The Lighthouse

by Amy Cross

  Copyright 2015 Amy Cross

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.

  Kindle edition

  Dark Season Books

  First published: November 2015

  “I saw her. I've always been able to see her.”

  While her friends head off to start new lives in London after university, Penny has a different idea. She's going to go and take a job at a remote lighthouse for a year, helping to keep the place running while she saves money. When she arrives at Culthorpe lighthouse, however, she quickly realizes that something is very wrong.

  Something is hiding nearby the lighthouse, something that only makes its presence felt at night. Meanwhile, Penny is concerned about one of her co-workers, a man whose memory seems to be almost non-existent. What is the dark secret of Culthorpe lighthouse? Is Penny really crazy, or has she been visited by a ghost since she was a child? And who or what is hidden beneath the hatch in the generator room?

  The Lighthouse is a horror novel about a girl who was taught to doubt herself, and about the refusal of dead souls to rest until all debts have been paid.

  The Lighthouse

  Prologue

  Mum and Dad are arguing again, shouting about money. Dad keeps saying he can pay the bank back once the business starts doing better, but Mum's worried about us losing the house and now she's sobbing at the kitchen table. Neither of them notice as I slip out through the back door and into the garden.

  I always go outside when they're fighting.

  It's a bright summer day, so I head over to the edge of the lawn and start picking up the dolls I left out here earlier. After a moment, however, I notice something moving over by the fence, and I turn to see that there's a woman standing next to the apple tree, watching me. I glance back at the house, but Mum and Dad are still arguing, so I get to my feet and stare at the woman. She doesn't look scary, but I've been told over and over again that I shouldn't go near strangers.

  After a couple of seconds, however, I realize that the woman seems to be whispering something. Her eyes are so sad, with dark rings all around them, that I tell myself she can't possibly be mean. In fact, she looks like she needs help. With a couple of dolls in my right hand, I make my way across the lawn until I reach the tree, and I look up at the woman's face for a moment.

  “Are you okay?” I ask cautiously.

  I wait, but she's still whispering.

  “Do you want something?” I continue. “Mum and Dad are inside. They're busy right now, but...”

  I pause, before stepping closer, hoping to hear whatever she's whispering about.

  “It's okay,” I tell her, realizing that she seems scared, “I'm not -”

  Suddenly she leans toward me and screams. I stumble back, but -

  Eleven years later

  - but I trip and fall down the steps, landing on my knees and then tumbling onto my shoulder. Rolling across the gravel, I try to get up, only to feel a sharp pain in my right foot. I push through it, limping forward through the heavy storm, quickly learning how to run even though my ankle's broken. By the time I reach the dark treeline, I have to stop for a moment to catch my breath, and after a couple of seconds I turn and look back toward the dark, unlit lighthouse.

  Rain is crashing down all around and the moon is hidden by storm clouds, but I don't see anyone coming after me.

  Not yet.

  Feeling a rising tide of panic in my chest, I turn and hobble between the trees, trying to ignore the sensation of broken bone edges grinding against one another in my ankle.

  “Help!” I shout as I stumble through forest. “Where are you? I need your help! I get -”

  Suddenly my right foot sinks several inches into a patch of mud, catching and twisting with such force that I drop forward onto my hands and knees as a searing agony ripples through the marrow of my leg. The pain only increases as I pull my ankle free, but I know I can't stop.

  I glance back, but there's still no sign of him. Is it possible that I actually knocked him out? I didn't think I hit him that hard, but I guess I might have been lucky.

  After a moment, the clouds part a little, just enough to let a brief snatch of moonlight shine through. I can see the side of the lighthouse now, rising up to tower above the forest with its lamp switched off. Taking a series of deep breaths, I wait for some hint that I'm not alone, but all I hear is the sound of rain pounding down onto the treetops and hissing as it fills puddles in the mud all around me.

  As far as I know, he could be unconscious at the bottom of the steps inside the main building, or he could be out here moving quietly through the darkness. Hell, in these conditions, he could be just a few feet away and I'm not sure I'd hear him.

  I look around at the forest, just as the clouds drift back in front of the moon.

  There has to be a boat. There has to be some way to get to the mainland.

  Getting to my feet, ignoring the pain in my right ankle, I make my way between the trees, trying not to make too much noise. I know he can probably hear me if he's close, but I figure I just need to get to the generator room on the island's far side and then I can find some flashlights and maybe even something I can use to defend myself. At the same time, I know there's no way I can properly fight him; he knows this place so well, and he's probably been planning this since before I even got here.

  “Help me,” I stammer, hoping that somehow she might be able to hear me. “Please...”

  A couple of minutes later, I limp to the edge of the trees and stop as I see the dark generator building up ahead, silhouetted against the sea. I can hear waves lapping at the shore, but for the most part the scene seems strangely calm, as if no-one has been here for a while. For a moment, a sudden fear strikes me: What if he somehow got ahead of me, and now he's waiting in there?

  No, that's not possible. Even with my damaged ankle, I've moved fast.

  I take a step forward, my eyes searching for any sign of movement, but so far there's nothing. Even the banging sound has stopped. After checking over my shoulder again and seeing no hint of anyone coming up behind me, I turn and take a couple more cautious steps toward the building, with my boots sinking several inches into the mud and making a squelching sound in the process. My ankle feels like two knife blades jostling in loose skin, but I have to keep going.

  I need to find her.

  “Hello?” I call out, hoping against hope that she's here. “Can you hear me? Please, if you can, I need help...”

  I glance around, but there's no sign of anyone.

  “Please,” I continue, trying not to panic despite the tightening sensation in my chest. There's something warm in my right shoe, maybe blood. “I know the truth now,” I stammer. “I remember everything. I even remember the first time I saw you, in the garden when I was a little girl. I always thought you weren't real, everyone told me I'd imagined you, I had to take pills but... You are real, aren't you?”

  I wait, but there's still no sign of her.

  “I'm going to get help, but first I need to find a way off the island. I understand why I kept seeing you. You were trying to help me, weren't you? You were trying to warn me.”

  Stepping forward, I look toward the shore, and then back at the generator building. The empty doorway gapes open, a black rectangle in the concrete wall, revealing the darkness inside.

  “Come on,” I whisper, “please, you have to -”

  Stopping suddenly, I realize that there's something at the bottom left corner of the window. At first it seems like just a smudge, but a chill passes through my
chest as I realize that in this low light, it could be a face. I hesitate for a moment, squinting in an attempt to make out exactly what I'm seeing, but finally I take another step closer. The smudge is still a little difficult to make out, but I'm getting more and more convinced that there's a face in there, with two black eyes and a black mouth staring back at me impassively. There's a torrent of rain falling between us, but it's her, I'm sure of it.

  “Please,” I continue, my voice trembling with fear as I take another step forward, “I need -”

  Suddenly something walks straight past me, brushing against my chest and forcing me to take a step back. I swear to God, I felt the fabric of its clothes, but when I turn and look around there's no sign of anyone. Finally I turn back to look at the window, just in time to see the smudged face dipping back out of view, fading into darkness.

  “Please,” I whisper, making my way over, “if there's another way off the island, I have to know!”

  Sensing footsteps nearby, I turn, convinced that I'll see someone coming toward me. I wait, but there's nothing, so I turn back to the generator building and make my way closer until finally I reach the doorway and stare through to the darkness inside. I can't see anything, not without any lights, but I can tell deep down that something is watching me from in there. It's as if somehow our heartbeats have synchronized.

  “I saw you,” I say after a moment, hesitating to actually go inside. “I know you're real and I know you're here, and I think I know why you're here too. You were warning me, weren't you? You wanted me to stay away from this place.”

  I wait.

  There's no sound apart from the waves on the nearby shore, and all I feel is a cold wind rippling against my clothes.

  “I think I know who you are,” I continue. “I didn't believe you could be real, not at first, but now...” With tears in my eyes, I take a cautious step through the doorway into the building's cold interior. “Please,” I add, “I just want to get away from this place, and then I want to get help so he can't hurt anyone else. I want to -”

  That's when I see her. Just the faintest hint of a face, barely visible in the darkness straight ahead. I blink a couple of times, convinced that it's a trick of the light, but finally I realize that it's really her. She sinks back, as if she understands that I recognize her, but I take a step forward, determined to not let her go this time. Feeling a twist of pain on my right hand, I run my fingers across the palm and realize that I really mashed the skin up earlier when I fell, but there's no time to worry about that right now. Even the pain in my ankle feels unimportant.

  “Are you...” I pause, staring at the faint, blurred face in the darkness. “Are you really what I think you are?”

  I wait for a reply.

  Nothing.

  “Please,” I continue after a moment, feeling as if this is my last chance, “I know everything. Or I know enough to understand what happened to you. We can stop all of this, but I have to get off the island and go get help, do you understand? If I don't go and get help, this is just going to keep happening over and over until...”

  I watch as she slowly raises a hand to her face. With careful precision, she places two fingertips against her eyes and slips her thumb under her chin, and then she tilts her head slightly to one side.

  “I don't understand,” I tell her. “Please, I just -”

  Suddenly I realize that I can hear, above the sound of rain on the tin roof, something clicking and cracking as the woman pulls on her own face. In the low light, it takes a moment before I realize that her fingers are dipping into her eye sockets now, and her features seem to be becoming distorted, as if...

  Slowly, she starts to pull away a section of her face, taking part of her skull with it. Thick, gooey strands of mucus drip down from the growing gap, until I see two perfectly round, yellowing eyeballs staring at me from the meat of her face. Her left hand holds the flesh of her face out toward me, as if she wants me to do something with it.

  And then she screams.

  And that's when I remember the very first time I saw her, all those years ago.

  Before I can react, I feel an arm reach around from behind and pull me back by the neck, while the blade of a hunting knife slices through my shoulder-blades and out through my chest..

  “There you are,” he hisses, leaning close to my ear. “Exactly how far did you really think you could get?”

  Chapter One

  Today

  “Hang on! Nearly there now!”

  As the boat's engines are cut, I grab my backpack and clamber over the benches. The air is so cold and misty, I swear I can feel droplets of water on my face as I grab hold of the railing, and the sea is choppy enough to make the boat bob up and down by several feet as we drift closer and closer to the quay's stone wall. After the long journey, the sudden silence feels like a relief, along with the sound of water slapping against the boat's hull.

  “Gonna be a bump!” the captain calls out.

  I grip the railing tighter as the boat nudges the wall, and my feet almost slip on the cold, soaked deck as I watch us getting closer to the rusty old ladder. After waiting for a moment, I keep hold of the railing and make my way further toward the boat's front, figuring I can maybe get to the ladder and climb up already, but suddenly I hear the captain's voice calling out. At first I can't make out what he's saying, but when I turn back to look at him I realize he's waving his arms to make me stop.

  “Wait!” he yells.

  At that moment, the boat bobs a little more than before, and I swear I feel my stomach's ready to do a back-flip. Damn it, I don't have sea legs at all. I need to be back on dry land.

  “Just hold your horses,” the captain continues.

  I nod, before turning back to look at the ladder. It's so close, but I'm far too awkward and clumsy to grab it just yet. When I look down at the gray water, I see the silhouette of my own reflection against the cloudy sky, and suddenly a thought hits me:

  What the hell am I doing out here?

  Did I seriously think -

  “Hold tight!” the captain shouts.

  Realizing I've loosened my grip on the railing, I turn just as the boat bumps into the wall again. I stumble, almost slipping, and then I reach out across the side of the boat and try to steady myself by pressing my right hand against the wall's rough wet stones, just as the boat rises a few feet and then drops again. Unfortunately, at this exact moment I happen to be leaning forward, putting all my weight on my hand, the palm of which is immediately scraped down the wall until I feel a flash of pain and pull it away.

  Stumbling back, I slip on the wet deck and crash down onto my ass, with my backpack somewhat breaking my fall.

  “Damn it!” I hiss, feeling like a fool as I look at the palm of my right hand and see that the wall scraped away several patches of skin, leaving blood to trickle from the wounds as salty water starts to sting.

  “You alright?” the captain calls out.

  “I'm fine,” I stammer, getting to my feet. Sure, my hand hurts and so does my right hip, but I don't want to admit as much. I'd just end up looking even more stupid.

  “This is the best it's gonna get,” the captain continues, “so just be careful when you climb onto the ladder, okay?”

  I turn to him, and for a moment I expect him to laugh and tell me he's joking. When I realize he's serious, I nod before making my way back over to the side of the boat. My backpack is weighing me down, and I hold the railing tighter than ever as I edge closer to the rusty ladder that's bolted into the harbor wall. After taking a moment to prepare myself, I count to three and then reach out, grabbing the nearest rung first with my left hand and then with my grazed right, which of course stings even worse as the damaged skin gets pressed against rusty wet metal.

  Holding tight, I maneuver myself over the railing and then start to climb. The ladder is slippier than I expected and my backpack feels heavier than ever, and I swear the ladder wobbles a little as if it might suddenly come loose and crash down ont
o the boat's deck, but I manage to climb up and finally I haul myself over the top and onto land. The top of the wall is still slippy, so I'm extra careful as I get to my feet and look back down at the boat, which is already starting to drift a little further out. Still, it feels good to be on firm land again, and right now I could do without ever going on another boat again.

  The captain waves at me and I wave back. From everything he said during the journey, I know he feels a little sorry for me and finds my situation amusing.

  “Good luck!” he shouts, his voice barely reaching me through the mist and a light breeze. “Don't take any funny business!”

  I nod, feeling I should keep waving until he looks away. A moment later the engines start up, kicking spray from the back of the boat, and I watch as the captain turns the wheel and sets out on the three-hour journey back to the mainland. By the time he's a little further out, the boat is already starting to become fuzzy in the mist, so I figure it's probably okay to stop waving without seeming rude.

  “Oh my God,” I remember Mel saying last week, “are you still doing that crazy lighthouse thing?”

  If she could see me now...

  Lowering my hand, I examine the grazed palm and see that ragged chunks of skin have been shredded around the cuts. I lean down and use my teeth to pull a few flesh-strands away, before realizing that I'll need to clean it properly when I get inside. Still, the salt water is probably keeping it clean, or at least... Well, that's how salt water works, right?

  Damn it, I feel totally ill-prepared for this job.

  Turning, I see the lighthouse rising up high from its position on the other end of the island's quayside wall, about thirty feet away. It's hard to make out any detail in such bad weather, but a moment later I spot movement at the tower's base, and I realize the door has opened.

  Someone's waving at me through the mist.