A Haunting at Storm House (A Ravynne Sisters Paranormal Thriller Book 3)

By Merabeth James

Storm Island, with its centuries old lighthouse, is little more than a tiny speck surrounded by the cold waters of the north Atlantic. The huge square house that squats in the middle of it had been the home of the lighthouse keepers there since the late 1700s. Now only two Meekes remain, elderly sisters, rattling around in the big old house with its dark whispering corners and even darker secrets. Not at all the kind of place savvy Rayne Ravynne would ever trade for life in the Big Apple, until her latest love affair blows up in her face, and she loses her job Licking her wounds in the park one day, she befriends a visiting Gracie Meekes who offers her a job on the island helping her research and write a family history.
With more reservations than the airline she booked, she heads to Storm Island, but soon finds out she has made a terrible mistake. No one had told her that Storm House was haunted...way haunted...by a hideous, evil entity who is stirred into a frenzy by her arrival on the island. Never one to mix well with ghosts, she tries to leave, but circumstances ensnare her like a mouse in a glue trap. Left with no other option, she sends for her two sisters, begging for help. Arriving on the island, a worried Meg and Charlie , quickly, discover they must solve the centuries old mystery of Storm House, or suffer a fate that makes death seem 'the lesser of two evils'.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Merabeth James
• Release date: Jul 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005680503

Merabeth James

There are six things important to me...well, most important to me: To love unconditionally, to always keep a sense of 'wonder', to always be kind, to find joy in simple things, to never take myself too seriously, and to make sure I don't leave this earth with a list of "if only I hads".I've taken many 'leaps of faith' in my time and, so far, have landed on my feet or, in one case, on a dilapitated houseboat with my dog, and a lot of enthusiasm. I named her 'Sanctuary Annie' and hoped for the best. I knew nothing about boats, couldn't swim and wondered how long she would stay afloat. In the middle of the night, when my dog jumped up to join me on the antique Victorian bed I had moved on board, I would check to see if he was wet, knowing, if so, we were both in big trouble. But Sanctuary Annie hung in there, even surviving a hurricane, when others around her were not so fortunate.Living in the small marina, with the sea as my back yard, I found a profound sense of peace..and the love of my life....my Jim, captain of 'Wings', a beautiful racing sloop that flies across the water, when the wind fills her sails.I often think how much I would have missed out on, if I hadn't taken that leap of faith and followed my heart. Life is meant to be lived and I intend to keep on doing just that.

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This book is entirely a work of fiction. All characters are completely fictitious and do not represent any persons living or dead. Product, business, and location names used remain the property of any and all trademark holders and do not represent an endorsement or association of any kind, either expressed or implied.

(Copyright 2017 Elizabeth Repka All rights Reserved)

A HAUNTING AT STORM HOUSE

MERABETH JAMES

Prologue - The year 1813

She laughed, softly, and leaned forward, rubbing her full breasts against the crisp, dark hair on his heavily muscled chest. There...do you like that? she asked, blushing, hotly, at her own wantonness. He made her feel wildly pagan and totally unlike the gray mouse she was in her world where she was the oldest daughter with no prospects. And now she had just lost her virginity and didn’t give a hoot! She laughed again and brushed her mouth, across his, then sucked his lower lip between her teeth. Groaning deeply, he flipped her on her back, and then looked into her dark eyes, as he buried himself again in her hot depths. It was a long time later, when he asked, Callie, what if?

She shushed him with her fingertips. Don’t, my love. God would not be so cruel. All will be well and I will be waiting for my pirate...my Captain Seth Hawkins of the Siren...to return to me.

He smiled, his teeth flashing, whitely, against his sun darkened skin. My Black Hawk now flies over a schooner with a Letter of Marque that makes us official agents of the American government...no longer pirates, but privateers. Rich ones, when we return with the Siren’s hold filled with what we take from the British Merchant Fleet right from under their very noses. Enough to make you a rich wife. I will come back to you, Callie, I promise, though the Devil himself stand in my way.

Tears filled her eyes, though she smiled bravely for his sake. Hugging him, fiercely, she whispered, I love you now and forever......

A call from above jolted him back to the present. Sail portside aft, Jeremy Bolts shouted, clinging to the rigging like a monkey in the wind and building gray seas. Sail starboard aft was the second call that had Seth cursing loudly. So much for sneaking through the blockade under cover of darkness, he thought ruefully. There were two British frigates bearing down on them from opposite sides and a whole lot of daylight left.

Kinda unexpected to see them this far out, Cap’n. Usually they patrol closer in, the first mate offered with a worried frown creasing his weathered forehead.

‘Unexpected’ indeed! he returned with a grim smile, as he took the wheel from him. And a pair of them makes this situation damn interesting. We have to get by that son of a bitch to port and stay out of the range of their long guns across a hellluva lot of open water, till we pass the rocks at Storm Island Light. Once we’re in the straits, they won’t give chase. Too dangerous and they’re not as stupid, as we’d like to think.

From the look of that sky and the way the sea’s been buildin’, I’d be willing to bet my sweet ass we’re in for a real bad blow. Maybe it will keep them gun boats too busy stayin’ afloat to bother with the likes of us.

Seth narrowed his gray eyes, as he studied the approaching vessels, plowing through the heavy seas. All sails were up and they were making good time...too good...despite the weather that was, rapidly, going from bad to worse. All sail aloft, Cal. We’re taking a big risk in this wind, but we don’t have the choice they do and they’re not letting up.

As he listened to Cal give his order, he turned his attention to the sky, watching the massive clouds gallop their way like frenzied dark horsemen astride their black steeds. He smiled wryly. What a strange metaphor, he thought, but somehow it fit. There was something foreboding in the very air... something he didn’t want to name. A shiver passed through him. Someone just walked over your grave, his grandmother would have told him. But he was no superstitious old woman. It was just a storm. A bad one judging from the sky and the falling barometer, but they had been through bad storms before. Still...he shook his head...there was something different this time. Something that had sent that tingle of awareness shooting along his every nerve. His gaze swept the deck, where his men were busy hoisting the sails and saw several check the sky, then cross themselves. They felt it, too.

His first mate interrupted his thoughts. Maybe we should take down the Black Hawk we been flyin’. Greedy bastards might make a special effort, he told his captain, remembering the huge bounty on their heads issued by Lloyd’s of London for the damage they’d wreaked during their recent raid on the British Isles. They would all swing at the end of a rope, if they were captured.

We’ve never struck our colors, no matter who gave chase, and never will, Seth told him grimly. But tell the men to lighten the load. Everything overboard we don’t need, including most of the canon. Keep the bow chasers and scuttle the rest. Speed is our only chance. Not a problem outrunning just one of them, but they are going to try and pin us between them, and either sink us outright, or run us aground in the shoals along the coast, where they can finish us off with their long guns. With enough speed and more luck than the devil, we can get past them before they cut us off. If we can’t, we have to hope and pray we can lose them in the dark or in the storm... if it gets bad enough.

He watched his mate shout his orders to his men. He had a good crew. Hand picked every one of them. Men he had known for years and could trust to back him all the way to hell. Between the British warships and the coming storm, he hoped that’s not where they were all headed that very night.

The rubble stone lighthouse shuddered, as an enormous wave crashed against its side, licking its way nearly to the top of the 60 foot structure, where whale oil lamps burned inside an Argand Parabolic Reflector, that focused their light and sent it sweeping across the storm filled darkness. Carrying a lantern in one hand and clutching the rail with the other, Jebediah cursed loudly, as he climbed the steep metal steps that spiraled towards the light above. Eighty of these bloody things to haul oil up, he muttered. Then up and down to wind that bit of clockwork deviltry, that keeps the whole thing turnin’. Makes me wonder jist wat I were thinkin’, when I took this damned job.

He paused to belch and scratch his belly, as he listened to the sound of the storm penetrate even the thick stone walls around him. It was one of the worst he’d ever seen and that was saying quite a bit, he thought with a grim smile. And he was out there...Captain Seth Hawkins and his schooner the Siren. Well named seeing as how she would end up her days broken to bits on the rocks. He belched again and swiped his thin lips with the back of his hand, then laughed. He had never thought he would get his chance to even the score, and then the supply boat brought him the news that opened the door to the perfect opportunity.

According to the captain, the Flying Gull had just returned and reported the Siren one day out behind them. By his reckoning, that meant she would run the blockade under cover of darkness that very night, then slip through the straits with the help of his Light and home to safety. But he had other plans for the Siren and her skipper.

Another monstrous wave struck the lighthouse and for a moment he feared the lamp room had been breached, but the lamps still burned. A manic laugh burbled up from his throat and he screamed into the shadows that danced around his wavering light, Vengeance be mine, Lord! Mine! No one else’s! Not even Yer's!

A swollen blue vein throbbed in his temple and a wave of dizziness made him grab the rail tighter. Standing there, he waited for his racing heart to slow and the vertigo to pass. He was drunk, he thought...stinking drunk. A giggle escaped him. Brushing a thin trail of spittle off his red stubbled cheek, he giggled again. He had killed a man once before and hadn’t felt much after. They had been face to face, when he had shoved his knife into his gullet and gave it an upward twist, watching the surprise in his eyes darken and fade. Tonight he would kill again, though there would be no blood...no sharp knife sliding through flesh. He would miss that, but this way was better...safer...surer. He was no match for the pirate; they had once called the Black Hawk.

Pulling himself along, he began to climb again. Just a few more steps, he told himself. He had done his duty. He had lit the lamps at sunset, because she was watching and would have naught to say later. She was in their room now, locked up tight, fearing for the bastard she carried. He smiled in remembrance. Last time he was this drunk, he had kicked her half way down the stairs. He couldn’t remember why. Not that it mattered. If she thought a locked door would stop him from doing whatever took his fancy, she hadn’t learned nothing yet. But where she was suited him. . From her window, she could not see the lighthouse. She would never know, when it went dark and the Siren was lost. She was still out there, chased by the storm right into his net, captained by that spawn of Satan, who had sailed off and left his leavin’s for him to bed.

Fool! Fool! Fool! he shouted to whoever...whatever...might be listening. I be nothin’ but a lackwit duped by a lying dock whore and her greedy Pap, who couldn’t wait to get her off his hands. Shaking his head, he mimicked viciously, She be a good lass, Jebediah me man...quiet....shy...and God fearing. Taught to know her woman’s place. Can cook...clean...sew...and tend to yer needs and the younguns ye breed off her So he had taken her to wife. Paid him good money to lose a cook and housekeeper.

His mouth tightened, as he remembered the day he had gone to fetch her. Her eyes had been enormous...her mouth tremulous. He had married her on the spot...a mumble of words... but it made it legal. He could do whatever he wanted to her and the law would uphold him. He had tried a few things out on a whore or two, that had pleasured him and now he didn’t have to pay for what he wanted. When he wasn’t riding her, she would help with the Light...tend the garden, milk the cow, do the cooking and cleaning and give him sons...lots of sons. His thin lips twisted in a bitter smile. It had sounded like a bargain at the time. They must have all had a good laugh. Jebediah Meekes..fool. She’d been breeding, when he bought her. Several months gone by his reckoning. He had had to beat his name out of her. Lying there curled up on the floor protecting her belly, she had called to him just once. Seth!, she had cried, before she passed out cold at his feet. He had kicked her again, though he had what he wanted, because he liked the way it felt to sink his boot into her soft flesh. Seth. Seth Hawkins. The man he would send to hell that very night. Without his Light to guide him, he could never make the narrow passage between the rocks in this storm. And there would be no survivors...he’d see to that, too. The investors would think she’d been sunk by the British blockade and there wouldn’t be a lick of evidence to prove otherwise.

Reaching the top of the steps, he looked out to sea, where his Light swept the cold, black, storm tossed water. All around him, the wind shrieked like a death dealing banshee, as it embraced the lamp room, making the glass vibrate in its iron and copper cage. Enormous waves battered the rocks and crashed against the granite cliff beneath him. A rogue wave of gigantic size slammed into the lighthouse...its salty spray fingering its way up the windows.

That should have scared the crap out of him, he thought with a grin, but it didn’t. He was way too drunk to be scared of anything. Now down to business, he told the empty room. Singing a bawdy song he’d heard somewhere, he turned off the whale oil lamps one by one, until there was only blackness. The rocks...the island and the lighthouse were almost invisible now, he thought with a smile. Nothing more than a jutting silhouette a deeper shade of dark than the night around it.

Blowing out his own lantern, he sank down on the cot he often used these days and took out the bottle of rye he kept tucked beneath the threadbare blankets. It was cold and he shivered, violently, as he took a long swallow, liking the raw feel of it, as it slid down his throat. She be a foine laidy...her past a mite shaidy...a coin for her time and... he began to sing again...then stopped.

From below, he could hear the echo of her faltering footsteps coming up the metal stairs and he smiled to himself. Her arrival made it all so much better. She would be there to hear the ship grind herself to death on the rocks. Of course, there was little chance they would hear much above the wind and pounding waves, but still.... He smiled again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, as he waited there in the dark.

Light spilled from the lantern she carried, as she pulled her bulk up the last step. She was heavy with child now and he watched with amusement, as she held the lantern high and searched for him in the dark.. Jebediah she cried, spotting him sprawled on his cot. I had a dream something was wrong! I was half way here, when I saw the light go out. What have you done?

Jebediah...Jebediah...Jebediah, he mocked, pulling himself upright and taking another long pull on his bottle. Jebediah the husband ye lied to...cuckolded with yer pirate? Jebediah who paid that lying Pap of yers good money for used goods?

Please, Jebediah. You can’t. It’s murder. And not just him. There are a hundred men on the Siren. Good men. Men from our home port. You can’t murder them, because that’s what you’re doing, and you know it.

He laughed then, thinking how funny she looked with her huge dark eyes and pleading...lying mouth all twisted up. Vengeance is mine!

‘Sayeth the Lord’ not you, Jebediah! she cried in horror.

I ‘sayeth’ it...me...Jebediah Sebastian Meekes. I will do wat needs doin’, he shouted, then added slyly, but it’s glad I am ye came. I want ye to stay here with me and listen real hard. Maybe ye can hear him screamin’ his way into Hell.

She moved towards the lamps, but he moved quicker. Snatching the lantern from her hand, he blew out the flame. Clumsily, she tried to avoid him, pushing at his clawing steel fingers, but he pinned her against him and dragged her to the window, trapping her against the cold glass. Listen! he ordered. Listen for the sound of their dyin’! And, tears streaming down her chalk white face, she did.

Where are we, Cap’n? Where’s the damned light? Cal asked anxiously. We should be seein’ it by now.

Long before now, Seth thought, as his keen gray eyes swept the dark sea ahead. They must be close to the rocks, but without the light to get a fix on, there was no way to know for sure. Looking back, he could barely make out their persistent pursuers, who were hauling in their canvas at last. They had finally given up and he wondered if it was the storm, or the fear of running into the rocks, that had ended their chase. From their higher vantage point, perhaps they had seen what he couldn’t in the heavy seas and blinding wind driven rain.

Haul in the sheets, he shouted to Cal. They had lost two of their square sails to the wind, but the rest had given them the speed they needed to avoid capture. All hands turned to, but it was too late. A loud crack, like a canon shot, sent his men scurrying to get out of the way of the falling fore mast. It landed with a heavy thud, its sails half in half out of the water, crushing one seaman in its path.

For a moment, bright blood mixed with the wind whipped sea foam, that tumbled across the deck, before the driving rain washed it clean. Get Nate out of there and cut that mast loose, before she pulls us over, Seth shouted above the shrieking wind. It was the new mast they had replaced in France, after they’d been outgunned in the channel. Their nine-foot draft had been their salvation that time, he thought, but nine feet in the narrow straits ahead was another matter. It left very little wriggle room between them and certain disaster.

Gripping the wheel, tightly, he gritted his teeth, as he kept the Siren headed into the waves. His crew struggled to stay on their feet, as they hacked, desperately, at the thick rope rigging. An enormous wave crashed over their bow, just as the freed mast slid into the inky dark water, where it floated like a phantom...the wind tearing at the white canvas sails...until it disappeared into the darkness.

Just then someone yelled from below, The ship’s taking on water, Sir. We’re pumping her out as fast as we can, but she’s settling lower.

Keep pumping. Get buckets and start bailing. We’re not licked yet, Seth shouted, only too aware of what they were all thinking. With their low-sided hull, they were that much closer to swamping...way too close. They would have to scuttle the cargo next and let the investors be damned.

Sliding into a deep trough, the Siren rode the other side to the top of the wave. Wiping the salt spray from his eyes with the back of his hand, Seth struggled to see what lay ahead, but could see nothing more than enormous waves frothy with foam. There was no sign of Storm Island or the Light. The Siren plunged into the next trough and rode again to the top. Suddenly, he saw them off the port side...almost too close to be avoided...the rocks off Storm Island jutting like black teeth above the storm tossed waves.

He swung the wheel towards starboard and felt his water-laden boat respond, sluggishly, in the heavy seas. It would be close, but they might just make it, he thought hopefully, just as he heard a loud splintering sound and felt her shudder, violently, beneath him. The rudder was gone. He had lost helm. There was nothing he could do for any of them.

Out of control now, the Siren plunged into another deep trough, then rose again, only to be caught broadside this time by a huge wave that shoved her, violently, over on her starboard side. Still gripping the useless wheel, Seth watched, helplessly, as those that weren’t tossed into the sea, scrambled for every handhold they could find on the slippery, listing deck. Eyes wide with terror, some prayed...some screamed, while others held on, quietly, knowing the worst was yet to come. Again the boat struggled upright, but her gallant efforts were wasted. Everything took on a surreal quality, Seth found himself thinking...like frozen bits of time strung together one horrific minute after another. Portside, he could see the silhouette of the island...the dark lighthouse, that should have been their salvation, but had been their doom.

Cursing the lighthouse keeper, he looked across the bow, where the water, whipped into a frenzy by the gale force winds, crashed and foamed. It was all but over now, he thought with a strange detachment, just as a huge wave lifted the Siren high and flung her, savagely, against the rocks, breaking her apart mid hull.

Thrown into the air, he landed back on the sloping, splintered deck. Water washed over him tugging at him...pulling him closer to the abyss, while all around him rose a cacophony of screams and cries that mingled with the shriek of the wind and the cracking, splintering sounds of his dying ship.

Slowly, he slid downward, until he was floating in the cold dark water on the leeward side of the rocks. There was something wrong with his side...there was pain, but then there wasn’t... just a chilling numbness that seemed to be filling him up. A body brushed past him. Tom the ship’s carpenter...sightless eyes gazing into the starless storm tossed heavens.

The darkness closed in then...there was little he could feel…or see...or even hear now. He let his thoughts return to the last time he’d seen his Callie standing on the dock, as he sailed away. He smiled. He could almost feel her again in his arms...her scent...her touch…her huge dark eyes so filled with love. Callie, he whispered, hoping she could hear him, wherever she was. She must know he loved her...would always love her. He would find his way back to her somehow. He must! Not even death...the dark horseman.... could stop him.

It was morning and still raining, as he climbed the stony path to the granite and timber house. From the shed, he could hear the cow lowing. She would need to be milked soon and more whale oil lugged up from the fuel house and all the other chores that seemed to never end, now that it was all on his shoulders. She had been whelping for more than a day and a half with nothing to show for it despite her screaming...crying...and pounding on the door, pleading for help. She could die in there and take her bastard with her for all he cared. That would be his last bit of justice. That would be right. But, suddenly, a thought tugged at him slyly. What if the brat was his? He had bedded her. Just because she was no virgin, when he took her, didn’t mean the child