White Tower (Dark Isle Series)

Professor Mark Stine can’t believe his working vacation on the island resort of Skara Farne is turning into the nightmare from Hades! First, he’s cursed – dogged by the sinister ghost of a medieval monk, Abbot Thomas Beauclerc. Then, when he tries to leave the island, he’s involved in a bizarre car crash. Now, through an Ouija board, he gets a message that’s loud and clear: Do Not Leave! With the help of his new friends, Mark is determined to break the curse and get back to the States, while staying out of the clutches of Abbot Thomas and his heinous henchman, the Follower! When the body of a retired teacher is found in a sand grave on the beach, that is only the first of a strange string of deaths. Islanders and tourists are scared. Ghosts of Vikings and monks have been seen all over the island and Mark is fighting a losing battle against the Abbot who’s determined to possess Mark’s body. As the bodies pile up, the Follower, a shifting shadow who does the Abbot’s killing becomes more active and no one is safe. With no choice but to stay and fight, Mark faces the grim unreality of the ghost realm only to learn that his death was planned centuries ago. Unless he can solve the mystery of the white tower, it’s only a matter of time before Mark joins the ghosts of Skara Farne!

From the Inside Flap

Excerpt from Chapter 9: Tower and Sepulcher "Well, here we are," said Lucy, opening the trunk of the car. "My home. It's cozy, if rather more vertical than most." "Why did you want to live in a lighthouse?" he asked, craning his neck to try and take in the tower. "I didn't," she said, handing out his bags. "I wanted to live on an island and the Heritage Trust needed someone to keep the place up. A caretaker, of sorts." "How long have you lived here?" he asked. "Oh, just over three years," she replied, unlocking the door at the base of the tower. "That means I'm just one step up from a tourist, so far as the locals are concerned. They never really accept outsiders." She led Mark inside. The ground floor was, she explained, the old power room from the days when it was a working lighthouse. There was still an emergency generator as the island sometimes suffered power cuts, though these usually occurred in winter. "Now, the spiral staircase is a bit awkward, so I'd better take one of those." As they made their way up the narrow stairway, Mark wondered if he had made a mistake. He had been so preoccupied with paranormal matters that it had not even occurred to him what Sue would think about him lodging at Lucy's home. But I've been thousands of miles away from her for nearly a year, he thought. Any trust issues would have surfaced by now, surely? "This is it, I'm afraid," said Lucy, pushing open a door that stood ajar. "I've tried to clear some space, but as you can see, it's not exactly palatial." The room was circular, with a heap of boxes shoved to one side. There was an old two-tier bunk bed covered with bright blankets. A large black cat was curled up asleep at the foot of the bottom bunk. "Does that mean I get the top bunk?" asked Mark. "Oh, Basil just sleeps here in the daytime. At night, he insists on trying to smother me in my sleep, so you should be safe." "Okay," said Mark, dubiously, putting his bags down by the bunks. The cat opened one eye, gave him an inscrutable look, then went back to sleep. "Come on up to the top," said Lucy. "I'll make some chamomile tea. Might make you feel better." Five minutes later, Mark was sitting with Lucy at a small table on the balcony that Lucy called the lamp gallery. It was a walkway that surrounded the great glass chamber that had once housed the arc-light. Now the light was gone, and instead the great circular window enclosed a greenhouse. "Is that what I think it is?" he said, pointing to one container. "Depends what you think it is," replied Lucy, winking. "Strictly medicinal, I assure you. There are couple of people down there with terrible arthritis who find my herbal remedies soothing." She nodded in the direction of the village. "Okay," he said, "you're a public benefactor." Mark took in the view as he sipped his tea, while a cooling sea breeze played around the gallery. Most of Skara was laid out below him. He could see the cluster of police vehicles near what must be Wilma Reade's cottage. Beyond that, lay the village, with the fort looming over it. The causeway was awash with the rising tide. Over to his left, he could see Monks Bay, and another small cottage. "Anybody live there?" he asked, pointing. "Sharkey," said Lucy. "Local character." "Right," he said, "I met him in the pub yesterday. He seemed fascinated by me. Not in a good way, I might add." "Another ghost-seer," she went on. "But he's not into sharing. He keeps his experiences to himself. I don't think we can expect any help from him." She took a plastic folder out of her bag and put it on the table. "I thought you might like to see Victor's notes," she said. "He kept going on about them, but in the heat of the moment, I forgot to give them to him when they put him on the chopper." Mark looked through pages that had been filled with chaotic scribble. Victor was evidently not systematic in his approach to note-taking. Words and phrases were crossed out, underlined, circled. Far from suggesting a scholar compiling data, the notes gave the impression of someone attempting to solve a puzzle. Which I suppose he was, in a sense, Mark thought. But did he come close to finding a solution? "Notice there's a word on the last page, the one that's half blank. He was obviously writing when he was attacked." Mark flipped through the foolscap sheets. Sure enough, a word that was obviously derived from Greek was circled and underlined. "Metempsychosis. Does it mean anything to you?" she asked. "Edgar Allan Poe," Mark said. "A lesser-known story of his, called 'A Tale of the Ragged Mountains'. It's about a man who remembers ..." He trailed off. "Remembers what?" she asked. "Someone else's life," he said. "The life of a man long dead." He put the sheet down and looked out over the strait. "You see where his research led him?" she asked. "I do," conceded Mark. "The idea that Thomas Beauclerc might live again." "And that" said Lucy. "Would explain why, in his twisted way, he's trying to remove the island's authority figures. He wants to go back to the way things were. The mighty Abbot Thomas, lording it over an island of terrorized peasants." "No," protested Mark, "that makes no sense in a modern context. He can hardly run Skara the way he did in the fourteenth century." "Perhaps not," said Lucy, dubiously. "But firstly, we're not dealing with a sane individual, are we? We're dealing with someone so egotistical that he wants to live again, perhaps live forever. And we can't be sure what limits his powers have." "Can't argue with that," said Mark. "Having met the guy, I'd say he was crazy enough to try just about anything." "And we have no idea how to stop him," pointed out Lucy. "Only some guff about a white tower." Seeing Mark's puzzlement she explained the message from Victor, and her confusion over what it meant.

About the Author

David Longhorn was born in North East England long before the internet, but fortunately they had plenty of books in those days! He enjoyed reading all sorts of fact and fiction in childhood and also became a huge fan of old horror movies and the BBC's Ghost Stories for Christmas on television, despite losing a lot of sleep as a result. He went on to get a degree in English Studies, which somehow led him to a career in local government, which in turn took him into a recording studio where he provided voice-overs, read news, and did a lot of other audio stuff. It's been that kind of life, really - a bit random but quite interesting. All the while he was reading and writing supernatural fiction, influenced by both the classic tales of writers like Ambrose Bierce, M.R. James, and Edgar Allan Poe, but also by modern masters such as Stephen King. He hopes to write a lot more about the world of the dead and undead, assuming they let him...

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