The epilogue to this tragedy has a few points to conclude. At least, as close to a conclusion as possible. The community came together after the burning of Shoreline 104. There was no point identifying as either clan, and a few years later the first of the Ghosts of Lighthouse Past parties started. Always on the dark of the moon. Dress formal for the time period. Ring a bell. The other particulars are strictly up to the host.
The bodies of the three Donovan brothers were never recovered. Nor is there a marker for them. Agnes, the widow to the middle brother, Sebastian, wouldn't have paid for one anyway.
As for Agnes, she passed in 1932. First her hearing went, then slowly did her mind. It was for her sake the Sheridan Institute was opened, funded by her uncle. Daily she hobbled between her bed and the dinning room for a small meal, cursed her fellow residents and then kept to herself until the next day. She claimed to know things, secret things. However, without her small black books, she was merely another bent over crone with thinning hair and a nasty temper. She died peacefully enough.
The official coroner's report on Jules determined she had received a severe blow to the head before death. But not from the rowboat paddles. Those were still connected to the oar locks. I'll come back to this point shortly. No, she had a very oddly shaped bruise and it was assumed this injury caused a concussion. It was broad and deep enough. She then went into the water and drown.
Jules and her mother are buried in adjacent plots out by Echo Point. If the sour plants that grow there are any indication, the cemetery didn't want Agnes either.
Our lives skip above the water
Once, maybe twice, thrice not often
To land with a plunk! with no trace after
Lighthouses of Grass, page 44, vi
The stars alone cannot guide between
The sirens call of towers afar on high.
To find one's self betwixt the gloom
The end will be a watery doom.
Lighthouses of Grass, page 50, ii
The local poet took special interest in these events. Several stanzas in Lighthouses of Grass are devoted to a reconstruction of events. And when she helped repair Shoreline 105, she performed in a related play the kids practiced at night. To be cheeky, she played the parts of both Agnes and Jules.
The fate was Jake Fern was discovered December 24th, 1900. The rowboat, missing since the 20th of the previous month was found beached and water logged. The entire bottom was a broken mess. The boards had been pressed inward, as if something below had smashed upwards, from under the boat. What could have caused this is anyone's guess. Whatever it was, it was large and very alien to these waters.
Again, the oars were still in their locks. When it happened, out there in the moonless night, it probably happened without warning. Those two lovers didn't stand a chance.
They found Fern's shirt bunched up the bow. It was covered in blood and grime. A section of human skin was wrapped in one of the shirt sleeves, muscle and tendons clinging together. I won't shy away from it: I think Fern faced something beyond anybody's ability to fight off. And yes, I think he tried his best. He saw Jules go overboard so he grabbed his knife and fought for his life. It was a losing battle and he lost it bad.
How do I figure this?
There was something else in the wreckage. A thick, slimy gray arm of some sea animal. Not exactly like an octopus arm but similar. A sort of wormy tentacle but worse. At the end was a small maw with triangle razor teeth. It's speculated that Fern was torn apart by something with many of those things. By comparison, Jules' quick end is preferable.
The speciman didn't last long. Out of the water, unattached to a body, it rotted and what's left now is a jar of dust in the sheriff's office. Fern's end was horrible but he went a hero. His knife was lodged in the tentacle. He had managed to slice it off as a final act.
So raise a toast to Jules and Fern. And avoid the darkest of nights.