TYBEE BEACHCOMBER | OCT 2016 27 little bit creepy,” Shaun mumbled, surprising himself at how loud his voice sounded. There was nothing else; no gulls hovering, no insects. Just the quiet sound of the engine cooling. He was utterly alone. He looked back up the driveway and saw the safety of the highway, just yards away. “Quit being such a baby, Shaun,” he said, louder this time, his words giving him a confidence he wasn’t sure he felt. But this was such an opportunity. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out, leaned against the door of the Stang, and started snapping pictures. The angle wasn’t perfect though; the bars of the gate, combined with the remains of a large fallen tree just inside the gate, were obscuring the angle and had him focusing directly into the light. Shaun snapped a few pictures, moving away from the Mustang and even closer to the gate. He had brought a 124mm lens, the pride and joy of his limited camera collection, but even with the zoom, the best pictures were clearly going to be inside the gate, on the other side of the fallen tree. Shaun leaned against the gate; wedging the camera between the bars, and snapped a few more pictures. Click. Click. Click. So intent was Shaun on the camera that he didn’t even notice he was leaning on the gate. With a sudden lurch, the iron gate slid open about a foot. Shaun lost his balance and fell through the gate into the yard. “Whoa!” yelped Shawn, as stumbled through the gate, landing awkwardly on his hands and knees. “What the…” Shaun muttered as he stood, wiping his hands on his shorts, the Canon still jangling safely from his neck. He stood, caught his breath, and then picked up the camera for another angle. The house looked amazing. So intent was Shaun on his picture, he was completely oblivious when a small gust of wind rattled across the gate, blowing all the No Trespassing signs off the gate. The signs fluttered to the ground, and laid still, just like abandoned candles on a birthday cake. He looked at the gate, then back to the house. The sun had sunk lower and the ocean reflected the rays perfectly. The house stood at the end of the sun’s reflection; the perfect point on this snapshot. Ya gotta roll, roll, roll. Shaun stepped over the fallen tree and began snapping in earnest. The house was eerily magnificent. The sunlight and shadows turned the house from a bright orange at the base to a blueish/purple at the roof, giving the entire Victorian the slight appearance of being on fire. As Shaun concentrated, he was snapped back to reality when a gusty wind from nowhere whipped against him, noticeably moving him. With a load groan the gate, snapped back shut. “Weird.” Shaun moved closer to the front porch now, and peering through a boarded window, he could make out the remains of some dusty furniture. He hesitated. Suddenly, another gust of wind blew again, and this time, the front door sprung open soundlessly. And without meaning too, Shaun could see in the foyer, and he could see the entire entryway was lined with old portraits, of various sizes and frames. Gaudy golden frames, both squares and rectangles, lined the walls, each frame holding a single occupant, richly dressed in heavy gowns and coats. Shaun stood there with his mouth open in a circle of amazement. The faces stared at him, and without consideration or understanding, Shaun stepped into the house. The foyer was massive. Two staircases curled on the left and right side, amazingly well preserved. The wall between the staircases, nearly 30 feet tall, was covered with large canvas paintings. At the highest point, a large canvas portrait of a royal man stared down at him serenely. Below the King portrait, various lords and ladies all stared directly at the foyer. Each portrait, void of expression, stared blankly into space. But as Shaun stood there, he couldn’t help but feel as if they were staring at him. Were they staring at him? And why did he feel like someone was behind him? He whipped around. Nothing. Goosebumps on his arms, he turned back to the wall of paintings. Camera forgot, Shaun stared at the wall of portraits, his stomach sinking as he looked from one disapproving face to another. Spiders were crawling on his legs; centipedes on his arms. He felt fear blossom through his stomach. The King stared down through glinty narrow eyes, his lips pointed and narrow. Shaun stood there nervously, afraid to move. The other portraits, no longer serene, also stared disapprovingly. The room started to spin slowly, and Shaun felt a slow invisible wave of hatred move toward him, almost palpable in nature. Shaun’s feet, on their own volition, started backpedaling nervously, his hand feeling for the doorway, but the room seemed much larger than he remembered. His heart racing, Shaun started to turn and run for the door, when his eye caught a smaller portrait. This portrait sat at the bottom of the wall, just above a small curio cabinet. It was a young woman, beautiful. She sat primly, wrapped in a rose colored dress, with one hand opened toward the foyer, the other holding a single flower. She was beautiful. Shaun stared. The Lady in Rose stared back. Her eyes pleaded. Shaun felt his stomach flutter uncomfortably, and for a brief minute he thought he might pee. He swallowed, and ignoring the feeling of hatred that was slowly building in the room, he stepped forward, closer to the curio. Why was it so damn hard to breathe? As Shaun stepped forward, the dim light revealed a thick gaudy frame around the Rose Lady; it was slightly damaged on one corner. Shaun stepped closer to the Rose Lady, under the disapproval of the King and all his subjects. Sweat burned his eyes, and he strained to breathe. As he got closer to the curio, Shaun could see there was something wedged into the frame… a letter of some kind? With a sudden burst, Shaun grabbed the letter and wedged it loose. As his hand touched the letter, the house let out a huge groan, and a large gust of wind rocked the house. The King and his court stared hauntingly at Shaun. Shaun screamed and ran out the door. Legs and brain connected now, Shaun pedaled from the gate, navigating the tree in a single leap. Picking up speed, Shaun threw his shoulder at the gate. With a reluctant groan, the gate popped open, just enough for Shaun to scramble through. Shaun jumped in the Stang, and threw it in reverse, tires chirping as they hit highway 1. The Doors were still on the radio, “Ashen lady, give up you vows.” Shaun felt his stomach roll as he turned off the radio and nosed the speedometer over 70 mph. It was completely dark now. Shaun floored the Stang and didn’t’ stop. Several hours later, the gauge trending toward E, Shaun pulled into a small, bright gas station. He turned the Stang off and sat in the car, breathing shallowly. “What in the hell just happened Shaun?” he asked himself, knowing full well he didn’t want to know the answer. He let out a long breath, collecting his thoughts. As he did, he noticed in the seat next to him, was the letter he had taken from the Rose Lady. He stared at it apprehensively. As he stared at it, he realized it was old. Very old. Only it wasn’t a letter after all? Grabbing the letter, and wiping off a thick layer of dust, he could just make out the cover … of The Tybee Beachcomber. Happy Halloween Folks!
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