It was all still exactly as he had seen it before. Everything in the same place, not changed at all. It looked just as real as before and just as mysterious. He did not recognise any landmark anywhere that he cared to look.
Already the mountains had faded into the approaching night. He searched the hills and fields for any sign of life; a light in a farm or the like, yet he found nothing. Nothing at all. Failing to find any signs of other people he turned his attention instead to examine the star studded sky that was above him. He was no astronomer but he did like most people know how to pick out several of the constellations. In vain he searched the skies for Orion, the Great Bear. The North star. Nothing at all was familiar to him. Denied even this he sighed deeply and turned his attention to the sea.
Where at last he saw a light out on the ocean, moving with the passage of the waves. His heart beating faster he half scuttled, half ran around to the part of the parapet that afforded him the best view of the sea. As he did so he saw several more lights and he squinted into the darkness to make out what they were.
It was at that moment that the beams from the crystal held in the lighthouse above him swung across the cliffs and headland, falling briefly upon the lights that bobbed across the waves. As they did so Paul finally saw that a small ship was rounding the headland, the lights being those attached to both the stern and bow of the vessel. He only had a momentary look at it, and then it faded into dusk again, but now he knew where to look. It was as if he was joining up the dots of what it was that he was trying to see.
On the next pass of the light Paul knew where to look and so he noticed that strangely, the ship resembled some form of what he thought of as a Cutter. Or was it a clipper? He could not seem to recall. Billowing sails were unfurled about what looked like two tall masts. As he watched the vessel seemed to almost take note of the position of the lighthouse and adjust its course accordingly. There was a gap and another beam from the lighthouse broke across the decks of the ship. Paul was not sure but he thought that just perhaps he saw several figures moving across the deck as the vessel loomed nearer.
Paul knew he would never be noticed by the crew from where he was standing, and he also knew that it was imperative that he make contact with someone; anyone in fact who could show him the way home. Quickly he rushed to the inside of the light room which was now bathed in the light from the jewel above. He remembered the stairs leading down and so raced to where they were and began to quickly descend them.
The stairs tightly spiralled downwards as they descended the lighthouse. To add to his discomfort he could never see more than the nearest stretch of wall before him. As he descended further the darkness caught up with him and he was forced to follow the line of the wall, slowing down to feel the edge of the next step before moving on to the next one. He was getting dizzy as he descended the tower and he did so for what seemed like an age before from somewhere below a red flickering of light began to dance upon the stairwell walls. After another few minutes descent he suddenly crossed the last step and found himself in a large circular room which was lit by a huge lit fire on the south wall. The room was completely devoid of any type of furniture whatsoever, the large log fire being the only feature of the round empty space. Stacked neatly in front of it were large piles of stacked wooden stakes and logs, obviously placed there to keep the fire lit.
Paul pushed his hair out of his eyes and stood breathing heavily in the centre of the room. There would be little time he knew to catch the attention of the ship, and the distance from the cliffs upon which the lighthouse sat and the beach seemed to be no light journey in daylight, never mind the darkness He gazed at the wooden stakes stacked in front of the fire once again and formulated a plan.
Rushing across the room he pulled a piece of wood from the nearest pile. It was about the size of his arm and seemed dry enough. He poked it into the flames for a few seconds and then withdrew it, seeing that now it was burning with a bright light. With a loud whoop he turned on his heels and ran back up the stairs and then into the light room at the top of the lighthouse and finally out onto the parapet. Already it was noticeably darker outside than it had been just a few minutes before. He crossed to the part of the walkway that was nearest the sea and saw with dismay that ship was definitely a little further out from the land, negotiating the tall dark cliffs below with the help of the beams coming from the tower.
Slowly he waved the stake from side to side, calling out as loud as he could for assistance. Faster and faster he waved the stake, flame following its passage through the dark night, but the boat below seemed to pay no attention at all and continued on its way, slowly but slowly moving away from the headland upon which the beams oscillating from the lighthouse fell. Paul carried on waving the light wooden stake, his waving becoming even more frantic minute by minute, but still the ship continued to move away.
Slowly he stopped waving the torch, the flames flickering at the end of the stake and cursed loudly. Now he was at a complete loss. Without contact from the crew there did not seem to be anyone else about at all. Wearily he gave one last glance at the still unfamiliar stars above and made his way back into the light room, tossing the stake away from him against the wall in anger before finally kicking at one of the barrels that lined the wall.
“Ouch!” he shouted, lifting and holding his foot that even the walking boots he wore had failed to protect. “Bloody boat!” he shouted and leaned up against the nearest barrel, trying to make a decision about what to do next. No doubt the craft was already heading out of sight and all of his efforts to catch its attention had served no purpose at all.
Almost in a fit of temper he settled down onto the floor, his back against a barrel to contemplate his next move. He could make his way to the beach as quickly as he could, he supposed, or surely somebody has to be around to keep the fire burning at the base of the tower downstairs? Now that night was falling then surely they would return soon? Yet he also considered that the fire was enormous and would probably require little if any attention to keep burning at all.
So what was its purpose? The room was completely unfurnished; no food, no drink. Surely someone would arrive at some point to attend the fire? What also about the powder that seemed to burn to illuminate the crystal held by the lighthouse? Surely that would require some form of maintenance? There did however seem to be enough of the strange powder stored in the barrels that surrounded the light room. Paul wondered who looked after them and when would they return? Paul judged by how well banked the fire was that perhaps that could be quite some time. He would probably die of starvation or thirst before they arrived. He sighed even louder and leaned his head backwards, instantly regretting looking at the blazing crystal before him, and so he looked back down at the floorboards, running through his options. He was lost in thought for several minutes as he ran through the day's events in his mind and as he did so his attention began to wander.
He was rudely interrupted however by a slight fizzing noise that seemed to be rising in volume with every second, and as he raised his head to look in the direction from which it was coming he also noticed a bright blue glow slowly rising in intensity on the far side of the light room.
More or less exactly where in anger he had thrown the still lit torch.
Beginning to panic now he recalled when he had first examined the odd powder and when he dropped it how it had sparked upon hitting the floor. Slowly he turned his head up to the blazing light above him being emitted by the large crystal and then gazed almost in horror at the small groove filled with the fizzing powder that ran around the circular tower itself.
Lurching to his feet and racing towards the fizzing sound he cursed himself for casting the burning torch aside in anger. He approached the glare of light that was increasing rapidly in intensity and saw the guttering torch lying discarded on the ground, the flames licking almost as if mocking him against the large wooden barrel that was now being slowly engulfed in flames. He rushed to the stake and picked it up, but as
he moved the flame away from the barrel he realised that it was already too late, for the wooden staves of the barrel were alight, and the barrel itself seemed to be vibrating, almost as if trembling. The fizzing sound increased in intensity and Paul saw the barrel next to the lit one starting to shake too. Then the one next to that as well.
“Oh No!” Paul screamed as the fizzing sound increased in volume, and he raced away from the barrels, heading for the stairs, dropping the torch in his hand as he did so. Yet as he neared the steps that led downwards he saw that it was too late. Already the entire wall of barrels was beginning to shake and rattle! The blue light behind him suddenly erupted, pushing him out onto the parapet. He tried to make his way back inside the doorway that led back into the lighthouse, but a ball of blue light seemed to be growing in intensity from within the room.
He had no time even to scream as the night erupted in blue flame, a deafening roar erupting around him. He felt as if he was being flung through the air, and then a sensation of falling down, blue flames licking all around him as he plummeted downwards. There then came a loud crashing and creaking sound and he lay still.
Every part of him aching and deafened and blinded by the explosion Paul sighed once again and passed out.
“Just taking a bit of time to put me feet up as they say.” said a voice from the past in his head, and the darkness took him.
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Overboard! Page 41