had
to be him.
He
remained still and formulated his plan. As best he could he looked
toward the entrance to the cave making an escape route in his mind.
He was going to have to be in a full run shortly after getting free
of the rocks. It did not matter if his body was physically ready for
another swim or not. Blake did not want to be sitting prey for the
three monsters hovering over him. He took a deep breath and watched
the breath form a cloud in front of him as he exhaled. Now was the
time. Blake rocked forward and leaped to his right. The shadows’
dull eyes turned bright.
“You
there!”
“What
did you see!?”
“He
must not escape!” The three shadows yelled over the top of each
other as if brought back from a trance by Blake’s movement. He
heard their cries which only made him move faster. He slipped on a
rock and felt his pants and his skin tear on its jagged edge but
there was no time for pain. Dodging the rest of the rocks Blake
sprinted toward the shore like it was the finish line of a race.
“You
there!” The first shadow roared from somewhere behind him. Blake
did not look back and did not stop. He dove into the chilly water in
a dead sprint. He hit the water in a hard belly flop that nearly
knocked the wind out of himself. Blake swallowed a bit of the salty
water and gagged. He was losing control. In a few more moments he
could end up being pulled under the waves.
Blake
needed to regain his composure. It started with treading water. Then
Blake was able to get his tired body moving in the right direction.
In his mind, he kept himself going by thinking of the homes waiting
for him on 3rd Island. He would be able to hide, maybe find dry
clothes, and maybe use a telephone. It was all a bit far-fetched but
it kept Blake’s legs churning. As he drew closer to shore it began
to get to him. Blake’s limbs were growing numb and he felt as
though someone was squeezing the air out of him. He could not swim
anymore. In a last-ditch effort to avoid drowning, Blake turned over
and tried to float his way to shore. It worked. Finally, it seemed as
though something was going his way.
Blake
washed up on shore like a piece of driftwood and lay on the sand
while the waves repeatedly lapped at his body and then receded. He
wanted to lie there and rest after nearly drowning but he knew that
somehow the three evil shadows would be on the shore of 3rd Island in
no time. Despite knowing this he could not move. Several swims in the
sub-fifty-degree water had caused his extremities to go numb. Blake
wanted to move but had to wait it out.
In
time the feeling began to return enough. Blake clumsily rolled
himself over and crawled up the sand before finally standing. The
‘pins and needles’ sensation that he felt in his limbs was an
intense pain that made him want to cry out in pain but he kept quiet
for fear of alerting the killers as he had with the passing boat. To
quell a bit of the pain he stood perfectly still formulating the next
phase of his escape from the chamber of horrors that the island chain
had become.
Blake
knew that there were two nice summer homes on 3rd Island; he could
only hope that there might be some dry clothes and maybe an active
telephone line in one of them. From where he stood shivering on the
beach Blake could not see any sign of these homes. 3rd Island was the
largest of the chain of seven and the homes had been built as far
from the vicious ocean tides as possible.
The
trail leading away from the shore was an uphill climb. Blake had to
prepare himself for the inevitable pain in his limbs once the hiking
began. He took a deep breath and started on his way. The breeze which
was so prevalent near the water began to fade. For a few seconds, it
was eerily quiet. That’s when Blake heard the voices return. Slowly
they became clear.
“You
there!” The first evil shadow shouted. Blake heard it but could not
see it as the moonlight had become dull behind thickening clouds. He
was not sure if he should run, or where he could run to for that
matter. Blake squatted down and tried to focus on where the shadows
were located. It grew silent as Blake turned his head to the right.
“What
did you see?!” The second shadow roared right next to Blake’s
ear. It was a teeth-rattling screech that caused Blake to jump to his
feet and take off in a dead run up the hill.
“He
must not escape!” The third voice growled from in front of him.
Panicked Blake dodged to his left and stumbled over a tree stump
nearly falling. He maintained his balance and kept going. The only
way he could tell where the shadows were lurking was their bright
blood-red eyes which shone like beacons against the pitch-black
night. He began to slip as he tried to dodge the third shadow and
ended up stumbling onto all fours.
Blake’s
skin felt a rush of cold. He thought he had fallen into a puddle but
the sand was dry. He turned around as he tried to stand. Directly
above him was a pair of blood-red shining eyes. The bone-chilling
cold came from the shadow itself. Blake tried to stand but he felt as
if he was being held down. He flailed his arms around and only felt
the icy cold. There was a heaviness to the air and all Blake could do
was crawl on his hands and knees to escape it.
“You
there!” The first shadow exclaimed as it began closing in on Blake.
Just before the killers could converge on him Blake escaped the
heaviness and made it to his feet. The voices faded away again as
Blake made it to the top of the sandy hill and began running on a
dirt road he hoped would lead to one of the two summer homes.
3rd
Island was the largest of the chain at more than a mile in length.
With only two homes on it, there was a lot of open space. All Blake
could do was keep his feet moving and continue along the dirt road,
eventually, it would bring him to where he needed to get to.
The
voices of the three evil shadows were no longer audible and Blake
slowed his pace down to a fast walk. For the first time since he had
initially arrived at the cottage on 6th Island Blake was warm. There
were even a few beads of sweat forming on his brow which immediately
turned cold. His mind tried to focus. Who were these shadows? Why
were they repeating the same haunting words over and over? What of
their bright red eyes? Why were they cold to the touch? Blake could
not wrap his head around it. In the end, he focused on getting back
to shore and to the police. They could find the answers.
The
scenery on 3rd Island reminded Blake a bit of back home in
Mississippi when he and his family would go up to Holly Springs
National Forest to see the foliage on the magnolia and dogwood trees
during autumn. Sure there were no magnolia trees and no dogwood trees
on 3rd Island but in the darkness of the night the spruce and pine
trees that loomed overhead made it feel as if he was there.
For
a short while as he walked it seemed to Blake that there was not
going to be any sign of civilization on the island. The dirt road
continued on and on as the moon periodically broke from the clouds to
light the way for him. It was still only trees as far as Blake’s
eyes could see. He felt disconnected from the rest of the world where
he was.
Then
he noticed a strange-looking tree, one far too smooth and free of
branches to be natural. Blake looked up the trunk and noticed the
wooden cross-arm of a rural utility pole. That could only mean that
he was closing in on the pair of summer homes on 3rd Island.
Blake
picked up the pace and jogged along the dirt road hoping that good
news awaited him in one of those homes. The road rounded a gradual
curve and there stood the first summer home brightly lit by the
returning moon. It was like an angel from heaven in the form of a
modest single-story home, white with black shutters. Blake let out a
huge sigh of relief and jogged the remaining few hundred feet up the
stereotypical seashell driveway to the front door.
Being
a gentleman, and a bit paranoid, Blake knocked on the door despite
there being no lights and no car. There was of course no response so
Blake then tried to simply open the door. It was locked as was to be
expected. It was not in his nature to break the law so he tried to
avoid breaking and entering if it was possible. Unfortunately with
three killers on his trail, there was no other option. Blake
justified it to himself by telling himself that if the people who
owned the house knew of his predicament they would not be upset with
what he was about to do.
As
the moonlight faded again behind clouds Blake looked around the front
yard. On the side of the house, he procured a baseball-sized rock.
Thinking that the shadows might notice a gaping hole in a window in
the front of the house Blake walked around to the back. He opened the
screen back door and then began to quietly tap on the storm door’s
window with the rock. Blake was hoping that he might be able to break
the window without alerting the possible approaching shadows.
He
tapped and tapped until he heard a crack. Blake used his elbow to
knock the glass to the floor inside. It was then just a matter of
reaching in and unlocking the door. The door creaked as Blake entered
the first house on 3rd Island. It was dark, not even a light from a
clock on the oven. Blake flipped the light switch on and off over and
over but there was no power in the house. This would make finding any
clothes or supplies difficult.
With
his arms out in front of him to avoid bumping into anything Blake
began to wander around the house. He went out of the kitchen and down
a hallway sliding his fingers along the walls to find the doors to
the bedrooms. Inside the first of three, he found nothing of use.
Sure, there was a bed which he would have loved to make use of but he
knew time was of the essence so he moved on.
The
second bedroom was a much greater success. Blake found a closet of
clothes hanging, there was nothing for the cold air outside but he
thought that if he put on three or four shirts underneath his sweater
that it would be adequate insulation for the two remaining swims he
had ahead of him. Blake took off his sweater and threw his cold and
damp shirt on the hardwood floor. One by one he slipped on the
short-sleeved shirts until they started to get tight around his
shoulders. Then he slipped his sweater back on and felt warm.
With
no power in the house, there was no food in the refrigerator. The
darkness made it difficult to tell exactly what he was grabbing in
the cabinets. Rather than risk it Blake decided to leave the first
house and continue down the dirt road to the second house on 3rd
Island.
The
wind that had been so bone-chilling before now was not as tough to
take with six layers of insulation. Blake felt that the worst was now
behind him and that whether he found some food or any other sort of
supplies at the other house on 3rd Island he would still make it to
shore all right.
The
dirt road to the second house was easier to follow as the rural power
lines hovered over the road just to the right. It was like a trail of
breadcrumbs for the weary Blake. The island road was quiet but for
the soft squishing made by Blake’s sopping wet socks and sneakers.
He had forgotten to check for dry ones in the first house and was now
kicking himself. The first second on 3rd Island came into view at the
end of another long driveway. This one was paved with asphalt, not
sea shells.
Blake
ran to the front door and knocked as he had done at the previous
house. Of course, there was no answer and the door was locked. The
moon dodged in and out of the clouds and was now in full shine as
Blake stood on the front step of the house. He sought shelter from
the killers in the shade. Blake needed to slither his way around the
house to the back door but it was made more difficult by a seven-foot
tall picket fence that surrounded the backyard. The only opening
faced the ocean so the owners could have an unobstructed view.
He
thought about trying to crash through the fence but the noise and
resulting hole might alert the killers to his whereabouts. He had not
heard any of their haunting voices in a while and wanted to keep it
that way. Blake settled on the smarter and longer route of creeping
along the perimeter of the fence. Once he came to the point where the
fence ended Blake was relieved to find a few feet of land left. It
allowed him to enter the backyard without dangling himself out over
the rocky cliff which led to the shore below.
Blake
crept along the grass. He tread carefully out of fear of holes in the
ground as much as alerting the killers to his presence. The back door
was a large sliding door that was locked. This made entering more
difficult since breaking a seven-foot tall pane of double-thick glass
would take more effort and cause a much louder noise. The debate
lasted a minute or so internally before Blake realized that he might
be better off trying a bedroom window.
A
few loose rocks were lying along the edge of the house, Blake chose
one that was no larger than a tennis ball but had a pointed end to
it. This shape made it easy for him to crack open the bottom
left-hand corner of the first window he found. Carefully he pushed as
much of the jagged glass inside onto the floor, giving Blake enough
room to reach in and up for the window lock. He hung his head
sheepishly when he reached up and found that the window had been left
unlocked.
‘Figures,
just my luck,’ Blake thought to himself as he tossed the rock
aside. The window was lifted and Blake braced himself up on the sill,
slowly swinging his left leg inside. He remembered the broken glass
on the floor so he touched down with only the toes of the sneaker to
try to avoid shards. Blake even closed the window behind him and
locked it this time.
He
flipped the light switch on and off. There was no power in this house
either. That meant there would likely be no food as well, or at least
no food that he could be sure of in the darkness. Blake exited the
bedroom and went searching for dry socks. He entered the master
bedroom and began rifling through the drawers. With luck, he found
some summer clothes much like in the previous house. He grabbed two
pairs of socks, unsure of the size or color but that was irrelevant.
Once the dry socks were on he slipped his wet sneakers back on which
then defeated the purpose of the dry socks in the first place.
There
was no other reason to hang around in the house, Blake knew he had
been lucky to get the dry clothes and should get moving toward the
mainland. He headed for the master bedroom door when he heard a
disheartening sound.
“You
there!” The baritone voice of the first shadow was heard from the
vicinity of the front door. It was followed shortly thereafter by two
more familiar phrases.
“What
did you see!?”
“He
must not escape!” Blake was frozen with fear. Each of the voices
came from a different location. The house was surrounded. He was
alone in the dark and not sure which way to go to escape. The voices
repeated themselves unabated and got closer with each round. Blake
thought about going out of the master bedroom window when suddenly
every light in the house came on at once.
For
a moment there was not a sound. Blake was frozen still. The silence
was deafening. Then the voices began again. There were only a few
seconds before the killers would be in the house. Blake turned
around, looking for any place to hide as escape seemed impossible.
The logical choice was underneath the king-sized bed. There was a
nice long quilt hanging down nearly to the floor on all sides. It
would shield him pretty well. Blake slid underneath the bed facing
the opened bedroom door so that he could see if anyone came in. All
he could do was wait.
There
was no sound of a door opening or closing but Blake felt a rush of
cold come over him in a wave. He knew something was inside the house.
No footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors yet Blake could sense that
a presence was getting closer. There was a deafening silence that
caused his body to tense up with anticipation waiting for the other
shoe to drop. It was almost as if he wanted to shout out for them to
‘get it over with!’ Blake kept his mouth shut and his eyes open
though.
From
the right side, something appeared. Blake could not make it out but
it had gone past the opened door in a flash. His heart was rattling
around in his chest and it became uncomfortable lying on his stomach
on the hard floors. Something else began drifting by the opened
bedroom door, this time Blake was able to catch the back of a shadow
as it disappeared. Like the last car on a train, a third shadow
glided across the opening but this one stopped. Slowly it slid into
the bedroom, followed soon after by the other two shadows.
This
was the moment that confirmed that those who were chasing him were
not human at all. The shadows floated across the room a few inches
above the hardwood floor. They did not move their limbs. It was as if
they were one solid black shape, a frozen silhouette unable to bend.
He would not have been able to make out their slightly-human shape if
not for their blood-red eyes which were located near the middle of
the rounds ‘heads’ at the tops of the silhouettes.
The
shadows drifted around the room their aura causing Blake’s skin to
tingle with cold as they got dangerously close to the edge of the
king-sized bed. The block-like legs of the shadows slithered around
the room. They appeared to pass through each other when they got
close. The three entities never made a sound in their voices or
movements. If he could not hear the faint hum of ocean waves Blake
would have thought he had gone deaf. His heart raced and his stomach
began to hurt from the anxiety. He felt as if he was simply waiting
for the end.
He
closed his eyes and accepted his fate that his life was to end in the
cold bedroom of the house on 3rd Island. Blake took a deep breath and
exhaled. Then suddenly the biting cold in the air dissipated. With
trepidation, Blake slowly opened his eyes. The three shadows were
gone. They were likely not far. It was time to make a break for it
now or risk being trapped by them again.
There
was not much room for maneuvering underneath the bed. Blake found
himself wobbling from side to side in a sort of alligator crawl to
get himself free of the underside of the mattress. Halfway out from
under the bed, Blake paused when he felt a cold breeze down the back
of his neck. He turned his head to look up.
“You
there!”
“What
did you see!?”
“He
must not escape!” The three terrifying shadows were perched on top
of the bed. Their red eyes got brighter as they shouted their
phrases. He did not hesitate. Even hitting his lower back on the
footboard slat of the king-sized bed did not stop him. The shouts of
the three shadows grew louder and more intense, echoing off of the
wood paneling of the bedroom.
Blake
scurried out of the master bedroom and practically broke down the
front door to escape. He did not look back to see if he was being
chased. All Blake knew was that the shore was not very far from the
house, and he was ready for another cold swim.
Blake
ran downhill, it was steep with many loose rocks. He did not stop
even as he got to a broken-down wooden dock. It was here that the
owners of the first house tied their boats up upon arriving on 3rd
Island. The dock needed repair and listed side to side under the
weight of Blake’s pounding feet. The momentary loss of equilibrium
that came with the moving of the dock slowed Blake down to where he
nearly fell into the water at the end of the dock. It was only for a
few seconds then Blake took a deep breath and dove in.
At
first, the swim in the cold, choppy waters was much easier than with
any of the other channels between islands. This was partly because
Blake had time to rest and recover, and also partly because of the
several extra shirts he was now wearing. His speed was excellent as
he pushed on across the 500-foot gap between 3rd and 2nd Island. Then
the sub-fifty-degree water began to seep through all of the shirts.
The cold began to once again take its effect on young Blake.
His
legs grew tired and heavy and Blake knew he needed to make it to the
shore of 2nd Island quickly or else risk going under the water. The
shore drew ever closer but then Blake noticed a major problem. There
was no sandy beach along the shore of 2nd Island where he was
approaching. Instead, there was a steep rock face stretching nearly
twenty feet into the crisp night air. Blake got to within about
thirty feet of the rocks. Far enough away to not risk being thrown
into any jagged edges lying in wait under the surface. He trod water
and tried to contemplate his next move as fast as he could.
The
rock face stretched out as far as Blake could see in either
direction. He did not have the strength he thought to swim around it
and hope that there was a safer passageway onto 2nd Island. His legs
were cramping and losing feeling. Blake struggled to breathe in the
cold water and decided it was climb or drown.
The
initial steps out of the water were easy as the rocks seemed to be
placed as a sort of breakwater to protect the island from erosion.
This meant that they were relatively flat and had a uniform shape to
them. It was the sudden breeze striking Blake’s sopping wet clothes
that caused him to slip back down into the water. It felt like the
air was being squeezed from his lungs when that breeze crashed into
his body.
The
drop back into the water did not help matters. Blake had summoned a
lot of strength to pull his body out the first time. He felt
depleted. In the first bit of good luck he had in a while Blake was
able to steady himself by standing on a couple of rocks beneath the
surface of the water. This motivated him to start climbing again. He
readied himself mentally for the cold wind and it was no longer a
factor.
Blake
grasped onto a pair of large rocks just above his eye level and did a
weak pull-up. He held himself there until his feet found secure
places to rest. With the aid of the returning moonlight, he looked up
and was able to see the best pathway up the rock face. It was still a
difficult climb for Blake in the dark on wet rocks though he managed
to make the final ascent with no more slipping.
Once
he was at the top of the rock face on the dirt of 2nd Island he
turned and looked back in the direction of 3rd Island. He took a few
labored breaths while on his hands and knees.
‘They’ll
be on me soon,’ he thought.
Chapter
6
Blake
was not as tired as he had been after his previous swims. He figured
that the wind dying down and his five extra layers of shirts were
keeping his body insulated a little more. 2nd Island was about the
same size as 3rd Island with two houses on it as well. He hoped that
there might be food and possibly more clothing although he was not
sure how many more shirts he could fit on his body.
Blake
rose from the dirt and turned toward the mass of land that lay before
him. No more than a few steps into his walk Blake heard growling
shouts coming from directly behind him.
“You
there!” Blake turned but kept walking backward. In a nightmarish
scene, the three shadows slowly rose from beneath the rock cliff.
They hung in the air momentarily, their blood-red eyes focused on
young Blake. He was terrified of the way they did not stop coming
after him but was fascinated by the hypnotic way the silhouettes
levitated off the ground. Not wanting to find out the hard way how
they achieved that feat Blake turned and began running through the
scrub pine trees and brush that littered the area of 2nd Island where
he had arrived.
“What
did you see!?”
“He
must not escape!” The other shadows cried out loudly once they
realized Blake was on the run again. Blake knew the shadows were
following closely behind as their continued shouts did not fade.
Their chase was the only thing keeping his tired legs going. If he
stopped he was at their mercy. There was no telling what these
creatures were or what they would do to him if he was caught.
Like
a beacon in the distance, Blake spotted the first house on 2nd
Island. The moonlight shining off of a window on the house’s second
floor gave it away. Blake got a second wind and sprinted to the front
door. At this point, he no longer cared about the people’s
property. All he cared about was escaping the islands alive. Instead
of knocking Blake rammed the door with his right shoulder until it
ached. He then leaned back and repeatedly kicked the door until the
frame cracked enough to get inside.
Rather
than closing the door or hiding inside Blake left the door wide open.
He wanted to use this house as a decoy, drawing the shadows inside
while he fled to the second house. Despite the risk, Blake still did
a quick once over in the dark kitchen and the only bedroom close
enough that he could search. There was nothing of use to him in that
small of an area but he could not take the chance of checking
upstairs and being cornered by the three shadows. Blake had to be
satisfied at that moment with his six layers of clothing.
He
leaned into the back door and opened it only enough to squeeze his
slight frame through it. Then it was closed very gently. He wanted to
give every illusion to the shadows that he was inside that first
house when they arrived.
“You
there!” The first shadow bellowed in its baritone from the front of
the house. Blake stood safely hidden behind it. He felt his plan
might work as there were no second or third shouts from the other
shadows. They must have noticed the opened front door and gone inside
to investigate. As quietly as he could Blake jogged away toward the
edge of the yard. He had to walk through the trees and bushes
surrounding the house to be sure he was concealed before he stepped
foot onto the dirt road.
Once
safely out of sight, hidden behind a very thick pine tree, Blake
turned back toward the house. He could hear the sounds of the shadows
calling out their familiar taunts muffled by the walls of the house.
Blake began to creep away when suddenly all of the lights in the
house turned on much like they had in the house on 3rd Island. The
house lights were not capable of lighting up where Blake stood more
than a hundred feet away. However, an issue arose when the
floodlights attached to the back of the house came on and shone
brightly in Blake’s eyes.
He
turned and ran hoping that one of the shadows had not looked out into
the backyard at that moment. Blake did not wish to find out for
certain. He ran for several hundred feet before the dirt road curved.
Finally, he was able to step out of the woods. Blake bent over and
gasped for air just for a moment. Despite the momentary quiet, he
knew that there would most likely be a lot more running in his
future.
The
moon vanished again behind the high thin clouds making it nearly
impossible for Blake to see where he was going. It also made it
nearly impossible for him to see whether he was being tailed by the
three shadows. Luckily, or unluckily, they always made their presence
known with their terrifying shouts. All he could do was assume he was
alone on that quiet and dark stretch of dirt road on 2nd Island.
The
pace was much slower than Blake would have liked. Each time he tried
to run he got the ‘pins and needles’ feeling in both of his lower
legs. His muscles felt like solid blocks each time his foot hit the
ground so he would go back to walking. Then he would think about the
possible approaching shadows which would make him start to run again.
This cycle continued until he caught sight of the second house.
Actually, first, he saw the replica of 7th Island Light in the front
yard and then he saw the house.
The
five-foot-tall wooden lighthouse statue was haunting to stand beside
after what had transpired on 7th Island a few hours earlier. Blake
stared at it and his mind wandered back to all that had transpired.
How did this all happen? All he had wanted was a final celebration at
the old cottage and now he was in a battle for his very survival.
“You
there!” The first shadow shouted from up the dirt road. They had
realized in short order that Blake was nowhere to be found in the
first house. There was little time to think. Blake ran up the sea
shell walkway and barreled into the front door. It did not budge. He
rammed his right shoulder into it again and again with little luck.
It ached with a piercing pain as if something had been broken.
“What
did you see!?” The second shadow called out as they got closer.
Blake could now see the tiny blood-red dots of their eyes and knew he
had to get inside the house somehow. His tired mind was going blank
all he could see in the immediate area was a large rock weighing
about fifteen pounds. Blake picked it up and began to pound away on
the doorknob.
“He
must not escape!” The third shadow growled from no more than thirty
feet away. They were closing fast. When it seemed like there was no
way out Blake felt the knob give way and fall with a metallic ‘ping’
onto the front step. He crashed through the door, falling onto the
floor briefly before staggering to his feet and running through the
living room. He had no intention of hiding in the house instead he
went right through the back door.
The
shadows were already calling out their torturous phrases from inside
the living room. Blake knew that they would be on his trail virtually
the entire time he was running so he decided on a different course of
action. He stopped in his tracks while standing on the deck which
stuck out a good ten feet from the house. There was maybe two feet of
clearance between the bottom of the deck and the ground which was
enough for Blake to squeeze into.
He
hopped off the deck all the while keeping his eyes toward the back
door just in case he had to make a quick escape. He lay on the ground
facing away from the deck and wriggled his way underneath, going back
until the bottoms of his sneakers touched the foundation of the
house. All there was left to do was wait and hope that the shadows
moved on believing that Blake had already made his way to 1st Island.
The
voices of the shadows were silent. There was no way for Blake to know
where they were at that moment. All he heard was the distant waves
repeatedly hitting the shore. All he felt was the gentle wind that
flowed underneath the deck. It was ominously like the cold air that
surrounded the shadows. Blake crossed his arms under his chin to
allow him to see as much of the surrounding landscape as he could. He
was very tired and still very cold. His right shoulder throbbed and
he knew that swimming might be an issue.
The
cold breeze continued running across his face but slowly dissipated
in his mind as Blake fell asleep under the deck. The cold breeze was
replaced by warm sunshine in Blake’s dream. Now he was sitting on
the porch at his parents’ home in the summer staring out at the old
neighborhood he had loved so much. The air was so sweet he could
almost taste it.
Blake
got up from his chair and rested his arms on the railing to watch his
younger sister skip rope in the driveway. He smiled widely realizing
just how much he missed those childhood days at home. He watched as
his father wheeled out the old push lawnmower. He tried in vain to
get it started and had to turn it over to try to fix some problem
with the motor. Blake laughed out loud.
He
watched as his sister had some good momentum skipping a pink rope
with purple handles. She jumped faster and faster until the rope
became a blur. In an instant, she stopped. After staring down at the
driveway for a moment she turned her head toward Blake. His smile
turned to horror. His sister had deep blood red eyes and she curled
her lips like an angry dog.
“You
there!” She hissed. Blake opened his eyes and immediately felt the
cold breeze again on his face. His head was down in his arms to try
to shield himself from as much of the cold as he could. It was at
this moment that Blake felt uncomfortable. He felt like he should
raise his head to look around but was afraid of what he might see.
Slowly
he lifted his forehead off of his arms and looked straight ahead.
There was a set of unblinking dull blood-red eyes staring back at
him. Blake got ready to roll and escape to his right when he saw a
second set of deep blood red eyes staring at him. An ominous feeling
came over him as he turned his head to the left and saw the third set
of blood-red eyes staring at him. He was surrounded. There was no way
out for Blake.
It
was like a showdown in the Old West. Blake did not move and the
shadows did not move or speak. It was the same as when he was hiding
in the ‘Witches Cave’ on 4th Island. The shadows only moved when
he moved. All he could think was that he had made some sort of noise
while sleeping that had drawn the shadows in.
Blake
thought about remaining still and seeing how long the shadows would
reciprocate. A little voice inside his head however told him maybe he
was wrong and that the shadows at any moment would slither their way
under the deck and do with him whatever they wanted to.
Blake
did not know what his next move was to be. Escaping unscathed seemed
unlikely. Keeping as still as possible Blake scanned the nearby sand
hoping for an answer. What he found were several hand-sized stones to
throw. They were not to injure the shadows. What he hoped for was a
distraction long enough for him to get by. There would be little time
once any sort of movement was made. The shadows reacted much the way
sensor lights did.
He
took a deep breath and his heart began to beat hard in his chest.
Blake eyed a stone mere inches from his right hand. Twitching his
fingers like a dueling gunman waiting for the ‘draw’ signal Blake
pumped himself up for the oncoming chase. In a quick motion, he
snatched the stone, there was an immediate response. The three sets
of dull red eyes immediately turned bright.
“What
did you see!?” The second shadow shouted from his right. Blake went
to hurl the stone at the shadow and bumped his head on the deck
beams. His plan was failing.
“He
must not escape!” The third shadow cackled from Blake’s left
side. He continued to scramble trying to grab the stone again.
“What
did you see!? What did you see?! What did you see?!” The second
shadow badgered Blake repeatedly as if was glitching.
“Nothing!
I saw nothing,” Blake cried out. “I won’t tell anyone about
you, I swear!”
“You
there!” The first shadow called out again, completely oblivious to
Blake’s panicked statement. He realized that these shadows had no
interest in cutting a deal. Blake grabbed the stone and hurled it
toward the second shadow directly in front of him. It appeared to
pass right through it. He then began flinging handfuls of sand all
around while wriggling his way out from under the deck.
This
worked to a degree as the shadows backed away from the sandstorm just
enough for Blake to scoot by. They did not back off for long.
“What
did you see!?”
“He
must not escape!” The shadows were hot on his trail. It was a few
hundred feet to the shore and much of that was at a steep decline.
Blake began to lose control of his strides as he sprinted his way
down the final slope toward the ocean shore. There was a concrete
boat ramp that led to the water, as Blake’s feet struck it he could
feel jolts like lightning up his legs.
It
was nearly five hundred feet to the shore of 1st Island even at low
tide. Blake knew that it was going to be tough. He also knew that
this would be his final cold swim.
“You
there!” The first shadow called out just before Blake hit the
water. Those voices and their blood-red eyes were all the motivation
he needed to dive into the chilly ocean water.
Once
the water hit his skin Blake felt his breath go out of him. He gasped
and inhaled a mouthful of cold salty water. He knew he was in
trouble. Bobbing like a buoy Blake coughed and spit some of the water
out while trying to regain his bearings. He did not look back to see
where the three shadows were, instead, he refocused and began to
swim.
It
felt like hundreds of knives were sticking into his body with every
kick and every stroke of his swim. This last one was harder than the
others due to the cumulative effects of all of the time spent in the
frigid water and the exposure to the cold mid-November air.
Blake
kept his eyes straight ahead, waiting for the moment that he was
close enough to see the outline of 1st Island. His legs felt tight
and heavy and he started to drift to his left. His injured right
shoulder was keeping him from swimming a straight line. It was either
swim or die. He pressed on and finally caught sight of the 1st Island
shore. It was a sprint to the end.
There
was barely any feeling left to his limbs when his feet pressed down
into the wet sand near the shore. Blake could not even find the
energy to stand. He crawled on his hands and knees until he was fully
clear of the lapping waves. His right shoulder gave way and he
collapsed face down in the sand.
Chapter
7
He
was not sure how long he was out for but when he came to he felt
better. Blake rose to his knees and looked straight ahead. It was
starting to get light. It was only a milky gray dawn but it was a
wonderful sight for Blake’s tired eyes. Streetlights were shining
at either end of the fifty-foot wooden bridge that connected 1st
Island to the mainland. He had a few hundred feet to go but the end
was in sight.
Blake
got to his feet unsteadily. Like a newborn calf, his legs shook from
a night of unbelievable punishment. Before he took a step forward he
noticed someone in the distance. There was a figure standing just in
front of the bridge under the streetlight. It was a man in some sort
of security guard’s uniform. The man began coming toward him but
not in a menacing way like the shadows. Blake met up with the
scrawny-looking old man in the security guard uniform in front of a
rickety guard shack.
“Who
are you?” Blake asked in a voice barely above a whisper. The old
man pointed to a patch on his left breast pocket.
“I’m
the guard,” he replied in a high nasally voice. “The better
question is who are you?” Blake opened his mouth to speak and had
to brace himself a bit on the side of the guard shack.
“I
saw a murder,” he stated in between gasps of air, “well, two
murders, out at 7th Island. A man and woman were killed by these
three people, at least I thought they were people. They look more
like…”
“Shadows?”
The old man interrupted.
“Yeah,
how did you know?” The old man did not seem to be surprised in the
least.
“You
didn’t see any murders tonight, son,” the old man calmly told
Blake.
“Yes,
I did,” he replied getting more animated with his hands. “The
woman was screaming for help, I went over to investigate and saw a
body inside the lighthouse.” The old man scratched at his right
cheek and shook his head.
“I
can assure you that Ron and Janet were not murdered tonight.”
“Who
are Ron and Janet?”
“The
last lighthouse keeper and his wife.”
“I
thought there were no keepers anymore, that the light was automated.”
“It
is.”
“But
you just said the keeper and his wife were not killed tonight! How do
you know that?”
“Because
they were killed more than fifty years ago.”
“That’s
impossible, it was all so real. The sights, the sounds.”
“Ron
and Janet were the last keepers and after their murders, the
lighthouse was left to be automated. Nobody has lived on 7th Island
since, well except for seagulls, noisy little buggers.”
“Then
what did I see out there?”
“Why
ghosts of course. Their ghosts haunt 7th Island.” Blake’s blood
ran cold and he got goosebumps on his arms and neck.
“And
the shadows? Are they ghosts too?”
“Yes,
and evil malevolent ones at that.” Blake’s mind was racing from
all of the new information this old man was sharing. He had so many
questions.
“What
about those things they kept saying to me?”
“What
did you see, and the like?”
“Yeah,
it was like they were robots or something.”
“There
was a witness to the murders who the three killers chased across the
islands. When they made it to this shore the guard who was on duty
came to investigate. He shot the three killers dead, and those
phrases, they were the last words spoken by each of them. Now it is
all they remember for eternity.”
“So
they’re forever stuck on these islands? Just chasing people and
tormenting them?”
“If
you are foolish enough to go check out 7th Island at night they do.
They died pursuing a witness so in the afterlife it is all they know
how to do.”
“What
about the keeper and his wife? Why are they still there? They weren’t
evil, were they?” The old man drew a deep breath and sighed.
“No,
they, unfortunately, got caught in a net by mistake if you will.”
“What
do you mean?”
“After
the murders, and before authorities could retrieve the bodies, a sort
of curse was put on these islands. It was meant to keep any and all
who perished on them from that night on from ever escaping. It was a
way to keep the evil contained, unfortunately, some good people got
stuck here as well.”
“A
curse? I don’t follow you.”
“Those
three shadows are pure evil. Why do you think they have no earthly
form in the afterlife? Only darkness. In their lifetime they were
doing some horrible Satanic things and thought the lighthouse was a
perfect hiding place. Ron and Janet happened to be in the wrong place
at the wrong time.”
“You
said some good people got stuck. Are there others out there?”
“A
few. The islands have seen a couple of lost souls end their lives
among the rocks of the Witches Cave. All who die on the islands never
leave them, even if their earthly remains do.”
“You
there!” The first shadow called out. Blake lost his breath and
turned around. There in the milky gray dawn stood the three shadows,
no more than thirty feet away. In the light Blake could see there
were no discerning lines to their forms, it was almost like a fog
condensed down as close to human form as could be.
“Go
away! I didn’t see anything!” Blake screamed at the evil
silhouettes and hid behind the scrawny old man.
“Don’t
worry,” the old man said confidently, “they can’t hurt you
now.” A trembling Blake was not so sure and remained behind the old
man pressed up against the wall of the guard shack.
“How
can you be sure?” He asked. The old man pointed to the first sun
rays peeking through the pine and spruce trees.
“It
is almost light.”
“I
don’t understand.” The three shadows began gliding toward him.
Blake was hoping for a miracle as there was nowhere else to run.
“What
did you see!?” The second shadow cackled as it took the lead.
Suddenly it glided into the path of a ray of sunlight. There was a
groan from the shadow and plumes of smoke rose from its top. Within
seconds there was nothing but a small black imprint left in the sand.
The shadow was gone.
“It’s
part of the curse, son,” the old man said. “Once the first rays
of light hit those who have perished on these islands they disappear.
It’s like a reset button.”
“He
must not escape!” The third shadow growled. It glided around the
patch of black left by the second shadow but could not maneuver
around the increasing sunlight which was starting to envelop 1st
Island. There was a groan from the shadow and the plumes of smoke
again. The third shadow was gone.
“You
couldn’t escape that, huh!” Blake shouted with a defiant smirk.
Still, he did not come out from behind the old man.
“You
there!” The first shadow called out in its baritone voice. It was
quickly cut down by the outpouring of the sun. There wasn’t even
time for a groan, just a puff of smoke. For the first time in hours,
Blake breathed a sigh of relief. The evil shadows were gone.
“What
happens to them now?” He asked the old man.
“They
‘wake up’ when the suns goes down, back on 7th Island, completely
unaware of what happened the night before. It basically erases their
memory, a fitting torture for such malevolent spirits.” There was
still one question that haunted Blake.
“I
have to ask. How do you know all of this?” The old man smiled and
put his hand on Blake’s shoulder.
“Because
I was that guard on duty the night of the murders. I was the one who
shot the three killers. I was the one who put the curse on these
islands. After my time was up on this Earth I asked that I be sent
back to keep the evil at bay.”
“So
you’re a ghost as well?”
“Yes,
it is my eternal job to make sure nothing leaves these islands.”
“What
happens if it is cloudy? Couldn’t the shadows get past you?” The
old man laughed, sounding like a crow. He reached into his uniform
and pulled out a small box fit for a diamond ring or necklace.
“Oh,
I have been given a special weapon if that is the case.” He turned
the box toward Blake. ‘Sunlight’ was what it said in plain black
letters on the top of the box. Blake smiled and nodded.
“I
can’t tell you how happy I am that you were here to save me from
those things. I will be so glad to sleep in my own bed tonight.” He
turned to walk toward the bridge but the old man grabbed his arm.
“Not
so fast,” he said sternly.
“What’s
the problem?” The old man took a step to the side and pointed a
frail bony finger toward the shore. Blake turned around. His heart
was in his throat. There down on the beach lay his own body. He had
not survived the final swim to 1st Island. Hypothermia had killed
him. Blake began to shake and put his head in his hands.
“I
am sorry, son.”
“No,
no, I made it all this way. This can’t be real. It’s a dream. I
am asleep, right? I am going to wake up somewhere alive, right? Oh
God no, why did this happen?” The old man stood stoically, unmoved
by Blake’s gut-wrenching words.
“I
am sorry, son,” he said again. “I told you that these islands
were caught in a net. I cannot let you go.” Blake started to plead
with the old man.
“Of
course you can. I won’t tell anyone wherever I end up that you let
me leave.”
“It’s
not that easy. THEY would know.” The old man pointed toward the
sky.
“Can’t
you make an exception? I’m only twenty-four, I have so much of life
left. I was here to celebrate one last night at my grandparents old
cottage on 6th Island. I’m not evil, I’m not suicidal.”
“You
don’t understand. If I let you cross that bridge it undoes the
curse. If you leave, everyone leaves, including the three evil
shadows. Who knows what happens then? For the greater good you have
to stay.” Blake knew that there was nothing he could say or do to
change the old man’s mind.
“So
what happens now?”
“You
can either step out from behind this shack into the sunlight, or I
can open the box. The choice is yours.” Blake looked at the box and
then out toward the beautifully sun-kissed beach.
“Does
it hurt?”
“I
don’t know, you will have to find out on your own.” Blake sighed
and stared at his feet.
“Okay,
I guess I have no choice. Will you remember me, you know when I show
up here tomorrow morning?”
“Yes,
but I cannot inform you of that, it is another part of the curse. You
can never be informed of what is happening. I am so sorry that you
got mixed up in this, son.” The old man had a look of genuine
sorrow on his face, breaking the cold façade he had worn from the
moment Blake met him.
“I
am sorry too.” Blake looked out toward the beach and took two steps
forward. The sunlight hit his face and he closed his eyes. He felt a
similar ‘pins and needles’ feeling as when he was swimming in the
cold ocean waters. Then everything faded to white. Blake had left his
body on the beach at 1st Island but his soul had been left to
eternally try to find an escape from the islands that would never
come.
Blake
opened his eyes. There he stood on the porch at Nana and Grampa
Jackson’s cottage. The moon had begun to rise behind 7th Island
Light. It reflected off of the surrounding water and also made the
lighthouse into an imposing silhouette in the distance. It was all
happening just as it had the previous night but true to the old man’s
words Blake had no recollection.
He
shivered as he stared off toward 7th Island Light remembering the
ominous words his grandfather had written on one of the old
photographs he had found in the attic. Blake had always been a fan of
true crime shows, trying his best to solve whatever crime was
featured before the solution was revealed. To him, this seemed like
something similar only he had nothing to start with except for the
lighthouse. Blake debated momentarily in his mind before deciding
that a little trip was necessary. He threw the anchor into his
Runabout and began his trip across the water to see 7th Island Light
up close, for the first time, again.
THE
END
About
the Author
Christopher
Setterlund is a proud 12th-generation Cape Codder and comes from a
large family. He has previously written seven books. The In My
Footsteps travel trilogy through Schiffer Publishing, a Cape Cod
history trilogy through Arcadia Publishing which includes Historic
Restaurants, Cape Cod Nights, and Iconic Hotels and Motels, and most
recently Cape Cod: The Heart and Soul Beyond the Beach through
Fonthill Media. In addition, he hosts the In My Footsteps Podcast.
Lastly, he is also a Certified Personal Trainer and Medical Fitness
Specialist.
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