More Harry Hogan stories!
The fog horn blared in the distance as Silas Blogger trudged along the path toward the lighthouse. His steps were slow and his shoulders were hunched under the weight of a large backpack. He wished he had gone earlier, when the horn first sounded and the fog wasn’t too dense to see where he was going. The path was well-worn but it was creepy out here on a night like this. His flashlight only lit up a few feet in front of him… What was that?
He stopped, staring at the thick grey wall of dampness ahead. Nothing. The night was as silent as a tomb. Perhaps his old mind was playing tricks on him. He remained still for a few minutes… There it was again! He wasn’t seeing things after all. He had seen a flash of light. He took a quick step forward and almost lost his balance on a loose stone. That did it. He turned and began slowly retracing his steps. He would wait until daylight.
Safely back inside his little cottage, Silas dropped the backpack near the door, calling himself a fool for turning back. But it had been the sensible thing to do. He hadn’t realized how dense the fog was until he had gone beyond the streetlights. The last thing he needed was to stumble and fall, perhaps breaking a leg or hip in the process.
He hung up his jacket, fixed himself a cup of tea, and went to the bookcase in the living room. Then he settled down in his old recliner, with the footrest up and a rather large old binder, with a zippered cover, on his lap. Although he remembered most everything it contained, he wanted to refresh his memory on a few of the details.
When Silas woke the next morning, the sun was shining and he was still sitting in the recliner with the open binder on his lap. By the time he finished breakfast, he had a plan.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Harry Hogan was pouring a mug of coffee when the office door opened. He turned around. “Silas! What brings you here so early?”
“Pour me a cup of that java and I’ll tell ya.” Silas closed the door behind him, took the mug Hogan held out, and sat down.
Harry filled another mug for himself and sat down behind his desk. “Okay, what’s on your mind?”
“Have you ever heard of the Restless Spirit that appears out by the old lighthouse?”
Harry shook his head. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Well, legend says that a restless spirit of the deep comes to claim the souls of lost sailors under cover of the fog. Seeing the light is supposed to be an omen that another soul will soon be claimed. So, when there was dense fog, no one would go near the area for fear of being claimed by the spirit.”
“Do you believe that?” Harry asked with a grin.
