The Unforgiving Sea

 By Lee Kendrick

Former merchant seaman Greg Dawson was the only one on the Tempest West lighthouse; his colleague Bill Johnson was airlifted by helicopter to the hospital yesterday after being taken ill. There is no replacement until a couple of weeks. Meanwhile, Greg listened intently to the weather report on his radio. A gale force 10 storm was heading straight for his lighthouse, off the Cornish Coast! The storm was set to batter the coast in a few hours this evening.

 Greg began battening down the front door and windows from the ground floor upwards. He began Walking up the iron spiral staircase to the top of the 90-foot tall red and white tower, Making sure each 9⁹0window was shut securely. This was especially important because when the storm did hit, the ocean waves could reach 30-45 feet, climbing up to half the height of the lighthouse. 

Finally, Greg reached the top of the tower and checked over the 14,000-candle power lens of the light beacon to make sure everything was in working order. After checking all the mechanical parts were okay, he activated the lamp. It lit up and began rotating in its housing, casting light out to sea for ships to see the beacon miles away, helping them navigate safely the treacherous rocks surrounding the lighthouse.

 Afterwards, Greg sat In his armchair smoking his pipe and reading his book –'Where Eight Bells Toll'. His sweaty palm turned over the next page, as he waited

nervously for the storm to hit. Suddenly, he shuddered as he felt a chill through his body; forcing him to switch on his trusty old paraffin heater to warm up the living room.

 Later, Greg grabbed his binoculars and climbed up the lighthouse's winding staircase to the observation room. Where he looked through his binoculars from the window to check for any passing ships in the distance. He observed the waves had grown to some thirty feet high, making it difficult for him now to spot any ships. 

As the storm closed in he could see the ocean had transformed from a dark blue to a blanket of white foam as the winds grew stronger. Soon daylight started to fade as the sky darkened. The waves now doubled in size, pummeled against the rocks, threatening to reach the ground floor of the lighthouse. Seagulls screeched above the waves, diving for their last meal as the crimson sun dipped below the horizon; the sky indigo as thousands of stars peeped through, twinkling like diamonds.

After his observations, Greg walked down the winding stairs to the living room and

sat down in a now, toasty room.

Outside, a storm was brewing as grey, cumulus clouds were now forming and soon developed into threatening, darker, thicker cumulonimbus clouds heading in the direction of the lighthouse.

Soon, gale force-ten winds were howling– like a ‘ thousand wolves’, as the ocean waves started battering the Tempest tower followed by heavy rain. Suddenly, there was a bright flash with a blue-white zig-zagging streak cutting through the sky; seconds later, Greg heard a giant clap of thunder above the lighthouse, followed by intermittent terrific bangs and bright lightning strikes dancing around the rocks and the lighthouse as the storm hovered menacingly above.

 The gale winds shook the Tempest windows, rattling them violently, threatening to smash them, causing Greg to jump out of his chair to check his window.

Finally, after a couple of hours, the wind fizzled out, and the storm passed. Greg sat in his armchair pondering on when he applied for the post of lighthouse keeper a few months ago. He knew he had a chance of getting the job because of his experience in the Merchant Navy during the last war and Being unmarried with no family; he was confident of getting the position.

Midnight came, and Greg turned in. Lying in bed he drifted off to sleep. Meanwhile, there was the occasional sound of thunder, barely audible in the distance. 

 Greg soon began to dream he was on a merchant navy ship. Suddenly, an explosion jolted him to the floor, as sailors ran in panic; some jumped ship into the sea. pulling himself up he ran towards a lifeboat. In front of him were some sailors lowering a lifeboat with men inside. One of the sailors turned to Greg and shouted: 

“You're not getting on, mate; your luck has run out this time!” Two sailors held him back as he kicked out to loosen their grip.

Seconds after, another explosion shook the deck knocking the two sailors to the floor and killing them! At that moment Greg awoke from his dream, with beads of sweat running down his face as his heart thumped violently.

He had been having this same vivid nightmare for twenty years. Greg was a merchant seaman on the Royal Princess and was the only survivor being picked up by a British destroyer, as he clung to a large piece of wood in the Atlantic ocean. 

But this wasn't the only time Greg had been rescued. There had been three other incidents in the Atlantic Ocean; each time, his ship was sunk by a torpedo from German wolf-pack submarines. Each time he was the sole survivor, being picked up by a destroyer. 

Because of this strange coincidence of being the only survivor of four sunken ships, every new ship Greg was assigned to, his fellow seamen called him -’ The Jonah!’ Believing him to be cursed and a bad Omen on their ship. Because of this, Greg felt a tremendous guilt. Preventing him from making friends or being involved in any relationships.

 In a month, Greg would be going on leave, from the lighthouse. This he was

 dreading going back home to his Cornwall village to mix with people. 

One day, while buying a newspaper in his local shop, a lady pointed out to her friend that his photo was in the paper, explaining how he was the only survivor after his ships were sunk.

 Shockingly, the newspaper sensationalised his story saying ‘fellow seamen called him… ‘The Jonah!’ 

Gossip soon spread around the village with most villagers avoiding him. One day he overheard people in the local pub and neighbours in the street say: “Careful, …That's… ‘The Jonah’!”

 Later that morning, Greg prepared for a busy day; in the distance, he could hear a helicopter. It was bringing him the monthly supply of food, fuel, and newspapers for the World news, as well as a couple more of his favourite author, Alistair McLean books to read. More importantly, being a Sunday, he was looking forward to cooking his favourite meal— a Sunday roast, and now he had a fresh supply of meat and potatoes.

 Waiting outside he saw the helicopter fly over the rocks and hover some fifty feet above the lighthouse…Whop, whop, whop Greg covered his ears to the deafening sound of the chopper… He then waved for the large wooden box of supplies attached to a rope, dangling in mid-air to be lowered. He then grabbed the box and guided it down safely. After untying the rope he slid the box onto a trolley. He gave a thumbs up, smiled and waved that all was okay for the pilot to go now.

The pilot then banked the helicopter left and flew away.

 Suddenly, a flock of seagulls squawking above began dive-bombing Greg as he opened the box by the front door to lift out the supplies. Being opportunists the gulls swooped down to get at any food he was carrying.

After emptying the box and battling with the gulls, Greg quickly scanned the ocean for ships in the distance; unable to spot any, he scurried into the lighthouse and closed the door. Just then he felt a sudden chill run down his spine. He knew it wasn't due to the cold weather, this was different. He had an ominous feeling; the same feeling he had seconds before a torpedo from a German submarine would strike his ship!

After an enjoyable Sunday roast, Greg sat down and relaxed, smoking his pipe and reading his Sunday paper. Meanwhile, a fog was developing outside, creeping over the rocks and the lighthouse. 

 A sudden gust hit Greg's window, Making him jump from his armchair to check outside. The eerie fog had now blanketed the lighthouse – zero visibility. Rushing upstairs he activated the foghorn, bellowing out a loud, haunting, droning sound with 5-second bursts, continuing every 35 seconds to warn ships to avoid the treacherous rocks.

Meanwhile, Greg kept watch to see if the fog was clearing. Feeling cold he turned on the paraffin heater to warm up his room. Sitting in his armchair, he lit his pipe as he continued to read his newspaper. Even though the room was warm he felt a chill run down his spine. A foreboding feeling came over him.

Soon he drifted off to sleep and began to dream. He was sitting on a ship enveloped in a greenish, luminous mist. Suddenly he saw a clouded figure of a man walking slowly towards him:

“Hello, Greg! It's your old friend, Benjamin White!” 

“Ya, yes, hello Benjamin, why are you here?” Greg stammered, as he now saw a man dressed in a merchant navy uniform sitting next to him.

“But, you died with the whole crew on the Royal Princess, when she sank!”

 “I survived to live on in the Afterlife! But, when the other 22 crewmen on the Princess perished they became earthbound!”

“Now listen carefully, my friend!” Benjamin said seriously:

“They're coming for you tomorrow night, be ready!”

“Who, who is coming for me? Who are ‘They’? Greg demanded. With that, Benjamin melted away.

After Greg awoke in his chair he didn't feel exhausted and sweating as he normally would after having a nightmare – he felt calmer.

 The next morning Greg pondered on what Benjamin meant…‘They are Coming!’ He shrugged off the dream as just his subconscious's way of making him feel guilty.

Checking his radio, Greg listened to the weather forecast for the day; he was relieved to hear the weather forecast said it would be a fine day.

Lighting his pipe, Greg climbed the spiral staircase, holding a cloth, bucket of hot water and some vinegar to the top of the tower. He proceeded to clean the lantern windows and beacon lens, an essential duty of every lighthouse keeper to accentuate the beacon light’s brightness for shipping to see.

After a hard day's work, Greg poured a brew and sat in his armchair to rest, pondering the day as he took a sip of his hot, sweet tea.

Things were very quiet and still outside as the gulls squawked and dived into the now calm blue, Atlantic ocean for some fish; everything was peaceful without a ship in sight.

There was an uneasy silence as evening came. Just then Greg heard something emanate from his radio … 

His face grew pale, and his heart raced when he heard …the rapid pace of tap, tap, then a slow tap! tap! He realised it was the sound of an SOS Morse code, a distress call. This was familiar to him because he had been a radio operator on merchant ships during the war.

Suddenly, he heard the tapping stop.

There was a long pause when… 

The tapping resumed this time with an actual message. Greg quickly grabbed a pencil and pad to jot the message down as it was repeated: As he wrote down the words his blood drew from his face as an icy chill ran down his spine

 A cold sweat dripped down his forehead, forcing his heart to pound violently. He stared in disbelief at the shocking message:

It read: “You know this vessel because you had sailed on her ‘The Royal Princess,’ and was the only survivor!

Don't you remember Greg?”

His legs wobbled, forcing him to sit down. 

Another message soon followed, tapping on the radio. Greg bent down and yanked out the plug from the socket, silencing the radio.

“How can this be possible?” Greg shouted, running his hand through his long, grey hair.

Just then he heard thunder in the distance. He looked out the window and saw a ship. Grabbing his binoculars for a closer look he saw the ship lit up by a luminous green haze. It was the Royal Princess, moving perilously close to the rocks. Lightning zig-zagged all around her.

An unusual fog-tinged yellow was now rapidly forming outside making it difficult for Greg to see the ship. He rushed up the spiral staircase to the top of the tower, breathing heavily; he activated the foghorn, hoping to save the ship from smashing into the rocks.

The haunting, droning sound of the foghorn gave five short bursts, pausing for thirty seconds and then repeating its ghostly sound. Again Greg peered through his binoculars out the window, hoping to spot the Royal Princess, as the fog cleared for a second. His gaze was now fixed on the ship as it smashed into the rocks, sinking like a stone!

Shocked and exhausted, Greg left the foghorn on to continue droning in case there were other ships close by, as the fog thickened again. Going back downstairs, he went into his living quarters and now fell drained into his chair.

He then recalled what Benjamin said to him in his dream:

 “They are Coming for you tomorrow Night!”

  He felt relief as he sighed and his shoulders relaxed sitting in the chair:

If it were the crew of the Princess coming for me, he thought, they can't now the ship has sunk? 

 As Greg rested he heard the wind becoming stronger, again rattling his window as it rained heavily. Suddenly he heard a terrific clap of thunder, as another storm approached.

He looked out the window with his binoculars and saw magnificent lightning flashes darting all over the sky as thunder grew louder and louder. Dense ominous black clouds closed in above the lighthouse; the wind howled madly. Moments later the wind abruptly stopped,

 leaving an eerie silence. Greg felt that familiar chill down his spine. He felt a feeling of dread coming over him, then…

There was an almighty blow at the door, then another and another. Greg jumped, and his heart pounded; beads of cold sweat ran down his forehead. He was petrified! His mouth was bone dry and he was unable to swallow. 

He grabbed a hammer from his toolbox nearby, the only thing he could find to defend himself with. As he rushed up the spiral staircase, the bashing at the door intensified.

seconds later, Greg froze on the spot with fear, he was unable to move his legs. when he heard the front, heavy oak door crash to the ground. Try as he may, he couldn't move his legs.

Moments later, He heard someone climbing the stairs…

He could hear a squelching sound as footsteps slowly, menacingly climbed the steps. It was as if the person was soaking wet!

With all his will Greg started to slowly drag himself up to the top of the lighthouse.

He opened the light beacon, and room door and bolted it behind him. The beacon light blinded him for a second prompting him to lift his hand to his face to block out the intense light. 

Then the sound of footsteps stopped. For a moment Greg thought it sounded like they had gone back downstairs. Later…

Bash! bash! Greg jumped startled. They were just behind the door. He backed up and went behind the beacon, waiting for the worst to happen!

Crash! With a heavy thud the strong, wooden door collapsed on the floor. There standing in front of the doorway, Greg saw three ghostly figures. One, he recognised Jack Dawkins, the captain of the Royal Princess; his uniform was dripping wet, and his eyes were just empty sockets. The other two figures he couldn't make out; both had contorted faces, sunken eye sockets soaking wet and covered in seaweed. A small fish was biting at one of them on his cheek… tearing into his flesh.

All three phantoms started walking towards Greg, then more phantom sailors came into the room. 

Moments after, Greg saw a score of ghostly seamen all gliding towards him moaning, shouting… “Jonah, look what you've done to us!”

The sailors seemed agitated and were getting more and more aggressive when…

“Let me get at him!" shouted one of the men. 

“No men! That's an order we have to wait for Benjamin to come, then we will know what to do with Greg!” shouted the captain.

Just then, Greg heard a whistling sound, getting louder and louder; he put his hands over his ears as the sound hurt his ears. 

 “Here he comes now!” exclaimed the captain. Looking up, Greg saw a cloudy figure appear in the middle of the room, from what seemed to be a spinning golden portal.

“Hello, Greg are you alright?” It was his Benjamin. 

Greg's heartbeat slowed down, after seeing his friend. 

Benjamin turned and addressed the seamen:

“ If you do not want to be earthbound anymore follow me!” Said Benjamin, pointing to a whirlpool of golden light entering the room. 

“Greg has done no wrong and he must be left alone to live out his life.”

The captain and his crew slowly, one by one, stepped into the whirlpool. 

 “You see, Greg, " said Benjamin, "they never forgave you for being the only survivor on their ship, but I never thought you were to blame in any way. That's why I was able to go to the heaven world. You have no reason to feel guilt anymore my friend. I will see you when it is your time. Enjoy the rest of your life here on earth. Goodbye for now, Greg!” 

With that, Benjamin smiled at him entered the light and vanished.

The End