Page 5 of Kept By the Kraken

I’ve already questioned the folks at the diner while I scarfed down lunch, confirmed with Odis that he wasn’t the one to return my equipment, and interrogated everyone I can find at the docks. This man is the last out here and they’ve all had the same thing to say. They’ve never heard of anyone talking about bioluminescent animals in their bay or seen anything with symbols. This is the third time someone has mentioned the lighthouse keeper though.

“And where can I find him? Is he a fisherman too?”

“Not a fisherman.” He flicks his cigarette into a bucket and goes back to repairing the trap sitting atop the rough and worn wooden workstation. “Smart fella, people say, but he’s a hermit. One of those lives-off-the-grid kind. He knows everything about the area. Someone from his family’s been caretaker out there since the town was established. But he’s not the kind that’s friendly.”

Friendly or not, it seems that’s where I’m headed. “Is it the lighthouse out on that nature preserve? Down at the point?”

He doesn’t turn his head, completely engaged in his task. “That’s the one. But you couldn’t pay me enough to go out there. He may have the answers you’re looking for, but from what folks say, you’re as likely to be greeted by his shotgun.”

“I’ll take my chances.” I thank him for his help, googling the lighthouse as I make my way back through the marina.

The first article includes pictures of the historic site with its rugged landscape and lonely white tower. There’s nothing about the caretaker, only that the lighthouse was established on the southern end of the island in 1851. I read the next link and the next, but there are no clues about the caretaker or his family.

I hurry away from the marina and head back to my rental to grab my car. Groceries can wait, but my curiosity can’t.

I’mon the long winding drive to the lighthouse through the forest, the windows rolled down and the music up, when my cell rings. A groan escapes when I see my ex’s name on the screen, but I accept the call and turn down the song.

“A sea monster, Penelope? Is that what you think you saw?” The harsh sneer of my ex’s voice strikes my ear and my muscles tense.

I try to blink away the memory of my husband buried to the hilt in his TA. This last time he had the girl bent over his desk, but it wasn’t the first time. How could I have been so stupid? How did I let it go on for so long?

I gather the burning nausea in my gut and turn it into as much fire as I can put into my voice. “Hello, Daniel. I see you’ve read my email.”

“Yes. The one you sent from your institutionalworkaccount. The one where you use the wordencounteredlike you’re a writer for a tabloid instead of an academic university. We’re serious researchers and you’re asking about monsters.”

My mouth opens in rebuttal, but his tirade continues.

“I always knew you were odd, but you’ve lost your mind, Pen.” He sounds exasperated, his voice bristling with anger. “Are you trying to ruin yourself and me by association? Is that it? I said I was sorry. I won’t do it again. It was a relapse. I’ve learned my lesson. Quit punishing us and come home to North Carolina where you belong.”

Pulling into a large clearing, I park in front of the historical lighthouse and turn off the engine. I ignore Daniel’s baiting. There is no coming home. There are only the divorce papers—newly signed, but legal all the same.

I may not be going back, but I do need to hang on the line until I have some answers. Unfortunately, he’s the expert in ancient languages, not me. “You saw the image. There’s something down there. You’re the linguistic anthropologist. Tell me what I’m seeing.”

He scoffs. “There is no creature. The symbol is one that dates back to the Elder Futhark. It looks like a combination of symbols used for sea. You saw it at the bottom of the ocean. Use your brain. You discovered a ship or a lost artifact. Exciting, but not monstrous.”

“So you recognize it? It’s definitely Elder Futhark?”

Daniel sighs. “Come home and we can discuss it.”

“No.” I grit the word through my teeth. I’ve had more than enough of his brand of home.

“Then I’ll come to you. Help you sort it out. Make sure you’re eating. You always did need tending.” He says the words as a reprimand, as though I should be ashamed for needing or wanting care from my husband. It makes my chest feel too tight and my eyes burn.

I bite my tongue until I taste blood, using the pain to help shore up my walls and my heart. “I don’t need your help anymore, Daniel. All I needed was a language.”

“This isn’t one of your fairytale books, Penelope. You’re making wild claims and acting like a crazy bitch?—”

The phone is yanked from my ear through the rolled-down window and a low warning rumble emits from beside me.

“Don’t talk to her like that. Have some fucking manners.” The words are low and sharp, full of violence and darkness. But somehow, it sounds sweet to me, like the sound of the ocean’s rumble.

I find myself staring up into the face of the most harsh and beautiful man I’ve ever seen. He’s huge, dressed like a mountainman in flannel and jeans, but he’s got the air of a warrior come to rescue me or ravage me. Maybe both.

My lips part and my nipples pebble as I take him in. He is tall and muscular to the point that he’s severe, with an unruly beard that hides his mouth. His long hair is pulled to his head in a messy bun with the underside shaved. Like his scalp, his face is marked with tiny faint scars, and he’s covered in black tattoos on his hands and throat.

But it’s something else, something about him calls to me deep inside. It’s like the wonder of looking at the ocean for the first time or the comfort of coming home. Yet, his body looks as if it was made for violence and his icy blue eyes send a sliver of fear racing up my spine. They’re haunting in their unending depths, soulless and heartbreakingly wrong.

My ex’s voice crackles from the line, full of outrage. “Who the fuck is that, Pen?

---