The Lighthouse Keeper

The swaying, soft rocking motion, and the light creaking sounds of the worn-down wood and rope lulled me to sleep like a baby wrapped safely in their mother's arms on a cold night. My limbs were flung haphazardly in all directions onto the wrinkly sheets with a blanket made of thick, scratchy wool wrapped about me. I was in such a deep sleep I began to sweat and dream intensely. The cabin I was sleeping in was so tiny it could only fit a bed, a person, and a chamber pot. Suddenly a roaring whistling made me jump with a start violently. I sat bolt upright, slightly panting from panic. As the sleep was roughly rubbed from my eyes and my comprehension slowly came back, I realized it was time to get dressed for my arrival to Eilean Mor. As the ship docked onto the craggy hillside, I noticed how foreboding the islands atmosphere was as I stood on the deck and watched the docks creep slowly towards me. The docks stairs leading to the lighthouse were extremely steep and slimy from the constant salty waves crashing into them. The white paint on the wooden steps essentially nonexistent. The railing was slightly bent likely from the pressure of the massive waves as they came boring down on the island. I reluctantly departed from the ship dropping me off to relieve the three lighthouse keepers who had been here working for months. They likely had gone mad from isolation I jokingly thought to myself considering the amount of lighthouse keepers gone mad headlines I’d seen recently. Not the most fulfilling and adventurous career to choose. I climbed the stairs for what seemed like hours when I finally reached the top; weak-kneed and panting but victorious; I turned around to bask in the glory of trekking up those stairs when my breath caught in my throat. The view of the craggy rocks, the crystal blue water, and the endless horizon was timeless. The stormy clouds only added to the majestic beauty of the landscape. The simple yet breathtaking beauty was too much to bear. I turned back to look at the lighthouse, not as impressive but it’ll do. It looked quaint and cozy. Painted harshly with white and navy blue, the classic beach themed colors. The soft, yellowish lighting through the large paned windows was just what I needed to get out of the bitter cold that felt like knives poking my cheeks. I could sense the storm brewing and knew it was better to get settled quickly before it hit. As I reached the solid oak front door, I noticed it was unlocked. Strange, I thought to myself, but decided to knock to make a good impression on the men allowing me to stay in their home for the next couple of months while they visited family back home.  A long pause, no one came to the door. Alarm bells were starting to sound off, but I tried to remain calm and optimistic. After a couple more knocks, I decided to walk in. As I cautiously walked in, I noticed the coat rack was empty. My heart sank. I walked slowly, rounding the sharp corner, I noticed on the left the kitchen chair toppled over with food still on the kitchen table. The lights were still on. I began to call the men’s names out loudly throughout the house trying to piece together where they could possibly be and why have they have gone so quickly? Suddenly interrupting my incomprehensible thoughts, a loud clap of thunder resounded all around me. It started to pour rain with ghastly winds. The realization of being stuck in this creepy, centuries old lighthouse until the violent storm passed did not ease my anxiety.

After a couple hours of riding out the storm, the shock wore off and the reality set in that the men I was supposed to relieve of their post were unexplainably missing. I chose to go to the village on the island before I would call the authorities. If the men didn’t get caught in the violent storm and wait it out in the village, I wasn’t sure what could have possibly happened. It would be time to call the authorities. I didn’t sleep that night. Every squeak, creak, or noise made my eyes snap open instantly. As soon as I saw the sun break over the horizon, I jumped from bed and set out on the gravel road into town. I walked for miles through boggy mud. I trudged along as the icy drizzle rained down from the bleak sky. In the distance I could see the faint outline of the roofs of stone buildings, as quickly as I was caked in mud is as quickly as the gravel turned into cobblestone. I knew the village was close. Suddenly I could hear the hustle and bustle of the town. I could hear the horses’ hooves clicking in the mud and the buggies squelching under the wet mud and the fading in and out conversations of the townspeople. I began my day trip to town by going to a local bakery and ordering some coffee. I couldn’t eat, I was too anxious to know of their whereabouts. I walked to the nearest store and began asking do you know men that go by these names, etc. No one knew anything. Not one word about where they were or even who they were. Apparently, they had never even been to town. I panicked and had to rest against the dirty wall to catch my breath. I went up to the last person I would talk to for the day and then decided I would call it a night and get a room for just one night. I asked the older man of about fifty if he had ever seen or heard of the men by these names and he said no I haven’t. Where did they work? Funny question I thought, no one ever thought to ask me that question before; seeing as they were way too busy going about their daily lives. I told him Eilean Mor lighthouse. His face went blank, and he just stared and blinked at me. I thought I said something to frighten him, and I began to worry for his health until he finally replied, “Never set foot on that island”. “It’s the otherworld.” It was my turn to stare and blink. He replied, “You must not be from here.” I said, “No sir, just trying to find my coworkers and go on about my life.” I didn’t believe the old man obviously, but his words had weight in my mind. I decided to head back to the lighthouse a couple days later of no luck finding them and trudged the boggy miles back to the lighthouse. Once there the atmosphere felt different again. I walked through the house thinking of the old man’s words and of his aggressive voice speaking harshly, “ It’s the Otherworld. Those lands are cursed. No one ever sets foot on Eilean Mor not even the townspeople!” Just a town full of cowards I thought to myself. Suddenly a book fell from the bookcase and landed right on its spine opening to a specific page. I went over to pick it up and realized there was something written. It was the lighthouse logbook. Dated the day I arrived on the island it read, “This island is the Otherworld. Get out!”