The Terror on Moosehead Island

By Kiara Shaw

Patience Davis, a twenty-one-year-old literary major, finishing her final year at NYU, decides at the last minute to leave the Big Apple to visit her parents for Christmas break. This is Patience' first time traveling home to the old stomping grounds of her youth since leaving for college. Her destination: Moosehead Island, a sleepy little rock

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kiara Shaw
• Release date: Feb 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781638219637

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The Terror on Moosehead Island: When Light Balances the Dark

Published by Kiara Shaw.

Copyright ©2021 Kiara Shaw. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the publisher/author, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review.

All images, logos, quotes, and trademarks included in this book are subject to use according to trademark and copyright laws of the United Kingdom.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. All of the characters, names, businesses, locales, incidents, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner.

SHAW, KIARA, Author

THE TERROR ON MOOSEHEAD ISLAND: WHEN LIGHT BALANCES THE DARK

KIARA SHAW

ISBN: 978-163795696-0

All rights reserved by KIARA SHAW.

The book is printed in the United States.

www.kiarashaw.com

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 1

þÿ

T

hrough the falling static of snow that clotted the starless night sky, Patience Davis finally spotted the small beacon of familiar light winking at her in the distance.

There it is, she thought, gloved hands grasping the frostbitten steel of the ferry's starboard railing, home, sweet home… Swaying back and forth with the ceaseless rhythm of the cold ocean waves, her body shivered against the kiss of bitter winds that swept across the ship's exposed deck. Like invisible razor wire, they whipped and lashed out at the exposed skin of her cheeks and nose in whistling gusts. Luckily, Patience was well prepared for the long ferry ride across the short stretch of choppy Pacific waters—donning two layers of thermal clothing under her puffy winter jacket and a black knitted cap to shield her long braids of auburn hair. This kind of unforgiving chill, however—frigid and archaic—always found a way in no matter what you wore.

S-s-s-some things n-never ch-ch-change, Patience stuttered through chattering teeth. In the dwindling yellow light that spilled out onto the snowy deck from the sheltered passenger cabin windows, she watched as her warm breath plumed into soft whisps. From her lips, their formless tendrils briefly danced in the open air before being eaten whole by the hungry ocean wind. Like a baseline frequency, the ferry's twin engines' guttural hum acted as an underlying pitch to Patience's wandering thoughts.

How long has it been? Almost two years now, I think. Is that right? God, feels more like twenty. It's crazy how everything moves so much slower out here. The air, the ocean, the conversation, it all has a thawing quality to it. Nothing like New York; everybody talks a mile a minute and never has time for inane chitchat. There's a stillness here too, one that's barely beyond the reach of our perceptions, An inner calming. I hate to say it…but it feels kinda good to be back out on the water. Christ, never thought I'd ever admit that to myself…

Truth be told, Patience had been avoiding this long trip for some time now. Since leaving the tiny, waterlogged settlement known as Moosehead Island over three years ago to attend college in New York, she honestly hadn't thought much about her childhood stomping grounds. A lonely rock halfway between Maine and Novia Scotia's jagged east coast, Moosehead Island was really just a floating town that spanned approximately 11.6 miles in radius. With only a population of two hundred and thirty-seven registered citizens, the set cast of community members that occupied the Island’s seemingly ordinary street and quiet neighborhoods were like any you would see on the mainland. Most were humble, simple folk who had grown up on the Island all their lives. Generation after generation, they superimposed the regular day-to-day grind of the mainland onto Moosehead with excellent results. A public library, post office, and even a small general hospital stood where nothing but boulders and moss lived for thousands of years prior. To the residents of Moosehead Island, the extreme isolation from the rest of the nation was an inherent right. A privilege. Onto which the burden of responsibility became expected.

You might see a few new faces move in now n' again. Patience suddenly remembered what her grandpa used to say in his thick New England drawl, usually while packing his next pipe and rocking back and forth in front of the crackling log fireplace. But the wintahs always trim the fat from the Isl, my dee-ah. Only the ones who can really tough out the worse of it evah come back. Funny… it's almos' like the land chooses who belongs, not the travelah…but the land…

A wise, but silly old man who spent most of his life toiling away on a leaky fishing boat, Patience had always been the apple of her grandpa's eye. Full of stories and wheezy laughter when he was home to visit, she would never fail to join him by the crackling fire in the family room on stormy nights like tonight—the sweet smell of his pipe tobacco tingling her nose as the nearby fire painted the room in a burnt orange glow.

Physical body drifting ever forward on the ferry, Patience vaguely smiled at the thought of her late grandpa and trained her gaze ahead on the darkened horizon. Eyes squinted against the shifting blanket of fresh snowflakes that loosely veiled her sight, a hard silhouette began to take focus under the blinking dome light of the lighthouse across the water.

…the land chooses who belongs…not the travelah…but the land…

Her grandpa's words, a phantom memory that hadn't crossed her mind since his untimely demise to pancreatic cancer not five years prior, brought a surge of tingling warmth to her chilled core. Although Patience had been in a hurry to leave her rural upbringings behind once she graduated from Moosehead's small local high school of only twelve other students, a rising wave of nostalgia gradually whittled away all those memories that made her want to leave so badly in the first place. Moving to one of the most bustling cities on the East Coast to pursue a degree in English Literature at NYU, Patience wasted no time assimilating herself to all the new sights, sounds, and activities that The Big Apple had to offer. Like a caged canary who finally picked the locks, she had left the solitary living of Moosehead Island and spread her wings wide to the endless possibilities on the other side of the water. For the most part, Patience enjoyed the much-needed change from the usual wooded scenery to a more cultured and refined view of pillared steel. The tall buildings and never-ending night clubs felt almost unreal at first, their mere presence making her head sink with unrealized decadence. But within a couple months, the disorienting feeling went away, and soon she thrived on the manic energy just like everyone else. Within her first three years attending the university, Patience made lots of new friends and even a few semi-serious boyfriends along the way. All in all, her transition from shy book nerd to smart but adventurous English Major had been moderately successful.

And then, during her last winter break—right before finally earning a diploma—her parents made that annual call to ask the age-old question.

Patience, are you coming home to visit for Christmas this year?

Patience had successfully avoided taking the long trip back home during the holiday season for three years now. Always ready with an excuse, she dodged her parents' requests with little fibs that were specifically designed not to hurt their feelings. And, without fail, they worked like a charm every single time.

Sorry, Mom…, she said hesitantly that first year, fingers wrapped tight around the phone as she not-so carefully chose her next words, right now's not a good time. You know…gas prices and what not…

It wasn't like Patience didn't want to see her parents—both had been and always would be very near and dear to her heart—but the long drive out of the city to the barren coast, followed by an even longer ferry ride to the Island, wasn't exactly ideal during the grueling winter months. Plus, with the minimal WIFI and cellphone reception on Moosehead, a single day could feel like a week. Usually, around this time of year, Patience would hole up with a boyfriend in a downtown New York apartment for the length of the vacation, snuggling and binging on corny old horror and sci-fi movies. But due to a pretty nasty falling out at a campus Halloween party a couple months prior, that convenient option was no longer available. Suddenly, there were no more excuses to be had.

Too bad, Patience regrettably thought, shoulders and hat crested in a fine layer of fluffy snow as she watched the elongated shadow of Moosehead Island sway closer and closer; I think I'd rather be eating takeout and watching a bad movie in bed right now than freezing my ass off in a storm.

Always there to combatively challenge her interior narrative, her subconscious ego snapped back, then why don't you go sit down in the heated cabin with the rest of the passengers? No one's forcing you to stand out in the snow like this.

But even though her knees trembled, and cheeks burned scarlet from the lashing winds, Patience didn't want to go inside. She was awkwardly compelled to stand out on the deck and watch across the sea—waiting for that familiar bulking shape to appear. An internal magnetism, polarized signals of attracting energy, seemed to be pulling her back—back to the place she fought so hard to distance herself from.

And even as the ferry gradually pulled up to the tiny rows of docks in front of the blinking light tower, her grandpa's resurfaced words continued to echo through the dark chasm of her mind.

…only the ones who can really tough out the worse of it evah come back. Funny… it's almos' like the land chooses who belongs, not the travelah…but the land…

***

The incessant snow and wind had gotten worse since Patience's father had picked her up from the Island’s only port of entry. Spilling across the long wooden dock, tufts of heavier snow clung like white barnacles to every surface in an angled moss. The choppy water, whipped up into a frenzy by the wind, sprayed crystallized beads of ice against the halogen street lights that lined the pier. Right away, Patience knew that whatever kind of storm system was coming in was going to be a doozy. It was the kind of storm that triggered throbbing pains in rickety knees and stiff backs hours before touching base on land. Luckily, her father showed up to the dock well prepared in his four-wheel-drive truck with studded snow tires. A monster of a pick-up, Patience had personally seen it drive clear over snowbanks and downed trees back in her youth. Without a doubt, it was her father's most prized possession, and for a good reason too.

With only a few other passengers aboard the ferry, Patience quickly found her lanky father standing solemnly along the wind-swept pier. Juxtaposed against the halo of streetlamps at his back, his slender frame tore clean through the white tapestry all around. Quickly, she approached the wiry figure at the other end of the pier and paused.

Slowly turning from the shoreline, he faced Patience on the frozen dock and, in a monotone drawl, muttered, Ahyuht, good to see ya, Patty. Patty had been her dad's joking nickname for Patience since she was a little girl. According to the story, Patience used to have a babysitter—a sweet but intolerably simple neighbor girl by the name of Betty Spitz—who inadvertently started the moniker. Due to her large retainer, Betty couldn't pronounce Patience's name to save her life. Coming out sounding more like a watery expletive, it was quickly decided that the more suitably pronounced Patty