Penter Painter's Holiday Haunts: Last Job of the Season

Young Rob McHenry gets more than he bargained for when he's sent to take down the holiday decorations at the old lighthouse-keeper's cottage.

This short story is part of the Penter Painter’s Holiday Haunts anthology initiated by Cole Noble. Apologies to American readers for any mistakes in the New England setting!

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Photo by Abel Y Costa on Unsplash

The January sun was low behind him as Rob McHenry drove past the ancient harbour where the town of Arnold’s Landing kissed the Atlantic. The clock on the dashboard flashed 04:25. Rob knew the clock was half an hour too fast, but still, it was later than he had wanted to be here, and he muttered a curse under his breath. If old man Penter hadn’t been so fussy at the last job, he could have been here an hour earlier. It would be a scramble now to take the lights at this place down before dark. And he had to get home and changed in time to pick Darcey up at seven.

Still, it wasn’t a bad job for winter break, he told himself as he turned onto the narrow side road leading to the lighthouse. What he had earned would help with tuition this semester. The only real downside had been working with that loser Dave Craddock most of the winter. Note to self: don’t end up back in Arnold’s Landing living with Grandma Ellen after I graduate. Nope, Robert Melville McHenry’s got bigger fish to fry! His latest favourite song came on the radio. Rob turned the volume up loud and opened the windows, letting the music haemorrhage into the quiet of the sea crunching on shore. A solitary fisherman turned his head and scowled as Rob passed.

The radio stuttered and crackled into tortured static just as Rob pulled in by the lighthouse-keeper’s cottage. “What the—” he said out loud, stabbing the buttons on the dash. When there was no response, he shrugged and allowed the sound to die as he cut the engine. Radio black spots weren’t all that uncommon around Arnold’s Landing. He checked his phone. Just one bar of signal, but that was OK. There was a saucy text from Darcey. He grinned and sent a quick reply before hopping out of the van.

The cottage looked quiet, but Chuck had told him what to expect. Old Miss King had lived there for decades, buying the house from the Coast Guard authority when the lighthouse was automated and keepers were no longer needed. She had no family that anyone knew of, and she’d hired Penter’s to arrange her Christmas tree and a few simple decorations since it had become difficult to do it herself. It was the same every year: medium-sized spruce tree in the big front window facing the ocean, lights around the front door and windows, all her own ornaments. The lights were all switched on now, though it wasn’t quite dark yet. “Taking it all down, easy one-man job,” Chuck had said. “And she’ll probably give you a nice tip, so stop pouting and get on with it.” Rob’s face tightened as he remembered Chuck’s tone. He wished they’d stop treating him like a kid.

He knocked at the door, after looking in vain for a doorbell. He heard the echo of his knock fade into silence. Behind him, the waves murmured against the sea defences, and a gull cried a lonely complaint somewhere. The wind off the sea was cold, and Rob shivered. He knocked again. No answer. Maybe the old lady was napping. Grandma Ellen did that sometimes.

Rob pulled out his phone to call Chuck and ask what he should do. No signal. He turned to knock again, when a gust of wind caught the old wooden door and somehow slipped it off the latch. It wasn’t locked. Rob pushed at it tentatively, and it swung open, creaking. He checked his phone again. Still no signal. He shrugged and stepped across the threshold. He didn’t want to have to come down here again tomorrow, and it wouldn’t hurt the old lady for him to take the stuff down while she was asleep. Maybe she’d left the door unlocked on purpose.

The hallway felt warm after standing in the wind. The door slammed shut behind him, and Rob started. She ought to fix that latch, he thought. There was an oddly sweet smell in the house. Pot-pourri, he thought. Old people’s smell. He wrinkled his nose and looked for the door to the sitting room. There was a long series of photographs lining the hallway, some black-and-white and some colour, but he gave them only a passing glance. Old dead people didn’t interest him.

The tree was looking remarkably fresh, Rob thought as he approached it in the bay window where it stood. He decided to start with the big star on the top, and looked around for the electrical socket.

“Oh, must you take it down so soon?”

Rob jumped, and banged his head on a low bookshelf as he straightened up from where he had been about to unplug the lights. He stifled a curse as he massaged the crown of his head, thinking of his tip while simultaneously wondering who the hell the voice belonged to. It certainly wasn’t an old lady.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” She sounded amused. Rob turned round and saw a young woman, around his own age, dressed in what, 70s style? — ready for a night out. Maybe a retro-themed party, thought Rob. He also noticed she was stunningly beautiful.

“No problem,” he said, a practiced smile sliding across his face. He held out his hand. “Rob McHenry. From Penter Painters and Holiday Decorating. But normally I’m at school in Boston. Pre-med.”

She didn’t take his hand, and after an awkward second he dropped it. He wondered who she was. Couldn’t be from Arnold’s Landing, or he’d probably have met her in elementary school. And hadn’t Chuck said the old lady had no family?

“I’m Stella,” she said. She was looking at him with rather an odd expression. Rob straightened involuntarily, and ran a hand over his white-blond hair. He had that effect on girls sometimes. He wondered how long she was in town.

“So where you from?” he asked.

“What did you say your name was?” she asked, ignoring his question.

“Rob McHenry. Or, if you want the full works, Robert Melville McHenry, Jr.” He gave a mock bow.

Stella’s face seemed to turn a little pale at that, though Rob didn’t notice. She changed the subject.

“Must you take the decorations down so soon?” she asked again.

Rob wasn’t sure what to say. “I mean— it’s the 7th of January already. This is when Miss King booked us in to take them down.” He looked Stella up and down again. “Is Miss King around, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Stella looked around the room and then at her own hand, turning it back and forth. The diamond of an engagement ring glinted in the light of the Christmas decorations. She seemed not to have heard him. Or maybe that was her way of letting him know she wasn’t available?

“Miss King… I can speak for Miss King,” she said eventually. “She’d like to leave the tree up a little longer.”

“Whatever,” said Rob. “Maybe she can call our office and we — I — can come back next week then? How long are you planning to stay in Arnold’s Landing?”

“Oh, I’ll be here for a while.” Stella looked up at him and smiled. She stepped closer, and Rob smelled something faintly floral. Like Grandma Ellen’s violets. She held out one hand. “Would you like to dance?”

As he took Stella’s hand, Rob noticed that it was already much darker outside. He couldn’t say how or when the music started, but there was music coming from the old radio in the corner of the room. He thought he recognised the Carpenters, but then it blurred into something unknown. He barely registered that the plug for the radio was lying inert by the skirting board. The music stirred him like nothing ever had before. Stella was incredibly light on her feet, and somehow gave his own feet an elegance he didn’t know they had. He lost all sense of time and space.

“Come back next week,” she whispered, kissing his cheek at the threshold. Her kiss felt strangely cold. Rob nodded silently. There was a low sickle-shaped moon hanging over the harbour now, and the lighthouse was beating its strokes of warning across the water. When he started the engine of the van, the radio gave a blast of twisted static and he fumbled to turn it off. The clock read 00:25, and there were a dozen missed calls and texts on his phone.

******

“You’re going down to the lighthouse again?” Grandma Ellen asked sharply, taking an apple pie out of the oven.

“Yeah,” said Rob, shoving a last forkful of potato into his mouth. “Old lady wanted me to go back this week, leave the lights a little longer. Last job of the season, I guess.”

“Why can’t someone else go?” asked Darcey, reaching for his hand across the table. “You’re leaving for Boston on Friday. And it’s raining.”

“I know, babe. But like I said, the old lady wanted me. And I’m hoping for a nice tip, know what I mean?”

Grandma Ellen placed the steaming hot pie on the table and stabbed into it with unusual vim. “Darcey’s right,” she said. “Ask Chuck to send someone else.” She carved out a slice of pie and handed it to Darcey, her eyes flickering over the curves of the younger woman’s body. Rob followed his grandmother’s gaze. Was Darcey putting on weight?

“I’ll only be an hour or so,” he said, reaching across for his plate of pie. “Then I’ll take you out for dinner, babe.”

“Take me with you,” said Darcey. “I haven’t been down there in ages.”

“Come on,” Rob laughed uncomfortably. “It’s raining, like you said. And there’s nothing to do there.”

“So much nothing that you freaked us all out last week by disappearing for an entire evening?” Darcey’s eyes narrowed as she looked at him.

“Robert,” said his grandmother. He looked up, startled. She almost never called him Robert. “Robert, don’t tell Miss King who your family is.”

Rob paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “Why?”

“Doesn’t matter why. Just don’t tell her. There’s some history with me and her, is all.”

“OK,” he said. He finished his pie in another two bites, took a gulp of water from his glass and stood up. “I won’t be long,” he repeated. “Darcey, I’ll pick you up around 5:30, OK?”

Darcey stood up and chased after him as he headed for the door and started lacing up his boots. “Rob, wait!”

“What?”

Darcey looked round to see if Grandma Ellen was in earshot. The sound of clinking crockery came from the kitchen.

“Rob, there’s something I’ve got to tell you.”

“Tonight, OK babe?” He opened the door, kissed her then shut it before she could protest.

All the way down to the harbour, he kept checking his rearview mirror in case Darcey was following him. The last thing he wanted was someone going with him to the lighthouse-keeper’s cottage. Especially not Darcey.

******

Stella was waiting for him. She was wearing the same outfit, but somehow it seemed brighter today, more vibrant. The Christmas tree was still up and the lights on. It was earlier in the day than it had been on his previous visit, but the sodden grey rainclouds and the fog curling in off the ocean made it feel darker.

“Come in, Robert Melville McHenry. Junior.”

Stella was looking at him with the same strange expression she’d had last time. Kind of sad and hungry-looking, he thought. He leaned in to kiss her as he stepped over the threshold, but she pulled away and led him into the sitting room.

“Can we leave them a little longer?” she asked, as he looked again at the Christmas tree. It was as fresh as ever.

“If it means I can come back, then sure,” he replied with a mischievous smile.

“Then let’s dance.”

Again the music played, and the room spun, and time faded until it was just him and Stella.

“Come back,” she whispered at midnight, when the room stopped spinning. “Come back to me, Bobby.”

He was too dazed to protest at Bobby. He kissed her cold lips, though the coldness no longer bothered him, and staggered out to his car.

******

The next week, when he drove back from Boston without telling Grandma Ellen or Darcey, she was waiting at the door again. As she led him to the sitting room, one of the photographs in the hallway caught his eye.

“Hey! he said suddenly. “Stella, look at this. “Who is this?”

It was a studio portrait of a young couple. The woman looked remarkably like Stella. Same dark hair and dark eyes. And the man... Rob felt a shiver trickle down his back. Hair so blond it looked white in the photograph. Same nose, same jaw. He could have been looking at his own face, other than the old-fashioned hairstyle.

“Don’t you know?” she asked. She smiled a peculiar smile. “Miss King’s engagement photo.”

“Who’s the man?”

“Come, come,” she said. “Don’t toy with me, Bobby, after all these years.”

In the sitting room, the music started, and they danced.

******

“How is the tree still fresh?” he asked the next week. There was a storm blowing outside, spattering salt against the windows. They were holding hands, looking out at the waves. “And why don’t you want it taken down?” He had forgotten all about Miss King.

“Oh, Bobby, don’t you know? It’s there to lead you home. I lost you, but I knew you’d come home some day, if I kept the lights on.”

The music started, and they danced.

“Can I stay the night?” he asked at the end, looking out at the storm. The beams of the lighthouse were flashing through gusts of spray.

“Oh, no, Bobby. Not yet. You know we can’t, until we’re married.”

******

“You look thin. Are you eating enough? Are you sleeping?” Grandma Ellen set a bowl of steaming hot soup in front of him.

“I — yeah, I’m fine, Grandma. Just busy. You know. This is my junior year now, the workload is—”

“Too busy to speak to Darcey?”

“What? Darcey’s being weird, I don’t know why. Not talking to me. Not my fault.”

Grandma Ellen placed a bowl of bread rolls in the middle of the table with a sudden thunk. “Robert, talk to her. She’s a sweet girl, and she doesn’t deserve this.”

“What are you talking about?” said Rob, annoyed.

“I said, talk to her. I’m not having history repeat itself, not if I can help it.”

“Me and Darcey, that’s our business, not yours. And it wasn’t my fault about Jenna that time.”

“You and Darcey is your business, and that’s exactly why you have to talk to her! And I’m not talking about Jenna.” Grandma Ellen hesitated. She still hadn’t picked up her spoon. She stood up. “There’s something I have to tell you, Rob. Wait here.”

Rob stirred his soup slowly. The rich scent of tomato rose from his bowl. Perhaps he should have gone straight to the lighthouse again, but Grandma Ellen had been expecting him this weekend. He could hear her upstairs now, rummaging in her bedroom.

She came back with an old scrapbook, taking it to the sink to wipe the dust off it before opening it. She turned the pages cautiously until she found what she was looking for, then sat next to Rob rather than opposite him. He put his spoon down.

“I’ve never told you about your grandfather. It’s — it’s been a long time, and it’s not something I like to think about much. Look.” She pointed at the page. Her voice was trembling a little.

LIGHTHOUSE KEEPER LOST AT SEA, the headline read. It was a clipping from the Salem & District Gazette, Rob saw, dated December 24th, 1973. He recognised the man in the photo immediately. It was the man from Miss King’s engagement photo.

“That,” said Grandma Ellen, “is your grandfather. Robert Melville. Everyone called him Bobby.”

“What—” Rob found he could hardly speak. There was a strange buzzing in his ears. “How—”

“Bobby Melville was swept off the end of the sea wall in the storm that winter,” said Grandma Ellen. “I was pregnant. That baby was your father.”

“But you weren’t…”

“No, we weren’t married.” Grandma Ellen’s voice was low and sad. “Fact is, Robert, he was engaged to be married to someone else.”

“Miss King.”

“Yes. He and Stella King had been high school sweethearts. I arrived here on my first nursing job, and Bobby Melville came in one day to fix up a sprained wrist. I didn’t know about Stella, until later. I don’t think she ever knew for certain about me, though of course there were rumours.”

Rob pushed his chair back. He was shivering uncontrollably.

Grandma Ellen gave him a sharp look. “Rob, what I’m saying is, don’t do what your grandfather did. Go and talk to your sweetheart. Talk to Darcey. She has something to tell you.”

Rob stood up, hardly aware of what he was doing. “I got to go and talk to Stella.”

His grandmother grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him round to face her.

“Rob, honey, haven’t you heard? Miss King was found dead in her bed the week after you were down there on that job. Must have died before then. Right around Christmas, the coroner said.”

He sat down, the world spinning. He barely heard his grandmother as she continued talking.

“Isn’t it odd,” she was saying. “Almost exactly fifty years since your grandfather passed.”