Hell Ships - 3 Monstrous Scary Sea Tales: Suspenseful Horror Thrillers Set at Sea - the Derelict - Desolation Whaling Station - the Lighthouse by Ben Hammott

Author:Ben Hammott [Hammott, Ben]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B07XVGXL7X
Goodreads: 48244076
Published: 2019-09-29T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 4

Entry

Breathing heavily from the exertion when he reached the top of the stone steps, Reaper leaned against the rock and gazed at the towering lighthouse. The only light it emitted was the spinning beacon on top. Around its base were buildings of various sizes and designs; all showed signs of deterioration from many years of being ravaged by storms. If there was a keeper, he was likely asleep, cozy, and snug beneath blankets with some form of heating warming the chamber. A warm, dry bed was an inviting prospect Reaper was keen to take advantage of.

With the novelty of his survival fading, the sweetness of salvation began to decay and sour. Reaper resented the keeper his comfort while he was wet, cold, and tired. His eyes flashed sharp and cruel when the warning beacon swept across them. Like him, the lighthouse keeper was alone and isolated from civilization. Tending a single cursed lamp on an island of frozen oblivion, he would be biding his time until another lonely soul, an outcast from society, arrived to replace him. They were both beyond help in more ways than one.

Reaper glanced at the square portholes that dotted the side like menacing eyes set in murky stone. Even if someone were awake, the howling tempest and crash of waves below would mask any sounds he made. However, the light from the swinging lanterns leading straight to the door, as if guiding him there, and the revolving light would make him stand out starkly in the open if anyone happened to peer out. Deciding that eliciting an appearance of friendliness—a poor wretch caught in the storm might serve him better if he was spotted—he slipped the weapon into his pocket to be drawn swiftly at the first sign of a threat.

He headed along the path leading to the fenced-off area around the base of the lighthouse and pondered the mind of the man who lived there. He would likely be a solitary man who, due to death or choice, had no family and few friends. Older rather than younger, he thought, to be able to stand the boredom inherent in such a desolate posting. His gaze to the tip of the tall, storm-abused structure detected no radio mast. Unless the man had a satellite phone, he had no way of contacting anyone. Even if a call for help was sent, the island seemed to be so far away from civilization, it would arrive too late.

Halting at the wind-blasted gate repeatedly banging against its askew post, Reaper focused on the single metal door at the tower’s base. The only way in and the only way out. With nowhere to run to, the keeper was trapped on the forsaken piece of rock.

Reaper rubbed his hands to bring some feeling into them as he considered what he might find inside. There will be provisions; food certainly, dry clothes, a fire. There had to be a generator of some type to power the beacon and the electric lights

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