The Lighthouse: The Curse of Captain Mcguire

By John Wesley Anderson

The Lighthouse: The Curse of Captain McGuire is a suspense thriller that chronicles the life of Samuel R. McGuirehis humble childhood on the farm owned and operated by his father, JS McGuire, and his career in the army during World War II, where he distinguished himself as a soldier of great courage and selfless service to his country.
In the end, The Lighthouse: The Curse of Captain McGuire is a murderers tale of mayhem and deceit born from an obsession for the lighthouse on Old Wesley Hill, which sows within the heart of an otherwise peaceful man the seeds of duplicity and murder.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483663739

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Copyright © 2013 by John Wesley Anderson Jr.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover image by:

http://www.gdefon.com

Rev. date: 09/04/2013

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

The Hole

To Darla Storbeck, an artist of immense talent and a woman of great character and depth.

Chapter 1

Farewell to all! I know… I know. This is a little corny, but that’s the kind of guy I am—very dramatic and very nerdy!

As human beings, we enter this life knowing only to survive, naked to the known and the unknown, and that’s the way we leave it.

When I was a child in Sunday school, the teacher often said that confession was good for the soul. Well, I want to confess, dear Lord—confess what I did that hell-born night in November. I can’t take it any longer! The pain is too great for one man to bear alone. I want—I need—to share this agony with you, the reader of my terrible ordeal. Sorry!

The dark shadows will be coming for me soon to totally destroy my body, which will end the generational curse of the McGuires and Demon Lake.

My demise will be, I’m sure, messy! I feel this will be just restitution for the life I took on that hell-bent night of four days ago, when my heart was full of rage and revenge. The dark shadows have allowed me this time to share my story, before they come and do what they must.

The clothes that I wore that bloody night are still lying in an indiscriminate heap, replete with the stench of death. The smell is sickening; however, there is something within that beckons me to gaze upon them with morbid curiosity. The now-dry dark blood flakes at the slightest touch. It’s amazing. This once was fluid just a few days ago, flowing inside the body of a living human being. And now it’s just—well, it’s just amazing, that’s all.

How should I tell you my blood-soaked story? Where should I begin?

A violent late-autumn thunderstorm shook the very foundation of Western Washington. Wind gusts exceeding ninety miles rushed through the streets, leaving death and destruction in their wake.

Falling trees and branches catapulted the small town of Faraway, Washington, back to a time before there was electricity. Power was out throughout the city. Overworked generators were the only source of power in several counties. Wandering bums of the downtown red-light district warned that this was a foretaste of the end of the world.

I have been in this lighthouse for the last four days now, reading diaries and old letters and news clippings that were neatly lain out on a table in the den of Captain McGuire. I think I know the whole story to the point that I can share it with you. Once you read what I have to say, then in your heart, judge me whether I am innocent or guilty for taking a man’s life.

On May 2, 1925, Samuel Taylor McGuire was born in the world to his parents: mother, Nora Taylor, and father, John Samuel McGuire. He had no brother or sisters that survived. He did have a brother that was killed when Samuel was very young. His slightly older brother always called Samuel Sam. When his brother, Peter, died, he would let no other person call him Sam ever again.

How the story goes, Peter and Samuel were playing on a very old and very dangerous bridge over Demon Lake, which got its name because many people, both old and young, say they see spirits dance over the lake from midnight till 4:00 AM—always on a full moon. Many argued that it was one of the gateways to hell itself. Samuel dared Peter to run across the bridge, and he would chase him. Peter agreed and took off running. When the two boys got to the center of the bridge, it collapsed. Both boys fell into the lake, a portion of the bridge falling and hitting Peter in the head, severing it into two bloody halves. Samuel fainted and drowned!

A painter, farther down the lake, was painting the antique bridge for posterity when he saw the two boys fall. He rushed to Peter’s aid, but to his horror, the young boy was already gone. Samuel lay motionless at the bottom of the lake; weeds and debris covered him like he had been there for days instead of just moments. It looked as though the lake had claimed him for its own. The painter frantically pulled the weeds that covered Samuel and raised him to the surface. He performed a reviving technique he had learned in the navy on Samuel to no effect—the boy was dead!

The painter stood to go and alert the authorities when he heard Samuel cough. He turned, and Samuel was throwing up the water he ingested.

What is your name? the little boy asked, too afraid to ask about his brother because, inwardly, he knew Peter was dead.

Young man, I am Captain Matthew Richardson, formerly of the United States Navy, now retired.

Sir, thank you for what you did. Could you take me home now?

JS McGuire, as he liked to be called, never had time for the frivolous things in life; his eighty-acre farm was the means of his family’s income and the source of his independence as a man. His two boys served him as live-in help on the farm, and his wife’s sole purpose in life was to birth him babies that would one day till the ground and cook the meals to provide him the energy to work the farm. The Depression had everyone on the bum, begging for scrapes to feed themselves and their families, but his farm thrived during the lean years because he could account for every dollar, and everyone in his family knew the importance of hard work and going without. Plus, he made it a point to follow the teachings of the Bible when it gave the commandments on how to treat the soil. The Bible was his only manual on farming, plus the things his father (as well as his grandfather) taught him. He swore to the men at the pub in town that this was the reason he was so blessed as a farmer: because he honored the wisdom of his father before him and followed the teaching of the good book. JS McGuire loved his farm, and everyone around him knew it, but his affections for his family were in doubt in everyone’s minds—even his wife’s and children’s.

On a day when his anger was up, because his supplier raised the cost of his fuel and his two boys went off playing in the woods someplace and leaving all their chores undone, JS McGuire yelled at everyone within yelling distance of his voice. He pulled down the thick leather belt he used to whip the boys down from the shed and kept it within arm’s reach, ready and waiting for when they did finally show up. Around lunchtime, he could see a car turning onto the road leading to the house. As it moved closer, he could now see a black vehicle moving up the dirt road he himself had carved out of nothing. He noticed that the car was moving recklessly outside of the boundaries of the road, which angered him even more.

His narrow gaze became wide when he saw Samuel lying on the seat next to a stranger.

What is this all about? Where is Peter, your brother? he asked, walking around the car where Samuel was, ignoring the stranger.

Mr. McGuire! Captain Richardson said, clearing his throat to get his attention. You have a remarkable son there—a young man of character and great courage.

Where is my oldest boy? JS asked more sternly.

Mr. McGuire, Peter is dead. Captain Richardson reasoned that a man like Mr. McGuire would only accept the harsh realities of the truth.

JS McGuire ran around the car and grabbed Captain Richardson by the collar. What did you do to my son!

Captain Richardson pushed him off. Sir, I tried to save your children’s lives. The older boy could not be saved.

Fighting back the tears he had never shed before for anyone other than his parents who were killed in that auto accident five