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    The Lighthouse at Montauk Point and Other Stories
    The Lighthouse at Montauk Point and Other Stories
    The Lighthouse at Montauk Point and Other Stories
    Ebook87 pages2 hours

    The Lighthouse at Montauk Point and Other Stories

    By R. David Fulcher

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    About this ebook

    The stories in this collection were written over several decades, and changes in the author's life had a profound impact on the voices and themes utilized in the tales. In these pages lie noble truths, profound awakenings, and in some cases, very unpleasant endings for some very wicked people. The variety of characters will keep the reader guessing as to what's next - the reader will encounter vampires, fighter pilots, greed-stricken murderers, and everyday people while reading this book. In the end, it is simply a collection of narratives for your enjoyment and entertainment.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAuthorHouse
    Release dateMar 25, 2011
    ISBN9781456727055
    The Lighthouse at Montauk Point and Other Stories
    Author

    R. David Fulcher

    R. David Fulcher is an author of horror, science fiction, fantasy and poetry. His first novel, a historical drama set in World War II entitled Trains to Nowhere, and his second and third books, a collection of fantasy and science fiction short stories called Blood Spiders and Dark Moon and another collection of fantasy and science fiction short stories entitled The Cemetery of Hearts, are all available from www.authorhouse.com and www.amazon.com. His work has appeared in numerous small press publications including Lovecraft’s Mystery Magazine, Black Satellite, The Martian Wave, Burning Sky, Shadowlands, Twilight Showcase, Heliocentric Net, Gateways, Weird Times, Freaky Frights and the anthology Silken Ropes. His passion for the written word has also inspired him to edit and publish the literary magazine Samsara, located online at www.samsaramagazine.net, which has showcased the work of writers and poets for over a decade. R. David Fulcher resides in Ashburn, Virginia with his wife Lisa, a native of Stony Brook, Long Island, and their six rescued cats Mitzi Lucifer, Whistler, Whisper, Inky, Shyloe, and Rocky Valentine.

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      Book preview

      The Lighthouse at Montauk Point and Other Stories - R. David Fulcher

      Contents

      The Lighthouse at Montauk Point

      Drawing the Ace

      The Wings of Enlightenment

      Retribution

      The Faerie Lights

      Porch Talk

      An Unlikely Hero

      The Shamblers

      The Bogeyman

      Gold Fever

      The Truth about Dr. Mansfield

      The Walker

      Author’s Introduction

      to The Lighthouse at Montauk Point and Other Stories

      The stories in this volume represent several decades of my work. Only recently have I been reunited with some of them after tedious searches through old boxes and files. The Truth about Dr. Mansfield and Retribution were originally penned during my college years. Others, like The Lighthouse at Montauk Point and The Faerie Lights, represent my most recent efforts at the craft of short-story writing.

      I embraced a variety of genres to create this collection of tales. Some of the narratives cannot be easily pigeonholed into any single category. Mainstream yarns reside comfortably beside fantasy tales; horror nestles neatly next to science fiction. You’ll find these adventures as different from one another as imaginable. From rural America to the skies over Germany, these stories aim to broaden the mind.

      Most importantly, I guarantee reading enjoyment will be found within the following pages.

      -RDF, Ashburn, VA

      July 2010

      The Lighthouse at Montauk Point 

      Eduardo Suarez knew that the policía were behind him. He had neither seen flashing lights nor heard a police siren, but still he intuitively knew he was being pursued, as surely as he could feel the cool raindrops dot his skin through the partially-open car window.

      It was a rainy summer evening on Long Island, New York, and although Eduardo didn’t know it, he was heading directly east across Long Island towards the Hamptons. He didn’t really care where he was going, as long as it was away, far away where they would not look for him.

      Angry words came to him: puta and hua. Filthy names for the pretty gringo bitch who had resisted his advances during the wedding reception. She had teased him, tempted him with her flesh like girls always had, until his skin was hot and his temper hotter.

      So Eduardo had simply tried to take what she had denied him. And he had hurt her. Not killed her, he was sure of that, but hurt her enough that he would go to prison. There was no place in America for an immigrant who assaulted white women. If a Mexican girl was beaten, America could look the other way, but not if it happened to one of their own. And if he was wrong, if the girl was actually dead, Eduardo would fry for it.

      A blaring horn shook Eduardo out of his dark thoughts and he slung his Celica back into the right lane just in time to avoid an SUV coming from the other direction. He was now fully awake and the road once again had his attention. It was easy to get drowsy out here, here where the two-lane road was surrounded on both sides by trees and there were no streetlights to be found.

      He saw some lights up ahead, and soon he was cruising through a small town lined with boutiques and small restaurants. At this late hour everything was closed, but for the first time in over an hour of driving he found himself in light traffic, and he hunkered down low in his seat to avoid being recognized. At the end of the boulevard there was a quaint old-fashioned windmill, and Eduardo marveled once again at the wealth of this strange country, this country where they could build windmills for decoration while people starved on its streets.

      The road opened up after the windmill and he found himself again struggling to stay awake and focused. He could now smell the ocean, and castle-like homes dotted the coast behind privacy lanes and gates. Occasional patches of sea grass sprouted up here and there, and sometimes the ground swelled up into sand dunes. The dunes reminded Eduardo of rolling waves frozen in place, and he let himself imagine that he was not an immigrant, but a wealthy gringo reclining in his favorite easy chair, enjoying a drink and fine cigar from one of those seaside mansions as he listened to the soft susurration of the surf.

      But a little voice inside of Eduardo resisted such images, reminded him that his heart was evil, that he did not deserve wealth and the finer things in life because he had taken the life of innocent Maria so many years ago in the arroyo behind the schoolyard, Maria who had also teased him with her flesh by lifting the hem of her skirt and laughing at his clumsy advances.

      A lonely stoplight appeared in front of him, silently flashing red in the breeze and the rain, and he couldn’t help but think of the policía behind him, or the red of Maria’s blood where he had struck her with a rock and left her bleeding in the dust so many years ago.

      On he drove across the island, wrestling with his thoughts and memories, and then sometime after midnight he saw the light. At first he thought it was a trick of the landscape, for the road had begun to rise and fall over the last several miles, revealing breathtaking views of the ocean. It was like lightning, but far too consistent—a blinding flash in the sky and then utter darkness. Getting closer, Eduardo could see that it was a lighthouse.

      In a few minutes the road ended, and in front of him was only the sea. The lighthouse marked the end of the island, and it was here that Eduardo would have to make his final stand or double back the way that he had come.

      But fate was with Eduardo, for a fence surrounded the lighthouse and its supporting buildings, and some construction equipment sat idle in the gravel parking lot beside it like reclining dinosaurs. Although he could not read the sign on the gate, he knew that the lighthouse was under construction. Perhaps he could hide here, maybe for days or even weeks—whatever it took. He had nothing to return to, and could patiently wait for a time when it would be safe to hitchhike back to one of the small towns he had driven through. He could even take a job in a restaurant. Nobody looked twice at a Mexican working in a kitchen in America.

      There was a problem—the car. The fence was padlocked, and without bolt cutters Eduardo could not move his car into the parking lot. Besides, such a blatant act of forced entry would result in unwanted

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