Sometimes, the dead are best left in peace.
Jessica Backman has been called to help a strange family living on a haunted island in Charleston Harbor. Ormsby Island was the site of a brutal massacre two decades ago, and now the mysterious Harper family needs someone to exorcise the ghosts that still call it home. The phantoms of over one hundred children cannot rest.
But something far more insidious is living on the island. When the living and the dead guard their true intentions, how can Jessica discover just what sort of evil lurks on Ormsby Island? And why is Jessica the only one who can plumb its dark depths?
Island of the Forbidden
Hunter Shea
Dedication
For Carolyn and Tom, the editor and the salesman, among many other wonderful things.
TRANSCRIBED EXCERPT FROM AUDIO RECORDING OF PETER MONTGOMERY, REPORTER FOR CHARLESTON JOURNAL NEWS
“I know the area is off limits, but I had to see for myself. The police left about an hour ago. I watched them go by while I pretended to fish in the harbor in my rented rowboat. The outboard motor has seen better days. My main concern at this point is the boat’s ability to get me back to the mainland.”
“I have my suspicions as to why other news outlets are barely covering this story, if at all. Might be another case of ‘follow the money’, but I’ve always had the sense there’s something more here. I don’t know whether it’s fear or shame or both that have draped this area in mystery since well before I was born. [heavy breathing]. As expected, there’s more yellow tape and little red flags sticking out of the soft ground than I can count.”
“It’s weird, being out here, all alone, with the night creeping in. Thank God I brought extra batteries for my flashlight. I know there’s nothing to be scared of out here. Aside from the birds, squirrels and constant hum of crickets, anything that can do me harm is dead. But still, I can’t help but feel uneasy, and it has nothing to do with trespassing on an active crime scene.”
“I’m not a superstitious person, but it’s hard not to have odd thoughts as you walk over the grounds where just a day ago, so many bodies lay rotting into the earth. Was it a mass murder or suicide? I guess I have to wait for the coroner to get back to us on that. Like most people, I’m still on the fence whether it’s a nightmare or a rare sort of blessing. I know how the world outside the county will see it. It’s hard to fathom things, I mean, truly see them for what they are, when you’re on the outside looking in.”
[Scuffling sound heard in the distance]
“Not sure what that was. I’m going to take as many pictures as I can, then head out. It smells odd. It’s hard to describe. Kind of like a mix of damp earth and rotten apples.”
[Unintelligible voice]
“What the hell was that? I think it’s coming from somewhere to my right. I counted all the cops that came and went, so I know it’s not one of them. Not sure whether I’m stupid or brave, but I’m going to check it out. Gotta put the journalism degree to work.”
NO FURTHER RECORDING RECOVERED
Chapter One
The five-seater boat skidded over the turbid surface of Charleston Harbor, a fine spray misting the silent occupants.
This was not a good day to show the house on Ormsby Island, but the fact that anyone had interest in the crumbling mansion was reason enough to hit the water, despite the oncoming storm. Renae Rudd gripped the seat cushion as the nose leapt over a whitecap, slamming the water so hard, she bit her tongue. She dabbed it with a wad of tissue. The Kleenex came back red.
Just think of the commission.
The property had been vacant for close to twenty years now. The couple sitting behind her was the first interested in seeing it since it went on the market. Renae was sure once they saw the state of the house, they’d tear it down and build new. She could only imagine what the place looked like now. Two decades was more than enough time for nature to devour it like a python with a guinea pig. What they were buying was an island, in fact, the only available island in all of Charleston County.
Do they know? She’d have to gauge their reaction when they got there. If they didn’t and she told, that would definitely sour the deal. But if they did know and they still wanted the place, what did that say about them?
Who cares, Renae? They’ll be on this little island, far away from you. All that matters is that the check clears.
She stole a glance in their direction. Tobe and Daphne Harper looked like they came from a big northern city, but she couldn’t place their accents. It was something between Boston and Cajun, a strangely melodic pairing of tongues that birthed a dialect all their own. When she’d asked where they were from, Daphne had said, “Here, there, everywhere,” with a highly affected, airy wave of a pale, delicate hand. Renae doubted the woman had ever scrubbed a dirty dish. Everything about them screamed money, just as her inner voice, the one that praised Maryanne Lange’s success in the office while hoping her commission check bounced, shouted, “Give that money right here! I have more kids than Maryanne and a husband on disability. Buy this albatross and I’ll get the first pick of every buyer that steps in the door for the next year!”
It was the middle of summer but the couple was as pale as Minnesotans in winter. Daphne Harper’s fiery red hair was swept into a tight bun. Her lipstick matched her hair. She wore a form fitting maroon jacket and a skirt that ended just above her knees. Her shoes looked like they cost more than Renae made in a month.
Tobe Harper’s ginger hair was sprinkled with gray, with deep-set eyes hidden under so much shade, she couldn’t fathom their color. Tall with broad shoulders, his pinstriped suit was, to her, too fine a thing to wear on an open little boat. Traipsing along the island would do a number on it. But he looked like he could afford the dry cleaning bill.
“Almost there,” Nelson said. Beads of moisture quivered atop his bald head. He’d been kind enough to interrupt his plans to watch the Braves and drink beer until the cooler was empty. Thank God she caught him in the first inning. Any later, and he wouldn’t have been in any shape to drive the boat.
“If you look to the left of the pine trees on the hill, you’ll just be able to make out the eastern side of the house,” Renae shouted over the boat’s motor.
Tobe and Daphne Harper tilted their heads in unison and nodded.
Their frugality with words made Renae nervous. She hated what she called dead space. Her compulsion to fill the dead space set her mouth in motion.
“Back in the 1800’s, Ormsby Island was one of South Carolina’s crown jewels. The island was owned by Maxwell Ormsby, a very wealthy man who liked to entertain everyone from heads of state to artists and authors and anyone who knew how to make money in business. An invitation to the island was a declaration that you were someone on the move. Once a year, Ormsby opened the island up to the public and hosted a huge fair. It was the social event of the year in these parts. My family still talks about the days when my great grandmother would take the family out to enjoy the festivities. It must have been some party.” She laughed uneasily, hoping for some kind of reaction. The Harper’s gazes remained locked on the island.
Nelson eased off the throttle, letting the boat quietly glide into the slip. He jumped out, tying the boat to the dock. He held his hand out to Renae to help her up.
“I’ll wait down here while you do your thing,” he whispered.
What was said between the lines was there’s no way in hell I’m taking one step more than I have to. You’re on your own from here. He assisted the straight-backed Harpers, wiping his hands on the front of his jeans when they looked away.