The Lighthouse

by Amy Cross

  “I didn't let you,” I mutter, keeping several steps back in case he falls on top of me. “In fact, I tried to stop you, remember? After your second and my first, I told you it was time to stop but you kept on going. Now you just need to get to bed and sleep it off.”

  Sure enough, he stumbles when he gets to the top of the stairs and drops onto his hands and knees, before starting to crawl unsteadily toward his bed. He's giggling at something, and after a moment he bumps into a chair and almost knocks it over. To be honest, this whole situation reminds me of the countless times I had to look after Mel when she was out of her mind. I watch as he tries again to reach his bed, and this time he hits the desk with enough force to send it shuddering across the floor.

  “Quiet!” I whisper. “You'll wake -”

  As soon as I look over at Colin's bed, I see that it's empty. I glance around the room, expecting to see him in the kitchen or to find that the bathroom door is shut, but there's no sign of him anywhere.

  “Upstairs,” Matthew says after a moment, reaching his bed and hauling himself up. “On clear nights, the old git likes to go and sit all by himself, looking out at the world. How said is that, huh?”

  “Maybe he likes the peace and quiet,” I reply, heading over and starting to pull Matthew's bedsheets over his still-clothed body. “I can understand.”

  “I hope I'm not sick,” Matthew whispers, staring up at me.

  “Me too.”

  “You're very pretty from certain angles,” he adds.

  “Thank you. Go to -”

  “Are you sure you don't fancy a quick roll in the hay some time?”

  “Go to sleep,” I tell him firmly, switching off the light next to his bed. Turning, I half expect to hear him lumbering after me, but to my relief he's already started snoring by the time I get halfway across the room. I swear, Matthew treats this place more like an extension of his heavy-drinking student days than an actual job. It's hard to believe that any company would be willing to keep paying him when all he does is sit around complaining, telling stories and getting drunk. Sure, student life was fun, but I'm twenty-one years old now and I want to put that time behind me.

  I want my real life to begin, and I want to start feeling that this lighthouse is a workplace instead of a doss house.

  Spotting the shelf full of Colin's journals, I stop for a moment and then head over. It feels wrong to be going through them, but he specifically told me it'd be okay so I take the Index volume out and sit on his bed as I flick through the pages. Sure enough, there's a fresh entry for the name Penny along with some numbers that indicate different volumes, but there's nothing for Essie Davis apart from the entry he added earlier, and there's nothing for for ghosts or for several other terms that I look up in an attempt to find out whether he might have seen or heard something unusual during his time here.

  If something is going on here at Culthorpe, it seems to be passing Colin by completely.

  Setting the Index volume down, I grab another notebook at random and start flicking through. There are diary entries for a period about two years ago, and it quickly becomes clear that back then Matthew and Colin were joined by a guy named Josh. Not much is really mentioned about Josh, and Colin seems to have been more concerned with detailing the minutiae of their daily lives rather than his actual thoughts or impressions. Still, as I read a few more entries, I find that Colin mentions his memory problems several times, as if they weren't so bad back then but were slowly starting to become a problem:

  May 1st – Today I worked at the generator building all morning, but there's only so much I can do right now. I need to get the right parts. Matthew says he'll order next time he speaks to the mainland, which he's said every day for the past month without actually getting around to it. Sometimes I wonder what he actually does around this place, other than act like a minor irritation. Josh wants to learn how to fix the system that keeps the generator running, but I don't want to start teaching anyone. Spent the evening alone, writing this entry and indexing the older ones. It's getting harder to remember things that happened when I first came to Culthorpe.

  The next entry isn't any more fascinating or revealing:

  May 2nd – Back at the generator all morning. Parts are a problem. Matthew says he'll use the radio on Friday. Strange that he doesn't want me to use it, or Josh. In fact, he's borderline possessive, as if he wants to pretend that the radio is the sum total of his responsibilities around this place. The weather's getting a little better, but I'm not holding out much hope for the long-term. Saw some gulls this afternoon, didn't recognize them, need to look them up if I remember. Spent the evening alone, working on the new index. Once that's done, I should find it much easier to look back at older entries. Sometimes I can barely even remember how long I've been here.

  I read a couple more like this before flicking through to a later section. The change, in just a few months, is noticeable:

  August 25th – Started by re-reading last night's entry. Very little of it has stuck, but I'm relieved to find that I made some detailed notes. All the days seem to be blending together. Did some tests, sat with my head upside down etc., but I'm pretty sure I'm not ill. Just letting my thoughts drift more than before, which I suppose is a consequence of this repetitive lifestyle. Need to get key to padlock from Matthew, heard more banging from the basement under the generator room. Needs checking out. I'm worried that if there are some important pieces of equipment down there, they might be failing. Unfortunately, Matthew is now acting possessive of the key, so I guess he's trying to expand his dominion. I find him very irritating.

  August 26th – Felt strange again this morning. Matthew says Josh's replacement will be here next week. Maybe that'll help, it'd be good to have someone else I can discuss these things with. I should probably think about going to the mainland for a few days, to see a doctor, but it just seems like so much fuss. I'm sure everything's okay, and I can manage like this so long as there's no further deterioration. In fact, I wouldn't mind if my current state of mind becomes the new normal, maybe I'm just adjusting to my environment. Realized current index system, despite overhaul, isn't sufficiently detailed. Going to start all over again, and this time I want to get everything cataloged, even if it seems mundane now. You never know what might turn out to be important one day.

  As Matthew continues to snore on the far side of the room, I skip ahead a little further:

  October 5th – Have cut out all alcohol from diet. Memory definitely seems a little foggy, relying more and more on these journals. Maybe too much fiber as well? New index project is taking longer than I expected, but that's okay, better to be thorough. Nick doesn't seem to be fitting in too well, he reminds me of Tam, so he and Matthew are like chalk and cheese. Doubt he'll stick around much longer. Reminder: get padlock key from Matthew and check out banging sounds from basement. Also double-check index for same.

  Flicking through some more pages, I find that the entries are starting to get longer. By December, he's started writing two or three pages for each day, chronicling the details of conversations even when they concerned the most banal things imaginable. He's started to add little drawings, too, as well as lists of items that he needs Matthew to order. It's clear that as time has gone by, he's come to rely more and more on the details in these journals. Every so often, I find that a page has been torn out, but I figure he must have just made a mistake here and there. When I get to the end of the volume, however, one particular factor strikes me as occurring over and over again, as evidenced by the beginning of the last entry for the year:

  December 31st – Didn't do anything special. Matthew called me dull for not wanting to party. He'll be happier when Nick's replacement arrives next week. Did some extra work in the generator room. Must get key to the padlock on the basement door, to see what's causing the knocking sounds down there.

  The entry goes on and on, but I stop there. For some reason, Colin seems to have been constantly reminding himself to go into the basement beneat
h the generator room, but he never seems to have actually remembered. Grabbing the Index volume, I flick through to the B section and see to my astonishment that there are scores of entries referring to the basement. I start pulling more volumes from the shelves and checking, and sure enough it's the same every time: he keeps telling himself to get the key, but evidently he never actually gets around to it. There's even an entry for three days ago, just before I arrived, where he reminds himself about the exact same thing.

  His memory must be truly shot to pieces.

  Sitting back, I listen to Matthew's snores and realize that there's no way he can have remained oblivious to Colin's problems for so long. Colin clearly can't remember anything that happened more than a few hours ago, at least not without checking in these journals first, which means something must be seriously wrong with him.

  I set the journals back into their correct places and then grab the first, determined to read through from beginning to end and work out exactly what has been happening. When I open to the very first page, however, I'm shocked to see by the date that it has already been almost seven years since Colin started writing these, which doesn't quite seem to fit with a few of the things Matthew mentioned to me earlier. I could have sworn he said that Colin has only been here for three years, but the journals clearly show that isn't the case. I glance across the room to make sure that Matthew is fast asleep, and then -

  Suddenly I spot movement in the shadows.

  Over on the far side of the bed, just beyond Matthew's bed, something shifted slightly in the darkness between the wardrobe and the wall. I wait, telling myself that I must have imagined the whole thing even as I feel my heart pounding, but a moment later I realize I can just about make out the faintest shape. Setting the journal aside, I get to my feet, waiting for more movement, hoping that it'll turn out to be something completely normal. A moment later, however, the shape moves again, dipping further back into the darkness until I can't see it at all.

  It's there, though.

  There's something in the room with us. I can feel the same nervous kick in my chest that I learned to live with back at the house.

  Matthew continues to snore as I take a cautious step forward, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the shadows ahead. After a couple more steps, I'm once again able to make out the faint outline of what appears to be a human form, and I start to see darker patches on the face, like...

  Eyes.

  And a mouth.

  They're so faint, and so barely visible, I lose sight of them when I blink. Slowly, however, they start to emerge from the darkness again, staring straight at me from the very edge of my perception.

  Suddenly I hear footsteps over my shoulder, and I turn to see that Colin is coming down from the lamp-room. I turn back toward the shadows, but there's no sign of the figure. Stepping forward, I want for it to appear again but there's nothing, and this time I hurry all the way over to Matthew's bed, only to realize that the dark space next to the closet is now empty. Still, I know what I saw, and when I turn to Colin I feel a shiver pass through my chest.

  “I saw something,” I tell him, my voice trembling with fear. “There was something right here in the room with us, it was...”

  My voice trails off as I realize that it's happening again. The pills must have stopped working, because the face I saw just now was the same face I saw all those years ago when I was a little girl.

  Chapter Fourteen

  One month earlier

  “A lighthouse?” Dad sneers. “What the hell are you thinking?”

  “I just -”

  Barging past me, he starts making his way up the stairs. This is already going about as well as I'd expected.

  “No daughter of mine is going to work at a lighthouse,” he continues, stomping toward my bedroom. “You'll come home with us, the way you originally planned, and you'll find a job in the area. There are people hiring if you look hard enough. For God's sake, you've never been very good at making rational decisions, but this is a step too far, even for you.”

  “Sorry we didn't call ahead,” Mum says meekly, standing behind me. “It's just... You know...”

  “What's he doing up there?” I ask, trying to stay calm as I hear Dad bumping about in my room. “What are you doing?” I call after him.

  “He's probably packing your things,” Mum tells me. “Come on, Penny, you can't seriously think you can go and live at a lighthouse, can you? The whole thing just sound completely ridiculous.”

  “He's obviously in a great mood,” I reply. “Let me guess, did he end up taking out more loans?”

  “He's investing in the property market,” she replies, but she can barely look me in the eye as she does so. Deep down, she knows he's making the same mistake as before.

  “How much does he owe this time?” I ask.

  “He has it all under control.”

  “Like hell he does,” I mutter, hearing him banging about up there. “He's gonna wreck everything,” I add, feeling a hint of panic in my chest. “You might be willing to live with him while he does it, but I'm not.”

  “Penny, he's your father, you shouldn't -”

  “Forget it,” I snap.

  Hurrying up the stairs, I get to my room just in time to find that, sure enough, Dad has set my suitcase on the bed and has begun to toss my clothes inside.

  “Stop,” I say firmly. When he doesn't reply, I step closer. “That's my stuff. Leave it alone.”

  “Well, I think I paid for most of your things,” he replies, “so let's not get into that.”

  “I paid for everything myself,” I hiss, snatching a t-shirt from his hands. “You never gave me a penny since the first term! I worked for it all!”

  “So now you're resentful, are you?” he replies, shoving more of my clothes into the suitcase. “I'm sorry I'm not rich enough to pay for your every need while you were studying.”

  “I had three jobs,” I tell him, struggling to hold back from pushing him away. “Do you really think I was dumb enough to rely on a man who owes more money to the banks than he'll ever earn?”

  “Can you imagine what people'd say if they found out about your crazy plan?” he mutters, not even turning to look at me. As usual, he's changing the subject as soon as he knows he's on shaky ground. “A lighthouse, Penny? Seriously? The whole idea's insane, everyone'd laugh at the family. You didn't come to university and spend three years messing about just so you could go up to Scotland and sit around in a bloody lighthouse.”

  “I'm twenty-one,” I reply. “I can do what I want.”

  “You're not thinking straight,” he continues. “I don't know what's wrong with you, but we'll get you sorted soon enough. Maybe you need to change your pills or something. Your room's still waiting for you and -”

  “No,” I say firmly, hurrying over to him and grabbing the clothes from the suitcase, pulling them out and throwing them onto the bed as fast as he puts them in. “I'm not coming back home! I've got a plan and I'm sticking to it.”

  Sighing, he pushes me out of the way and grabs the clothes again.

  “Stop!” I shout, pulling his arm away.

  “Penny...” Turning to me, he smiles, and it's that same infuriating grin I recognize from my childhood. He thinks I'm some kind of idiot, and that I need him to show me what to do. He's always been like that: the whole world is insane and needs him to bring a little logic and order. “Listen,” he continues, putting a hand on my shoulder, “I get it, you want to be independent -”

  “I found a job,” I tell him, pulling my shoulder away.

  “A dead-end job,” he replies. “Come on, sweetheart, you're being completely irrational. You're being like your mother. These flights of fancy won't get you anywhere, there's nothing you can learn or build upon by going out to some lighthouse. You need to find a job that'll allow you to progress, and then you need to knuckle down and move up the ladder instead of all this manic rubbish about going to live at a lighthouse.”

  “I have a job!” I p
oint out. “I start in a few weeks' time!”

  “No,” he replies.

  “No?”

  He shakes his head. “No. You're not doing it. You're going to come home and do something sensible.” With that, he turns and heads to the wardrobe. “It'll be quicker if you help pack. Your mother always says I crease things. Come on, it'll be fun. We can stop off at Spoons on the way home and you can have a burger. That's still your favorite, isn't it?” Grabbing the wardrobe's handle, he tries to pull it open, only to find that it's stuck. “You'll thank me eventually, Penny. Whatever's possessed you to think you can do something like this, you'll see the light soon enough. Pun not intended, naturally.” He pulls on the handle again. “What's wrong with this thing?”

  “I'm not coming with you,” I tell him, stepping closer. “You can't make me.”

  “I'm your father,” he replies, pulling harder to get the wardrobe door open. “Christ, is it always like this?”

  “I'm not going to -”

  “Shut up!” he hisses, turning to me and grabbing me by the collar. He pulls me closer, and I can smell his foul breath. “Just shut up,” he continues, clearly struggling to stay calm. “You might be twenty-one, but you're still my daughter and I still have a say in your future. I don't know what's wrong with you right now, it's like you're having some kind of crisis, but we'll get you stable and then you'll understand. Are you still taking your pills?”

  “Yes,” I say firmly, “I'm still taking my pills.”

  “Maybe you need a higher dose.”

  “Maybe I don't need them at all,” I reply, although I instantly know that's a mistake. “The pills don't have anything to do with it,” I continue, before he can pounce. “The pills are just to stabilize my mood.”

  “They don't seem to be working.”

  “They were working fine 'til you showed up just now.”