Sligger Island Read online

  SLIGGER ISLAND

  MICHAEL YOWELL

  www.severedpress.com

  Copyright © 2019, Michael Yowell

  Copyright © 2019, Severed Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher and author, except where permitted by law.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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  CHAPTER 1

  The trawler sputtered slowly through the night waters, its rolling wake dancing in the moonlight. Charles Winter, having recently retired, was now free to take his new cruiser, Charlie’s Angel, and go fishing whenever he wanted. The thought brought peace, reward, and contentment to his soul. Tonight he decided he would troll the ocean at night, far from shore and civilization, and perhaps stay the night on his forty-two-foot cruising trawler.

  Glancing forward to make sure no other vessel lights were in the ocean ahead, he locked the wheel and walked back to the transom. He sat in front of his fishing rod and reached into the cooler to grab a beer. Twisting the cap off, Charles checked his pole. His line was still taut, pulling bait deep off the stern. Grunting his approval, he leaned back to admire the moon above.

  Natalie would’ve loved this, he thought. She used to love the ocean at night. Full-moon nights were best, just like this night. Charles sighed; he missed his wife dearly. Five years had passed since cancer took her, but it still felt like yesterday to him.

  Something struck the line. The rod bent, just for a quick moment, and Charles noticed. He drew his eyes to the reel. Take it, he urged. His heart beat just a little faster as he prepared to catch something and bring it in.

  There was no further movement of the rod. After a minute, Charles frowned. Maybe the fish was no longer interested. Or maybe there was something else that hit the line. Did I skim rock on the ocean floor? Charles wondered. It was possible he was getting too close to the outer reefs.

  He stood up and walked to the gunwale. Peering out across the water, he could see Wrecker Island in the distance, just barely visible in the moonlight. Many ships had gone down in the reefs surrounding the island, some of the wrecks dating back to the nineteenth century. There was a reason nobody sailed near Wrecker Island.

  Charles was a little closer to the island than he liked. He had no desire to add his vessel to the list of its casualties. He started for the pilothouse so he could turn the wheel and alter his course.

  Just then the line went berserk. The reel spun furiously as something took the line and pulled it side to side.

  Charles hurried to the rod to start reeling in his catch. Whatever he had hooked was something huge; he did not want to give it a chance to get away while he was steering the boat. He pulled to make sure the hook was set, then began reeling in the line. His catch was amazingly strong, fighting back with as much power as a large shark. But Charles had spent many years deep sea fishing. He would not be bested tonight.

  For about a minute he battled his underwater quarry. He had reeled in enough line to know that the catch was almost to him. It was still resisting, but not as vigorously as earlier. Charles heaved to bring it up to the surface.

  Suddenly a dark, glistening, snake-like object lashed out from the water. It struck the taut fishing line and sliced right through it. Charles was bewildered.

  Was that a – tentacle?

  Charles frowned, trying to process what he thought he just saw. The only creatures living in this part of the ocean that had tentacles would be man o’ war, squid, or octopus. And none of their appendages were anything like what had just snapped the line. Charles became more concerned when he noticed the stench of sulfur in the air.

  Feeling uneasy about this, he slowly approached the transom and looked down. Nothing but the gentle swirls caused by his quiet motor.

  A splash was heard to his left. Charles whirled, looking to the trawler’s starboard side. He moved to the edge of the gunwale and cautiously looked over. Again he saw nothing. Just the bright light from the moon sparkling back at him on the waves.

  A shiny tentacle dashed out from the water and wrapped around his midsection. Charles was yanked violently over the gunwale and into the sea. Before his mind could comprehend what was happening, he was already drowning. The air had been squeezed out of him in an instant. As he began taking in water, he watched the moonlight above quickly fade away and disappear.

  Charlie’s Angel continued its blind course, slowly chugging toward Wrecker Island.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Do I really have to go?”

  Eaver Robinson rolled over to face her whining boyfriend. She scowled at his lack of ambition. “Mason Parker,” she commanded with her Southern drawl, “you get your butt out of bed and go be Sheriff.”

  Mason closed his eyes and groaned. “I don’t wanna have a job anymore,” he said. “Can’t I just stay home and write a book or something?”

  You could, thought Eaver. Your account of the sligger story would probably sell. But she knew Mason did not care much for writing, and that he would have a difficult time rehashing last year’s traumatic events in order to write a book. She also knew the town needed him to be their sheriff.

  After aiding in the eventual destruction of the sea creatures that had invaded the sleepy little town of Sweetboro, South Carolina, the townspeople looked to young Mason for support. Not just because the sheriff and his deputy had died during the ordeal, or because Mason had a criminal justice degree and had been deputized by the late Sheriff Steele. It was also because the residents of Sweetboro knew Mason cared enough about the town to risk his own safety to participate in the dangerous mission that finally killed the monsters.

  When Sully Vargas, the Sweetboro Mayor, had returned from his Mediterranean cruise to learn of the carnage in his town while he was away, he immediately looked to the only surviving member of the Sweetboro police force to fill in as sheriff. But that was old Lewis Simkins, and he had no interest in being the new sheriff. He was perfectly content manning the station at night, sipping coffee and watching DVDs while being near the phone. The mayor’s next choice was young Mason, since he was known by the town and had some training in the criminal justice field. Not to mention the actual experience of fighting the monstrous creatures that were killing the townspeople.

  Mason initially declined the post, thinking he was too young and inexperienced to be an effective sheriff. He did not feel confident enough in himself to take on that kind of responsibility. Mayor Vargas would not take no for an answer, however, and neither would the town. They knew what Mason had done to help save them, and they were convinced the young man would not let them down as sheriff. They urged him to take the position. And so did Eaver. Mason succumbed to the pressure and reluctantly agreed to be the sheriff of Sweetboro.

  It had been a crazy year.

  Ever since news of the creatures’ existence went public, the seaside town of Sweetboro had been the target of a media circus. First came the news reporters, then the state and federal investigators, the scientists, and finally the curious tourists. At first the town did not mind the influx of visitors. The motels, bed-and-breakfasts, restaurants, and shops got as much business as they could handle. It quickly became overwhelming, however, and the mayor was worrying that the town would not hold up to the constant incursion of strangers. Fortunately, public interest eventually died down and people
stopped coming in. With the exception of a few remaining scientists, the town’s occupancy was back to normal.

  Mason had been flown to a few major cities to make appearances on national talk shows. He was not keen on the idea, but the money the shows offered him was not something to pass up. And deep down, he enjoyed the spotlight just a little bit.

  In addition to dealing with all the outsiders, the town naturally had a significant amount of mourning to do. Sheriff Steele’s widow, Betty, had her hands full coping with the loss of her husband while trying to remain strong for their two sons, Jack and Mark. The neighbors were there for her, like any good Southern neighbors would be. Betty decided she and the boys would stay there, especially since the boys had supportive friends in school. That and Betty really had no other place to go.

  Hannah Dermont’s mother, however, did have a place to escape to. After enough physical evidence had been found to declare her missing daughter dead, Lena Dermont knew she could not stay in that house alone. She would go crazy with despair and loneliness. So she put the house up for sale, gave Hannah’s cat Cappy to Mason and Eaver, and moved out of state to live with her sister.

  Mason still resided in his childhood home. After finishing college last summer and coming home to Sweetboro, his mother Mabel died in her sleep. Mason inherited the house he grew up in. And now his girlfriend Eaver – with whom he had been friends since grade school – had moved in to live with him. They had lived together for almost six months now, and so far things were going great.

  Eaver still had aspirations to become a marine biologist, but remained in Sweetboro to continue working in her mother’s seaside restaurant, Sherrie’s Shack. Sherrie Robinson missed having Eaver at the house, but she was happy to see her and Mason doing well together. Sherrie loved Mason. She had since he was a toddler, when she had to help Mabel take care of him after a car accident took his father. And she liked that her daughter was now taking care of Mason.

  This morning was no exception, when Mason was feeling particularly unmotivated. “Move it,” said Eaver. “I’ll go get your coffee.”

  “Fine,” Mason grumbled. “I’m getting up.”

  “Attaboy.”

  While Mason showered, Eaver went down to the kitchen to make coffee and a quick breakfast. Mason dressed for the day, ran a brush through his short, wavy, red hair, and proceeded downstairs to join her. She loaded a plate full of scrambled eggs for him, with just a little melted cheese mixed in, and gave him a soft kiss. Mason ate, poured some coffee to go, thanked Eaver for the breakfast, and grabbed his keys. With a goodbye kiss to his girlfriend, he ambled outside to the porch and down the front steps. It was time to go to work.

  He was not sure why he dreaded going in every day. He was pretty capable, after all, despite being only twenty-three years old. Maybe he still had subconscious fears that he was not ready for the position he had been appointed to.

  It wasn’t too bad being sheriff, Mason had to admit. The town pretty much took care of itself. Once in a while he was called in to resolve a yard dispute, address a noise complaint, investigate a traffic accident, or threaten to jail aggressive bar patrons that were getting out of hand. He also got called a few times for animal control. Once the mayor’s wife had a raccoon get into the house. Mason had no idea what he was doing, but he somehow chased the critter outside to the relief of Mrs. Vargas.

  And Mason was not alone. In addition to Lewis covering the station overnight, Mayor Vargas had brought in a couple of new recruits from the capital city of Columbia. Having the two new fellows, Demarcus Johnson and Doug Henner, really helped Mason out. He could send them out to deal with the majority of the calls.

  Mason arrived at the police station, parking on the street in front of the small, one-story building. He brought his coffee inside and found Deputy Johnson at the desk. He greeted Demarcus with a raise of the coffee tumbler.

  “Mornin’, Sheriff,” the deputy acknowledged.

  “How’s everything today?” asked Mason.

  “So far, so good. Nice and peaceful, as usual; one of the reasons I’m glad I took this job and got out of Columbia.”

  Mason nodded, knowing the laid-back, gentle style of Sweetboro was nothing like that of the big cities. “Yes, nice and peaceful here. For the most part.”

  That statement held true throughout the morning, with not a single call coming into the station. Mason sent Demarcus out to patrol the roads in and around town. When the deputy returned with nothing to report but a downed tree branch in the road, Mason decided to take a drive down Main Street to see who was out and about before going to Sherrie’s Shack for lunch.

  He sat in his police cruiser, started the engine, and buckled up. Adjusting his sunglasses, he pulled into the street and slowly drove around. Seeing the Young Grocers store on the left, Mason elected to go inside and check in with his friend Danny.

  Danny Young was the sole heir to the grocery store. His father Ricky had owned the store for fifteen years until he and Hannah were killed by the sliggers last year. Danny dropped out of the community college he was attending, choosing to take the reins as a business owner. It was a decision he did not regret. Now that he had his father’s house, truck, and store for his own, life was finally good for him.

  Mason stepped inside the store and spotted Danny right away. The curly-haired blond was stacking bags of chips atop a display table. The young store owner noticed his old schoolmate and turned to meet him. “What’s up, Sheriff Mason?”

  “Hey, Danny,” Mason smiled. “How’s everything going?”

  “Can’t complain, you know. Lots to keep track of running a grocery store, but all in all it’s pretty fun.”

  “That’s great. I’m still sorry about your dad, but it’s good to see you taking over and carrying on.”

  “Yeah,” said Danny. He took a step closer to Mason and lowered his voice. “Is it bad that I don’t miss him? I mean really?”

  Mason winced. He knew Ricky had been mentally and physically abusive to Danny over the years, and he could understand what his friend was feeling. “You know, I don’t think so. I know it sounds bad, but he was not a good man. I’m not sure anyone really misses him.”

  “Thanks, that makes me feel better. There are times when I feel guilty for not missing him. I just need to keep reminding myself of how poorly he treated me growing up.”

  “No argument here.” Mason chuckled. “It’s funny that he would never give you a job here, and now it’s your store.”

  Danny leaned even closer, a sly look on his face that could not hide his giddiness. “Hey, whatcha doin’ this weekend?”

  “Nothin’ planned,” Mason replied. “Why, whatcha got goin’ on?”

  “Well,” said Danny, “I’m going to take the boat out to Wrecker Island with a couple guys who have some heavy firepower. We’re gonna shoot some targets and stuff. But with guns that would get us arrested here.”

  “Okay…”

  “You interested?”

  Mason raised an eyebrow; he was. “Actually, yeah. That sounds kinda cool. But do you really think it’s wise to try to take a boat to Wrecker Island?”

  Danny shrugged. “I’ve done it before. There’s a nice beach on the north side, just left of the tallest rock formations. And if you go during high tide, it’s pretty easy to avoid the reefs.”

  Mason was convinced. “Works for me.”

  “Bring Eaver too, if she wants to come.”

  “I’ll run it by her,” Mason nodded. Just then his phone rang. “Excuse me, buddy,” he said while reaching for the phone and answering it. “Sheriff Parker here.”

  “Hey sheriff.” It was the voice of Deputy Johnson. “Just wanted to let you know we got a call in to keep our eyes and ears peeled for a boat that’s gone missing.”

  “Whose is it?”

  “No one you would know, I don’t think. Some guy from out of town named Charles Winter.”

  Mason rubbed his brow. “I remember Mr. Winter; he lived here when I was a ki
d. Moved down south to Leemington, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Yeah. His buddies say he was taking his cruiser, Charlie’s Angel, up our way about five nights ago. Obviously he never made it back.”

  “So what do we do?” asked Mason. “Go out looking for it or let the Coast Guard worry about it?”

  “Coast Guard,” the deputy confirmed. “They’ve already been out flying over the water looking. Just wanted to give you a heads up, in case you happen to hear anything about someone spotting a disabled vessel out there.”

  “Ten-four,” said Mason. “Thanks for letting me know, Demarcus.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Denise Baddington closed her notebook and dropped it on the table. These bizarre creatures had baffled her ever since she traveled up from Florida to investigate the phenomenon the local authorities had called ‘sliggers’. The mysterious beasts vexed her more and more each day.

  A marine biologist, Denise had worked the past fifteen years at Clearwater Marine Aquarium. Before that, she had graduated magna cum laude from Eckerd College in St. Petersburg. Still an employee of the Florida aquarium, she was contracted to the U.S. Department of the Interior. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Services had purchased Lena Dermont’s house as soon as it was on the market. Denise was grateful to take temporary residence in the house when the government placed her there; it was much nicer than the two-star motels she thought she would be stuck in.

  Some of the creatures’ remains were there at the house for her to study. But the main specimens were kept at Sweetboro Medical Center, the local hospital. Denise wished everything was at the house with her, but she realized the specimens needed to be in a much more sanitary environment with better equipment and tight security. So she commuted to the hospital daily to continue studying them.