Page 17 of Thunder Road

“One night, there was a bad storm. All of a sudden, Uncle Frank wanted us to have a sing-along. He and my dad looked spooked. I thought I heard screaming, but they told me it was the wind.” She gave a sad smile. “I don’t think that was where the noise was coming from.”

“You believe the lighthouse and island are haunted?”

Mrs. Brighton nodded. “Yes. And both Uncle Frank and my father knew it. My dad let me visit, but he made me wear a crucifix necklace—and we weren’t Catholic. I would find loose salt in my pockets and little bags of iron nails tucked into my suitcase. I don’t think Uncle Frank would have knowingly put me in danger, and my father trusted him to protect me, but I think he took precautions, just the same.”

“Did you ever get the sense that there was anything else…weird…about the lighthouse? Did being at the lighthouse feel different from other places?”

She considered for a moment and then nodded. “One summer I got my parents to visit different lighthouses. They didn’t all feel like the Georgetown Light. The closest thing I can compare it to is what it’s like to walk into an old church, one of the big cathedrals that has been around for a long time. There’s an energy you can’t put into words.”

Simon understood what she meant—the sense of being on consecrated, protected ground. Whether those wardings were religious or magical, people with sensitivity to the supernatural could often pick up a sense of power.

“I can’t promise that I’ll be able to contact your uncle or that if I do, he’ll answer. Sometimes ghosts aren’t social. We’ll call out to him and see what happens.”

“I understand. In all the years since he passed away, I never tried to seek out his ghost,” she said. “I wanted him to be at rest. But I’m getting a strange feeling, like there’s a storm coming, only not regular weather. Something…other. The kind of thingthat wouldn’t have happened if Uncle Frank and the other lighthouses were keeping up the protections.”

“How did you find out about the wardings?” Simon couldn’t help being curious since it didn’t seem like something that would have come up casually, especially when she was younger.

“One night there was a storm brewing and a full moon. I came downstairs to get a glass of milk, and I saw Uncle Frank standing outside the lighthouse in the rain. He was talking, but there was no one else around. Then I saw him cut his palm and let the blood drip onto the wet concrete, and he shouted something in a language I didn’t understand.”

“That would have been frightening to a child,” Simon sympathized.

“He came in soaking wet with a towel wrapped around his hand and realized I had seen him. I asked what he was doing—I wasn’t afraid. I loved and trusted him. He said he was praying for safety. And I guess, in a way, he was,” she said. “Only invoking magic, not talking to God.”

“When did you figure that out?” Simon asked.

“Much later. He wanted to stay at the lighthouse until he died, but his health didn’t let him carry out the duties anymore, and the state wanted to automate. He told me he worried about what would happen without keepers—only the way he said that the word definitely had a capital K like it was a guardian, not just a job,” she recalled.

“Did he tell you why he was concerned?”

“He was very sick when we talked about it, and on medication. I’m not sure he would have said what he did if he were his usual self. He kept mentioning the seven-point star lighthouses in North Carolina and the chain in this state, and how without the wardings, the energy wouldn’t contain the danger,” Mrs. Brighton answered.

“Did he ever tell you what that danger was?”

“No. I didn’t press because he was fading, and I wasn’t completely sure how his mind was, especially with the medicine. But I wish I had. I’ve always wondered if he took a shine to me because I had some of his talent. And lately, I feel like there’s another storm on the horizon, not the normal kind. I don’t know what to do.”

Simon gave his best reassuring smile. “Well, let’s see if Uncle Frank will answer and take it from there.”

“Are you ready?” Simon asked. Mrs. Brighton nodded, and Simon tightened his grip slightly.

“Frank Brighton, can you hear us? Your niece wants to speak with you.” Simon spoke quietly but with authority. They waited. This was the difficult part: waiting to see if the spirit would respond. Simon could ask, but it was up to the ghost whether to respond.

“Uncle Frank? It’s me, Millie. Please come. I have an important question about the lighthouse.”

Simon felt a presence stir in the distance, reaching toward them.

“I think he’s listening, but he’s still far away,” Simon told her. “Ask again.”

“Uncle Frank—I need your help. It’s about the protections.”

The ghost drew closer, and its energy shifted, growing stronger as if waking from slumber.

“Ask your question,” Simon urged. “See if he responds.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Uncle Frank. I’ve missed you. I need to ask you what to do because the protections from the lighthouses are fading. People are disappearing. Is there a way to restore the wardings even though no one lives at the lighthouses anymore?”

They waited. Simon strained to listen for any response from the ether.

“Find my journal for my first year in the lighthouse,”Frank’s ghost said, and Simon relayed the message since only he could hear the spirit.“There are notes…invocations…instructions. I was getting older. Didn’t want to forget. Then I worried that there was no one to pass along the knowledge. I left it to you because I hoped you would understand.”

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