Good evening, it’s Spooky Boo Rhodes from Sandcastle, California. Tonight I have for you a story about monsters and ghosts. The perfect story for Halloween! Join me on YouTube on Saturday Nights for Splatterday Nightmares where I tell the horror stories of Sandcastle and chat with friends. Sandcastle is my little multiverse of the macbre that I tell on my podcast. Just visit www.splatterdaynightmares.com and be sure to subscribe. You can also buy one of my books at amazon where many of these stories are featured. Visit www.scarystorytime.com/amazon to visit my growing list of books, collections, anthologies, and short stories.
Now let’s begin…
Life’s an Ocean
by DariusMcCorkindale
It was a sun-drenched day at the picturesque Palm Beach Jetty, a few miles down the coast from the city of Perth, and a group of about a dozen people congregated near the entrance. Their eager faces turned toward the tour guide, a nerdy young man sporting a Palm Beach Paranormal Tour’ T-shirt and a baseball cap. The guide held a dramatic pause before addressing his audience.
“G’day folks. Right, is everyone here?” he asked, surveying the assembled crowd. Satisfied, despite the lack of response, he continued, “This stop on our Perth tour is one of the most recent reported supernatural events. I present to you… The Phantom of Palm Beach Jetty.”
Lifes an Ocean THUMB
The guide motioned for the group to follow him as he beckoned them toward the jetty’s wooden boardwalk. They eagerly complied, excited to delve into the supernatural stories of this coastal town. As they reached the end of the jetty, they noticed several fishermen engaged in their pursuit of herring, skippy, whiting, whine and flathead, their fishing lines dangling over the side. The guide instructed the group to huddle together, ensuring everyone could hear the tales he was about to recount.
“Over the last few years,” the guide began, “within the realm of this very jetty, an unsettling tapestry has unfolded, a tapestry woven with threads of profound tragedy and enigma.” This guide knew exactly how to play to his audience. “Here, a disconcerting pattern has emerged, where competent swimmers, even amidst the serenity of days like today, have been seized and claimed by the relentless sea in numbers that defy reason and explanation.”
With this, he gestured over toward one of the fishermen, eliciting a few curious glances. “Local fishermen would have you believe it’s the work of a sea witch,” he added with an astute smile, lowering his tone ever so slightly so that the group had to huddle closer to hear him, “but most believe something entirely different. For these bizarre drownings didn’t start occurring until after the tragic suicide of young Louisa Dean.”
The guide pointed toward a beachfront hotel in the distance. “It’s said that during her stay at the Coastal Escape a few years ago, Mrs. Dean snuck out of the hotel in the dead of night, leaving a suicide note beside her sleeping husband. It’s believed she then came to the end of this jetty and jumped to her death.”
He turned to the shore beside the jetty, emphasizing the eerie atmosphere. “Her body was discovered the next morning, washed up on the shore beneath the jetty. No one really knows why she did it or where she actually jumped from, but there’s every chance it was from this very spot.”
The guide ramped up the theatrics, pointing to the wooden boards at his feet, sending a shiver down the spines of his captivated audience. “Nowadays, people tend not to swim too close during the day, and they sure as hell stay well away after the sun goes down. For that is when many have claimed to have seen the figure of Louisa Dean, wandering in the shallows beneath the jetty.”
As the guide wrapped up his spine-tingling story, most of the group looked down at the decking, lost in their thoughts, their imagination no doubt running amok. Then, with impeccable timing, the guide suddenly stomped his foot, causing some in the group to jump with fright before breaking into nervous laughter.
Grinning to himself, the guide spoke once more, “Right! Next stop on our tour… Mosman Mansion. In 1939, the Parer family erected this magnificent mansion that truly graced the neighborhood. Tragically, after the passing of the parents in 2001, their son chose to abandon the estate. What was once one of the most opulent residences in the area soon transformed into a notorious hub for eerie, supernatural encounters. Okay, everybody, back to the bus.” He led the group back along the boardwalk, the anticipation of more ghostly tales in the air.
Yet, one among the group, Cameron, a middle-aged man, sporting a rugged appearance with his disheveled beard, chose to remain behind. He leaned over the jetty’s edge, his gaze plunging into the depths of the ocean below, his thoughts wandering in the abyss of contemplation. Finally, Cameron withdrew from the jetty, embarking on a solemn journey towards the Coastal Escape Hotel. The doorman extended a welcoming hand, ushering him through its grand entrance, and Cameron found himself at the reception desk, where a young and attractive hostess, elegantly attired in a crisply pressed uniform, greeted him with a radiant smile.
“Good afternoon, Sir. How can I be of help?” she asked, glancing at Cameron.
“I’d like a room for the night,” Cameron replied, handing her a credit card.
“Alright, and will that just be you staying with us, Sir?” she inquired.
Cameron nodded, deep in his own thoughts. The hotel’s lobby hummed with the soft murmur of conversations and the occasional clinking of glasses. Guests shuffled in and out, heading to various destinations or settling into their luxurious rooms. At the front desk, the receptionist, an assiduous woman, diligently typed away at her computer, managing reservations and inquiries.
Cameron remained at the front desk; his gaze now fixed on the receptionist. “Is room seventeen available by any chance?” he inquired, his voice low and somber.
The receptionist looked up, offering a polite smile as she navigated her computer system. “I will just check that for you now. Bear with me for just one second,” she replied, her fingers dancing across the keyboard.
A moment passed, suspense hanging in the air as she reviewed the room’s availability. “Yes, it is,” she confirmed, her eyes returning to Cameron. “Would you like that room for your stay?” she asked, her voice warm and reassuring.
Deep in thought, Cameron hesitated, his eyes distant as if lost in the recesses of his memories.
“Sir?” the receptionist prompted gently, trying to bring him back to the present.
Cameron blinked, returning to the here and now. “Yes. Please,” he finally replied, his voice carrying a heavy burden of emotions.
The receptionist busied herself with the computer once more, finalizing the arrangements for Cameron. After a few clicks and keystrokes, she handed him a key card.
“All right, that’s all done for you now, Sir,” she informed him, her eyes expressing a kind understanding. “Check-out is at eleven A.M. Enjoy your stay, Mr. Dean.”
Cameron nodded his thanks and walked away from the front desk, holding his key card tightly in his hand. As he made his way to his room, a series of emotions swirled within him.
Cameron reached the suite, his heart pounding with anticipation. As he pushed open the door, time seemed to stand still, and he paused dramatically in the doorway. Before him lay a vast, opulent sanctuary, a realm of grandeur and luxury. His eyes traversed the room’s expanse, absorbing every detail – the imposing television, the majestic king-sized bed, all promising a haven for both respite and deep contemplation. As he ventured further into the room, his gaze wandered through the elegant surroundings, each corner pulsating with the weight of memories, a mosaic of both excruciating and exquisite moments. With a poignant sigh, he pressed forward, his steps resonating like a profound crescendo, leading him to the bathroom. Inside, the modern fixtures and the capacious bathtub beckoned, a testament to indulgence and self-revelation. With a flick of the switch, he cast a brief, illuminating gaze over the lavish amenities before plunging the room into darkness, departing with a sense of gravity that hung in the air.
Stepping onto the balcony, Cameron slid the glass door open and stepped outside. The stunning beachfront view stretched before him, the serene waves lapping against the shore of the Indian Ocean. His eyes traveled along the beach, settling on the distant jetty. Leaning against the balcony’s railing, he gazed down at the drop below, his thoughts a tumultuous sea of emotions.
Returning to the suite, Cameron found himself seated on the edge of the bed, the early afternoon sun casting a warm glow. He glanced at the clock, confirming the time, and then lay back, resting his head on the soft pillow. Rolling onto his side, he stared at the empty space beside him, the weight of memories and unspoken words filling the room.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a dusky glow over the beach, Cameron walked along the shore toward the weathered jetty. With every step, he collected small pieces of driftwood, worn smooth by the relentless embrace of the ocean. Underneath the jetty’s towering pillars, the tranquil sea whispered secrets, and Cameron carefully deposited the driftwood he’d gathered onto the sandy shore. Sitting in solitude, he stared out at the water, lost in thought.
The world finally succumbed to nightfall, cloaking everything in a shroud of obsidian. In the heart of this inky abyss, a tiny fire flickered to life as Cameron reverently added another piece of driftwood. Cradled in the palm of his hand, a photograph, its edges marked by the ceaseless march of time, bore the weight of cherished memories. His gaze, an unwavering beacon of devotion, remained locked onto the image, an indelible fragment of his past. Suddenly, an eerie gust of wind swept in from the tranquil sea, its mournful whisper resonating with the essence of a woman. A shiver coursed through Cameron’s being as he tore his attention from the photograph to confront the encroaching darkness. There, amidst the chilling void, a hunched figure emerged, propped against a solitary pillar in the shallow waters. With measured resolve, Cameron seized a blazing piece of driftwood, its fiery luminescence unearthing a haunting tableau. Before him stood a specter, an unclothed woman with her back turned, her ethereal form veiled in strands of sodden sea grass, intertwined with her dripping, ebony hair.
“Louisa?” Cameron’s voice quivered as he spoke her name. He took a hesitant step closer. “Louisa, it’s me, Cameron. Your husband.”
The figure remained unresponsive; her gaze fixated on the distant sea.
“I can’t believe it’s really you,” Cameron continued, his voice filled with longing. “There’s so much I want to say.”
She started to walk deeper into the sea, her silhouette fading into the obscurity beneath the jetty.
“Louisa, wait,” Cameron implored, his voice tinged with desperation.
He followed her, wading into the water, the burning driftwood held aloft. However, he lost sight of her in the inky darkness. Treading water, he shone the flickering light all around, spotting her as she clung to a distant pillar.
“Louisa, please don’t go,” he pleaded, tears glistening in his eyes. “I don’t know how this is possible, but I need you to know how much I love you, how much I miss you every day, and how sorry I am for what I did.”
His voice cracked as remorse filled his words.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Cameron confessed, breaking down. “It was an accident. It’s just that you could make me so mad sometimes. By the time I realized what I was doing, it was too late.”
Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the seawater.
“I’m sorry for pushing you overboard. I tried to find you; I really did. By the time I reached you, it was too late. And then making it look like you’d killed yourself… Well, I panicked. You deserved so much better than that. I’ve wanted to confess so many times, but I just never could.”
Reaching out to her, he touched her shoulder, and she startled, scrambling around to the other side of the pillar.
“No, wait,” he urged, trying to follow her, but she had vanished.
“Louisa!” he cried out, his voice desperate. He frantically searched, the wavering firelight revealing the turmoil on his face.
“I’m sorry, Louisa! Forgive me! Please, forgive me!” he pleaded, his voice breaking.
The enigmatic figure suddenly reappeared, her eyes just above the waterline, glaring at him. Cameron gasped, meeting her gaze. But as realisation dawned upon him, his face fell.
“You’re not my wife.”
And with that the figure seized him, dragging him beneath the water’s surface. The burning driftwood extinguished with a sizzle, then a cluster of air bubbles rose to the surface, before vanishing into the night. Cameron and the mysterious figure were gone.
As the flickering flames of the dwindling fire cast eerie shadows, a photograph lay abandoned in the gritty embrace of the shore. It was a cherished relic, capturing Cameron and his beloved wife on the day they pledged their love, a snapshot of an era filled with boundless joy. In the unfathomable abyss of the water, a shadowy figure lingered, shrouded in enigmatic obscurity, a haunting apparition in the haunting night. With relentless determination, the relentless surf ebbed and flowed, beckoning the photograph back to its watery realm, where the memories of Cameron and Louisa remained eternally intertwined, submerged in the profound depths of the boundless ocean.
