The waves slapped against the rocks harder with each passing swell as the tide came in. The thunder of the ocean was always a sound he enjoyed, but tonight something kept him on edge. A storm was brewing. He stood at the balcony and stared at the roiling clouds. The beam from the lighthouse emanated from the rocky crags of a lonely island where the keeper manned the light so that it would warn any wayward soul not to dash upon the rocks.
The lighthouse sat upon a lonely stretch of rock called Little Finger Island. Wyeth had never stepped foot on the island or been to the lighthouse. A massive gust of wind carried the spray so it caressed his cheek. He trailed his fingers along his flesh and tasted the salt. The raging wind raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Something was afoot. He wasn’t sure what it was, but this storm didn’t set right with him. He inhaled a deep breath and took in the musty salt air mixed with the tang of seaweed. As Wyeth stared into black, churning skies he thought he saw something pass between the light and the dark horizon. He blinked, and a misty shadow glided along the inky skyline. Squinting against the pelting rain, he saw the shape dive toward the water and the perilous cliffs as though it would crash upon them. When the silhouette emerged from the clouds, all he could make out was a misty gust in the shape of a large dragon that dissolved once the squall passed.
Wyeth shook off the foreboding. It was just another tempest. One of the many he had lived through. It might try and take down the mansion, but it wasn’t going to make a dent until the land finally eroded away and the house plunged into the depths of the sea. It might be best if that happened, because then he wouldn’t have to deal with the curse that had followed his family for generations. The stone banister he clutched was slippery with slime and moss from years of neglect. Then again, the whole place had suffered from years of it. He was the first Blackmore to stay for more than a week in nearly fifty years. Wyeth might not have inhabited the family manse growing up, but they had lived in a modest house on the grounds. He had moved out and gotten an apartment in town, leaving the house empty since his father’s death.
On his death bed, his father warned him not to go into the house. It was their curse, and yet, as long as they owned it, it was said they would always have wealth. The grounds sprawled for five miles around the land to the beach below and included several of the rocky islands that extended toward Little Finger. Once upon a time, his family had owned the land that the lighthouse guarded over, but they had donated it so the beacon could be constructed. Nonetheless, it remained tied to his family because the lighthouse keeper and the upkeep of the structure were linked in with a trust his family had set up generations ago. Even if Wyeth tried to undo the threads that wove him, the house, and his family heritage together, it would take him years of legal battles because there was another family involved. The Drakes.
Whenever his ancestors had tried to sell something that was bound to the Blackmores a Drake had appeared and contested it. The things I could do with my life if we were not so knotted together. Wyeth had started to dream about the derelict building. He could see its grandness restored, and the decision satisfied something deep within him. After he got it fixed up, he might live in it, but unlike his ancestors, he was not going to be driven from it. Wyeth was going to learn its secrets. He wanted to see if it was truly haunted, and he wanted a hand in fixing it up.
Wyeth wasn’t afraid of hard work. His father had a hobby of making tables, chairs, bookcases, anything he could form out of wood. So he had helped him in the shop and had an appreciation for carpentry. Now Wyeth had his own contracting company where he worked. Before he brought all the guys in, he needed to see how much remodeling the house needed. So far, he had spent a couple of nights sleeping in the living room next to the fireplace. At least he could stay warm in the drafty house. The old time castle had fifty rooms that overlooked the ocean, and it retained an old world feel. Of all of those rooms, he had only explored the downstairs and the master bedroom upstairs. He hadn’t even thought of the cellar, but it didn’t matter to him. Once he cleared the cobwebs away and got the electricity working, he would clear out whatever ghosts remained.
Wyeth glanced at the light one more time as it cast its all seeing eye onto his property. Even for a brief second, it was eerie. The cries of the gulls were banshee-like as he stepped inside the house, closed the balcony doors, and locked them. Not that anyone could get in, because they would have to climb a sheer cliff to reach the terrace.
Once he was inside, although he was protected from the elements, there was no comfort or warmth. The fire in the hearth crackled. A log shifted and fell through the grate. Most of the furniture was grandiose and from another time. Antiques dealers would enjoy picking through the place. Most of the furniture he could store in the forgotten rooms. He walked over to the things he had brought with him, a backpack, several lanterns, the blueprints, his sleeping bag, a tent that was still bundled up just in case he needed it, a small camping stove, and a few books to read when he got bored. His cell phone was perched on top of an ornately carved, round mahogany table he had dragged over from the corner along with a trash bag filled with takeout containers. The rest of his supplies were dried food he could eat and a few other essentials.
He wasn’t much into camping and had bought most of it when he had dated a woman who was an outdoorsy type. She had been interested in nothing but his money and his family name. Once Wyeth realized that, he cut her loose and put the gear in a spare room of his apartment.
Lightning lit the sky. The illumination dashed shadows across the marble mantle, and he saw the two ornately carved, large dragons that held up the heavy shelf. Their heads thrust out of the stone with their tails curved along the sides. Their feet were outstretched, ready to scratch anyone that came too close to it. Wyeth ran his fingers along the ridge of the dragon’s snout and pressed one of its sharp teeth. Those were dull, but as the wind whooshed through the house, he swore the dragons groaned. Maybe it was just the house settling.
Something about it rustled his nerves and made him turn back to the light. The thunderstorm raged outside. The rain-spattered glass bowed from the power of the wind. They had stood up to worse turbulence over the last century. Outside, blackness swirled where the horizon met the waves. Something was wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but somewhere out in the storm something wasn’t right.
* * * *
“Can’t you feel it?” Savanna asked the boat captain.
“It’s just a little storm. Nothing to worry about. I’ve seen it before. This is nothing compared to the squalls I’ve been through. Just go back to your little party and entertain or whatever it was you were hired to do.”
“But you don’t understand. Something —”
He turned from the wheel. “Didn’t you hear me the first time? Get the fuck off my bridge.” The captain growled at her and turned his attention back to steering the ship.
Savanna’s mouth hardened into a scowl. He wasn’t going to listen to her no matter how many times she warned him. She strolled off the bridge and turned back to the bachelorette party inside the boat. It was more of a small yacht, really. As the bachelorette party watched the strippers, Savanna was supposed to be doing psychic readings. However, no one was paying any attention to her. They were all worried about Stefan, or whatever his name was, shaking his scantily clad, sweaty balls in the bride-to-be’s face and swooning. She turned her head away in disgust from the scene. Half naked, oiled-up men were never her thing, at least not when she was in work mode. Instead, she focused on the water and the frigid breeze as it tossed the boat. They hugged the Finger Islands as the captain toured the coastline. Even the birds were smart enough not to leave their nests within the cliffs. The lighthouse’s beacon spun, gracing the boat with its light. Savanna basked in the warmth of it for a few seconds before she caught the chill again that shot down her spine and settled deep within her spirit.
Something was wrong with this storm.
She couldn’t put her finger on the tingle in the air that wrapped her nerves the wrong way. Savanna had experienced this sensation a few times before. Something disastrous would happen in the world around her. Her mother had always called it the knowing, and it ran in her family. Others proclaimed her a witch because she had some kind of affinity for the weather. She knew when it would rain, or when something was amiss. Savanna could feel the force of the weather around them, but never understood what the ability was for. Times like tonight she knew the makeup of a perfect storm. If she hadn’t needed the money, she wouldn’t be out on the boat, but bills had to be paid.
She gripped the railing and stared into the agitated sea. Something captured her attention. In the little bit of light, Savanna saw a form in the mist. She squinted against the violent spray that stung her eyes. It appeared to be the shape of some flying animal. Whatever it was, it was lost once the light passed by them. The form glided past her, the mist brushing her arm. It headed toward the rocks, and a force was within it. Her soul ran cold.
At that moment, the boat pitched to the left, throwing her backward into the metal wall of the captain’s cabin. It rolled back, and Savanna grabbed a hold of the railing, catching herself from going overboard. At the same time, a crack of lightning divided the sky and hit the cliff in an explosion of rock. The illumination showed off the mansion on the precipice.
Blackmore. The blight of the town, or so everyone said. The people blamed anything bad that occurred in the town on the curse brought on by the Blackmores. Savanna didn’t see an accursed place. She saw a great piece of history falling into disrepair.
It was well known that the son had a construction company. Rumors speculated he was fixing it up. Some thought that was a good idea, and others assumed it would spread a darkness over the town. She didn’t think repairing the landmark would blight the city. The loud thumping bass from the bridal party spilled out onto the deck boat when one of the bridesmaids burst through the door, laughing and dropping her champagne. The woman draped herself over one of the strippers as she humped him. Savanna shook her head in disgust.
A large wave swept over the side of the boat and rocked it to the right. The woman laughed, and Savanna lost her grip on the railing. Another wave sloshed over the side of the boat and caught her up in it as the captain swerved to avoid something else. She tried to scream, but the coldness of the water forced itself down her throat. She tried to grab hold of the rail, but the slippery surface of the boat made it impossible. Savanna caught a few of the rivets in the hull. Pain speared her fingers as her nails tore from trying to hold on. Panic drowned her brain as she spit the water out and cried for help. It was too late. The hard impact of the ocean knocked the air from her lungs. Cold and darkness embraced her and the water took her under.