Her children shipped off, he had the place to himself. At least that was how it seemed at first. The night after she was interred in her family crypt-it had begun. The slow creaking, as if someone was walking down the hall. The kitchen was spotlessly clean in the morning eliciting a response of terror from the girl who had shared his marriage bed that night in sympathy of his bereavement. He packed the children’s belongings in plastic bags and hauled them to his mothers leaving them on the landing when no one answered her door. He could do without seeing those turncoats ever again. That night there was a resounding crash in the night, his wide screen tv, the only thing that he valued in his life, lay smashed across the living room. Her clothes disappeared from the closet and dressers before he could bag them up for the Goodwill. Her silver tea set from some long vanished age, those trinkets he could do without. It was the oddness of the disappearances, as if she had come back for. I saw that the skies were getting darker and didn’t need a weather forecaster to tell me a storm was on its way. I made the rounds of my cabin area making sure everything was tied down or stowed out of the wind. I fueled up the generator so that it could run for an extended period if needed. I lowered the shutters over the windows that would feel the brunt of the storm and prepared to wait it out – a situation I’d dealt with many times since coming to the island. I turned on the computer and looked at the weather forecast for our area for the next few days. Things didn’t look good as there appeared to be several storms brewing out in the North Pacific and we’d likely see them coming at us one after the other with only a few days reprieve between storms.“Wally, got your ears on?” came a call from my two-way radio.That was my friend Ben, on the main island. He told me that there had been reports of an ocean going sailboat having been disabled and that it was somewhere in our area. He.
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