These are short stories put up each Friday that you can read for free. By the next Friday the post will be taken down and a new one will go up.
Note: This is the sixty-seventh post in Free Fiction Fridays.
These are short stories put up each Friday that you can read for free. By the next Friday the post will be taken down and a new one will go up.
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Note: This is the sixty-second post in Free Fiction Fridays.
These are short stories put up each Friday that you can read for free. By the next Friday the post will be taken down and a new one will go up. In some places of the world, the barrier between the living and the dead is thin. In some places it doesn’t exist at all. This small pocket of Oregon is one of those places.
May 15, 2015
Heceta Head Lighthouse Between Yachats and Florence, Oregon “Alright, alright…gather ‘round!” The Suislaw High School students took a few minutes, but eventually they were all gathered in front of the tour guide. Quite a few snickers and grins accompanied their efforts, though most saved their sighs, knowing this was the last ‘lecture’ on the lighthouse tour. “Now,” the tour guide said when things had finally quieted down, “I suppose you want to hear about the ghost.” Things really got quiet then, and every one of the high schoolers’ eyes was on the guide. For his part, the guide smiled – there wasn’t too much exciting about giving volunteer tours of a lighthouse that’d been built in 1894, but this part was. He waited for a few more moments, letting the tension build, hoping to hell it wouldn’t be interrupted by one of those damn cell phones. “Ghost?” one of the students said, mocked was more like it. His tone earned a few chuckles from the students nearby, other jocks by the look of it. “Ghosts might be more apt,” the guide said with a smile as he turned around to look up at the top of the lighthouse and the many panes of glass it held, “and we even know one of their names.” “’Know one of their names,’” the student laughed, “how can we know that?” The guide smiled. April 12, 1984 BREEP! BREEP! BREEP! “Goddamn it!” Chester shouted. A moment later Floyd came running into the room. “I just checked it, boss, I just checked it!” Chester shook his head and rolled his eyes, although carefully. The first time the damn smoke alarm had gone off he’d almost fallen from his ladder. His good pants were already spackled with paint, and he didn’t want any more ‘mishaps’ on this job. “Well, check it again, will ya!” Chester yelled out so as to be heard over the constant blaring. “In fact,” he yelled as Floyd started back down the hallway, “just take the damn batteries out!” “Got it, boss!” Floyd called back. A minute later the blaring stopped, and Chester shook his head again before getting back to work. They’d been in the lighthouse for just a day now, but not an hour passed that something didn’t happen to slow them down. Chester just wanted to get done with it and get back to Newport where the jobs were…more normal. If he had to– BREEP! BREEP! BREEP! “Goddamn it!” Chester shouted out again, and it seemed faster than a moment that Floyd came running back in. “Boss, I just took the batteries out of the smoke detector, honest!” Chester frowned and shook his head. “It’s alright, Floyd,” he said in a soft voice, one that could barely be heard over the blaring, “let’s just get this job done and leave this place alone.” He’d heard the stories of the college kids a decade before. He didn’t want to experience what they had.
December 8, 1977
“Ssshhh!” “Oh, give me a break, Bobby,” Diane laughed, “there’s no one around!” Even the darkness of the night couldn’t hide how face Bobby’s face suddenly became. He shuffled his feet and frowned. “I know, it’s just that…” “You don’t like breaking into a lighthouse, I get it,” Ron said, that smile of his setting those dimples off. Diane seemed to cozy up to him further, and Bobby shuffled his feet a bit more. “Just hurry up, will ya? I don’t want to be out here!” “Oh, don’t tell me that you’re afraid of the dark?” Ron said with a laugh as he wiggled the lockpicking tools a bit more. “Or is it just that you’re–” CLICK! Ron’s words were cutoff as the lock clicked open, and he stared back at his two friends from OSU and smiled. “See, I told you it was nothing!” “Yeah, forty minutes ago,” Diane said as she rolled her eyes and pushed past her on-again, off-again boyfriend. Within moments she had the door open and was standing in the lighthouse’s entryway. “Guys…are you sure we should be doing this?” Bobby called out to them from where he was still standing outside. “Feel free to wait outside,” Ron called back, and then he and Diane disappeared further inside. Bobby sighed, but followed them in. They made their way through the lighthouse entryway and to the stairs. They wanted to get up as high as they could, and from what they’d heard, that was the small landing just below the light. That door would be locked to them, and with a lock that couldn’t be picked. No matter, their Ouija Board would likely work anywhere. “Let’s get it out and get it done with,” Diane said once they’d reached the spot. “What, is the place starting to trip you out?” Ron laughed. “Yeah,” Diane said with a cold look. Ron frowned and swallowed and got out the board. “How do we start?” Bobby asked, his curiosity overcoming his fear. “We have to ask a question,” Diane said as she took hold of the planchette, “then we just–” The planchette jerked Diane’s hands forward, first to the letter ‘R’ then ‘U’ then ‘E.’ Ron stared down at the board, his eyes wide. “Rue?” That’s her name, an ethereal voice said, one that was all around them…everywhere. The next sound was the three students’ feet pounding down the lighthouse stairs. The door to the lighthouse banged back and forth in the wind as they ran for their lives. August 21, 1977 “Aw hell, Tim…I left my tool belt up in the attic.” Tim shook his head and stared at Dan. “Well, get on up there then, we don’t got all day and that traffic on 101 ain’t gonna get any better. Go on.” Dan nodded and took off at a run. They were just finishing up for the day and still had two left, but Dan wasn’t one to leave his tools behind. He was soon at the largest of the lighthouse grounds’ three houses, through the door, and bounding up the stairs. There were two floors and then the attic, where he’d been working that afternoon, sealing up the roof so it’d make it through another harsh, Oregon Coast winter. He was wondering why he’d left his tools when he reached the attic ladder and headed up. They should be right in the corner, near the–” Dan froze. There before him was what he could only describe as a ‘gray lady,’ her back to him. She looked like she was from a black and white movie, literally taken off the screen. She had silver hair and a long, dark dress. Her tone and hue were all wrong, and it suddenly dawned on Dan that he was seeing a ghost. He narrowed his eyes and saw that she was staring down at his tools. Just then she began to turn, and Dan was frozen with terror. She faced him, and Dan saw that she had the face of a woman…sort of. She was old, yet young, yet haggard…and dead. Just then she smiled, and a chill went through him. Somehow he found his legs and was rushing down the ladder and then out of the house.
February 11, 1933
The winds howled and the gale showed no signs of blowing itself out. Edna looked up at Mike. “You’ve got to go out there, you’ve got to go–” “I ain’t goin’ out to that shed again, woman, I ain’t goin’ nowhere but off this rock as soon as this storm ends.” “You’re just seein’ things!” Edna said. “That’s right I’m seeing things, and I don’t mean to seem ‘em no more.” Edna gave her husband a hard look. “Those ships need that light.” “They’ll not be getting it tonight, not from me at least,” Mike said. “And what’s stoppin’ you from goin’ out there to the shed and getting it?” Edna frowned. “Only a fool would go out there after what you saw.” Mike nodded. Finally after all these years, his wife was getting some sense.
April 28, 1892
“This is the spot the Warren’s told us of,” Roy said as he pulled up on the ox train and brought it to a stop. “Mighty fine spot for a light,” Harp said from further back. “Aye, that it is, that it is,” Roy said. Both he and Harp headed further along the grassy hilltop and put their hands to their foreheads. The sun was shining and they couldn’t have asked for a better day to start clearing. Not that there was a lot to clear. A few trees was all the grassy stretch held, and it wouldn’t… “Hey,” Roy said, pointing back behind them and near a tree, “what’s that?” “Looks like a rock of some sort,” Harp said. “I ain’t never seen no rock standing up like that,” Roy said as he started forward, “that’s…that’s a grave marker.” “Can’t be,” Harp said as he came up, “the Warren’s would have told us about one of their kids dying.” “Maybe it wasn’t one of theirs…maybe they don’t know about it.” “Injuns don’t bury their kids here, you know that.” Roy gave Harp a hard look. “I know that, you fool. Now just come on down here with me and–” The wind kicked up suddenly, just as Roy was bending down to grab hold of the rock. He looked up, and his eyes went wide. The sky was suddenly dark, and out to sea the waves were higher than he’d ever seen before. “Uh…I wouldn’t do that,” Harp said, backing off a bit. In the distance the oxen were growing skittish. “Alright…let’s…let’s just call it a day, huh?” Roy said. “Aye,” Harp agreed, and both men were quickly on the beaten path heading back to the woods. June 4, 1888 “This is the spot,” Welcome said, and from across the grassy stretch on top of the hilltop, his wife nodded. “I’ll say it is,” Dolly replied with a smile, “home at last, eh?” Welcome smiled at his wife in return. The Warren’s had been granted the 164-acre stretch along the Oregon Coast, and they meant to make good on the claim. It was rocky ground, but inland and along Cape Creek the land was fine for farming. “Now we just need to get to raising a family to help with all this,” Dolly said. Welcome smiled to that, and went over to take his wife’s hand. The wind picked up as they started back toward the woods away from the point. Neither heard the delighted laughter that had followed their pronouncement.
June 29, 1851
Conner stared at his boss, and finally asked the question he’d been meaning to all day. “What do you want to do, boss?” James stared at his surveying partner across the fire and shook his head. “Leave it blank.” Conner stared up at him. “Blank?” “Aye,” James said, turning back to look out at the Pacific Ocean, and the point protruding not far from their camp, “leave it blank. As far as the federal government is concerned this part of the Siuslaw River doesn’t exist, you got that?” “Boss…how can I just leave out the mouth of the river?” “Then leave the whole damn thing out, you got that?” James said, giving his subordinate a sharp look. He knew what’d he’d seen that morning when he’d ventured onto that grassy hilltop, damn it. After seeing it he’d known he’d do his part to keep God-fearing men out of here for as long as possible, the ships passing by be damned! Conner looked up at his boss. They’d surveyed this whole stretch, had been for months. But then he’d never seen that look in his boss’s eye, either. With a nod he put away his pencils and started to roll up his maps. The Siuslaw would remain hidden. July 16, 1798 Wani jumped up and over the rocks and came to yet another small cove. The waves broke up and high and overhead he could see a small, flat area. He smiled as he looked at the cliffs leading up to it – yet another challenge. All he had to do was start up the small path and then– “Wapi, no.” Wapi turned around to see his grandmother there. He frowned and cursed his luck – she was supposed to be back on the beach, watching the little ones playing with shells. She nodded up at the small flat area at the top of the cliffs that he’d been looking at, and shook her head. “You’re never to go up there, is that understood?” Wapi turned his head back and looked again. “Why?” “There’s death up there,” his grandmother replied, and it seemed to Wapi as if all the color had gone from her face. “It wasn’t always like that, even when they came so long ago.” She trailed off for a moment, then shook her head and started to turn. “It’s up there now though, whatever it is.” Wapi watched her go, then turned back to look up at the cliffs. He swallowed the knot in his throat that was suddenly there, as well as his earlier plans at exploration. His grandmother knew of the spirit world, and that was enough for him. He turned back, toward the sounds of young Suislaw Indian children laughing on the shore. May 15, 1775 Don Bruno Heceta stared at the desolate landscape, then lowered his looking glass and turned back to his crew. “This is the spot,” he said, “this is where she will rest.” The crew of the Santiago gave some halfhearted nods, and even the first mates looked more resigned to the task than eager to fulfill it. The coast they were on was some of the rocky they’d seen since leaving Mexico to sail north, and the thought of landing anywhere on it didn’t appeal to them. Still, it only took one pass by the captain’s cabin, one listen to the crying that was coming from the silver-haired woman within, to know that they had to have some peace. It took them several hours to find a safe spot to drop anchor, even with the shallower waters the captain had spotted earlier that day. They put the boat over the side, into the choppy and cold water. Not a soul was in sight, on sea or land. Heceta manned the boat, his most trusted men with him. He had no concern that his remaining crew might abandon him, seize the ship and sail back to Portugal. After the death of his young daughter Rue, born just weeks after leaving the warm, southern climes, he cared about little. It’d hit his wife harder, and he knew that putting the small child to rest would be the best thing for them…he hoped. The crew powered through the surf and over the final waves. They reached the rocky and shell-strewn beach and Heceta looked up at the towering point above, his dead child cradled in his arms. Without a word he started walking toward the cliffs, hoping to find a path that led up them. He was lucky, and a path existed, most likely etched their by whatever Indians called this area home. Heceta hoped he didn’t meet any, but didn’t really care either. It took them the better part of an hour to go up the worn path, which really wasn’t much of a path at all they realized after going up close to the top. They struggled up the last few feet but made it, and stood on a grassy bluff overlooking the rocky shore. “It’s a beautiful spot, sir,” one of the crewman said, and Heceta nodded. That is was. The men set to work, digging. It didn’t take long, for they didn’t have to go too deep or too long. Then they were done, and the captain lowered the body of his baby girl into the hole. The men covered the child over, then secured a good-sized rock they’d found on the way up, one flat and long and as close to a gravestone as they were likely to get. After saying a few words, the men prayed that God would take the child and that she could rest in peace. On the way down the cliffs, Heceta prayed this his wife could find that peace as well. Deep in his soul, however, he knew that in this life she never would. THE END
Notes
Heceta Head Lighthouse, Florence, Oregon - 1894 The Gray Lady at Heceta Head Lighthouse: An Oregon Coast Ghost Story Cold Spots: Heceta Head Lighthouse Heceta Head Background and Construction Oregon's Top 10 Weather Events of the 1900's Bruno de Heceta
Note: This is the fifty-ninth post in Free Fiction Fridays.
These are short stories put up each Friday that you can read for free. By the next Friday the post will be taken down and a new one will go up. Special Note: This is a new chapter for my book The Jongurian Mission. I’m touching up that novel now, ironing out some of the boring parts, and adding a bit of spice. This is some of that spice.
The Jade Princess bobbed in the surf, and Grandon put his arm up to get a better look. The sun was shining down unmercifully on this small rock in the Apsalar Ocean, and he couldn’t help but think of Desolatia Island. Five years he’d spent there, but the past five days he’d spent on the boat, crammed in with the Jongurians, almost seemed longer than that.
The ‘False King,’ as he’d come to be known in his native country of Adjuria, put down his arm and turned away from the ship. He’d requested to come along with the small landing party, a few Jongurians in a rowboat heading out for water. Leisu had been adamant that the small island had no name, but Grandon wasn’t so sure of that. He didn’t trust the Jongurians, and the wily leader of the crew he was with rubbed him the wrong way. He was glad the man had stayed behind on the ship, though he’d sent his subordinate along, the man named Ko. Grandon chuckled inwardly to himself. Might as well call the man ‘Can’t Talk,’ he thought. Since boarding the ship he’d heard him say two words, if that. He couldn’t say the same for the rest of the crew. The men chatted all the time, and laughed too. It was all in Jongurian, of course, so Grandon just assumed they were chatting about him, laughing at his expense. It’d put his hackles up for the past few days, and caused his temper to flare several times. The first was the first full day on the boat. Grandon hadn’t been around another person in five years, and he quickly set to snapping at people. The crew hadn’t responded too well to that, and one surly member in particular had made it his mission in life to get under the Adjurian’s skin. The man’s name was Bochi and on the third full day out he and the other men had been scrubbing the deck. Grandon had come out of his small bunkroom for some air and Bochi had purposefully tripped him up and sent him over the railing. Without his fast hands, Grandon was sure he’d have fallen into the shark-infested waters below. Grandon couldn’t prove that the man had tripped him up, though the look on his face and the way he’d tried not to smile told the Adjurian all he’d needed to know. That was probably why Leisu sent Ko with them, Grandon thought as they continued onward toward the small island – Bochi would be heading to the island as well. The place was a small affair, with a few scraggly trees clinging to the rocks for life. The whole place was a mile across, if even that, and probably half as much wide. But it held water, and right there in the middle of the place. The men walked forward, several making slower progress as they rolled the empty water barrels forward. The island was small and in a few minutes they were within sight of a small pool of water, really nothing more than a collected bit of rainwater in a shallow depression in the rocks. They walked on and then sat down to wait. The men with the barrels finally made it, and then set about filling them. Grandon soon grew bored watching them, and started to walk over a bluff. “Stay close,” he heard someone call out behind him, and looked back to see Ko looking his way. With a nod he continued on. The island was a giant rock, Grandon quickly realized, and little more. Over the bluff was more rock, all the way to the far shore in the distance. The place got a lot of storms, that was clear from all the driftwood washed up, even here in the near-center of the island. Grandon walked over to some of that driftwood, and looking back toward the bluff and the men he couldn’t see on the other side of it, he got an idea. Sticking his finger into his mouth and then the air, he gauged the wind and set to work. Gathering together many of the larger logs, he set about raising them up so that some were standing, propped up by some of the smaller. In a matter of minutes he had what he wanted. Coming back over the bluff a few minutes later, Grandon saw that the men were nearly done with filling the barrels. He headed down to the pool, toward where Bochi was standing and watching. There he waited, and judged the wind. It would only be another few moments, and then– There was a series of bangs from the other side of the bluff. The sound drew the men’s eyes, and Ko and another few rushed over a bluff to get a look. That was all that Grandon needed. He rushed over the ten yards separating him from Bochi. The Jongurian had been looking toward the sound as well, and didn’t detect the movement until it was too late. Grandon barreled into the man and they both went down into the pool of water. Grandon knew the splash would draw the men’s eyes back their way, and that he only had a few seconds. He immediately shot his hands up to Bochi’s throat and grasped hold. He pushed the Jongurian’s head down into the water just as the man’s own hands shot out and grabbed hold of his. The two thrashed in the water, and Grandon had to act. Drowning a man took time, he knew from experience, and already Ko and the other men were rushing back down the hill. Besides that, the– Grandon’s thoughts were cutoff as he was struck in the back of the head. Another Jongurian was there and had just hit him, with his fist it felt like. Grandon knew they wouldn’t kill him, but the next blow might be a stick or something else that could really do harm, knock him out even. Not wasting another second, he reached down and grabbed hold of the dagger at Bochi’s belt. With one swift motion he extended his arm backward in a throw that sent the blade flying at the man behind him. Grandon didn’t look to see if it found its mark, he didn’t have to – the ‘ugh’ and then the small splash was all he needed to hear to know the man had been hit in the gut or the chest and was now down. Turning his attention back to the matter at hand, Grandon– “Stop!” Grandon looked up to see Ko standing on the edge of the pool, the other two men he’d rushed away with now at his side. One of them held his crossbow, nocked and pointing Grandon’s way. The Adjurian smiled, and slowly released his grip on Bochi’s throat. The Jongurian shot upward and gasped for air, then his eyes locked onto Grandon and he began to lunge for the man. “Stop!” Ko shouted again, and nodded at one of the men beside him. That man rushed forward and grabbed hold of Bochi, pulled him back. “Enough of this!” Ko shouted. Grandon was surprised to hear the man say so much, and surprised to hear him speaking in Adjurian. He quickly realized that Bochi understood the words as well. “I will not have you men fighting!” Ko continued. “I will not have–” Whatever Ko was going to say was cutoff as Grandon lunged forward and shot the flat of his hand forward at Bochi’s throat. There was a sickening ‘crack’ and then Bochi was grasping at his throat with both hands, desperately trying to breath through his broken windpipe. His eyes grew larger as he realized he couldn’t and he looked to the other men for help. Grandon stepped back and crossed his arms and took on a smug look, while Ko only looked at him, a burning anger in his eyes. A moment later, Bochi fell to his knees on the ground, then toppled over onto the rocky island, dead. “Leisu will not be happy to hear this,” Ko said after a few tense moments where the men looked from him to Grandon and back again. Grandon shrugged. “I guess he’ll have to take me back to Desolatia,” he said, then started back toward the rowboat. Behind him Ko frowned. Already this was becoming a mistake. |
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