The Lighthouse

The Lighthouse

By Clarissa Johal

Copyright © 2019 by Clarissa Johal

Faeriemoon Press

Edited by

Frank Moore

Cover Design by Clarissa Johal

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter One

We’ll be ready to leave Saturday morning, bright and early, Riley reiterated to Captain Merrick. I’m working on the article and…my co-worker is doing the photo spread. She glanced at Dillon, dodging waves as they broke onshore. The gazette will run our piece on Lighthouse Day.

Your friend said something about the lighthouse ghost, the grizzled boat captain remarked.

We may touch on that but I’d like to focus more on the history—

Have you seen the ghost of the captain’s wife? Dillon interrupted. ‘Cause I’d sure like to get some photos.

Captain Merrick squinted up at the lighthouse and nodded. I seen something, all right.

Did she speak to you? Where was she?

Well. The fisherman stroked his grey beard thoughtfully. "I was doing some night fishing. Last August it was, been about a year. Was on my way back to the mainland, just passin’ by, when I saw a light from one of the lighthouse windows. I thought maybe someone had boat trouble or some such. Couldn’t see any other reason anyone would be out here, nothin’ on this rock to see but ruins. I anchored Betsy and started walking up the dock, and then I saw her. He grew animated as he caught Dillon’s wide-eyed stare. She was standing on the widow’s walk, staring down at me. Long, blue dress and hair trailing like seaweed. Stared at me like she was staring into my very soul. Sent chills down my spine. I couldn’t move for a good…three, four minutes."

I’d probably pee my pants, Dillon said in awe.

Riley shot him a frown. I’m sure the dark can play tricks.

Wasn’t dark, the captain said vehemently. Full moon as bright as the sun. Chilly, but a good fishin’ night, to be sure. He glanced at the top balcony of the lighthouse. Told myself I’d never come back, fishing or no.

Well, it doesn’t look haunted to me. She caught his sharp look. I’m sure you saw something, she added quickly. Just not…a ghost.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

Riley cleared her throat. You’ll pick us up in three days, right? Fifty dollars cash.

Said I would, he replied with a sniff. Beginning of my fishing route, get you back by sunset.

Can I get your cellphone number? Just in case anything happens on your end. She rooted in her backpack. You have a cellphone, right?

"Yep, I got one. Even got that newfangled thing called an email. He gave her a pointed look before reiterating his phone number. Not much of a signal out this way. No electricity on Pelican Rock either, last I heard."

"I have a portable cellphone charger. As long as we have a signal, even if it’s one bar, we’ll manage," she added.

Hm. His expression was of doubt.

Dillon went to unload their supplies from the boat. His sandy-blond curls and freckles lent him the appearance of being younger than he was, as did his demeanor. Campfire wood, drinking water…did you bring a lighter, Riley? I wanna make s’mores before bed.

Yes. She turned her attention to Captain Merrick. Thank you again for taking us out here last minute. Our boat ride never showed up, I don’t know what happened.

Captain Merrick sized her up. You mind yourselves. This place has secrets, for sure.

Secrets? Riley asked.

Without explanation, he untied the boat rope from the cleat and hoisted himself onboard.

See? Dillon said after he cast off. "This place is haunted as fuck. Should make an awesome story. He rummaged through his backpack. I hope you brought enough food. If not, I can share mine."

I have enough food.

Aw, I forgot my gummy bears.

I’m sure you’ll live.

Did you bring any gummy bears?

No.

His expression fell. Damn. Leaving the contents of his backpack strewn across the dock, he pulled out his camera. I may have forgotten the gummy dudes but I have my money maker. I’ll snap the ghosts and you write the article. We make the perfect team!

"We’re only a team because Lance broke his leg on his last assignment."

Lance is a tool.

He’s not a tool. He takes his job very seriously—

Exactly. He’s a tool. Dillon shrugged. Mr. Snooty Photojournalist with too many lenses to compensate. I only need one lens to get a good photo, maybe two if I wanna get up close and personal.

As long as you get enough decent pictures to go with my story. This isn’t a vacation.

This, he gestured to the lighthouse, "is some seriously fun shit. It’s almost like a vacation, but with sleeping bags and ghosts."

"There aren’t any ghosts, Dillon. History, yes, but don’t hold your breath for any ghosts. I’m writing this piece from a historical perspective, with the ghosts being the folklore. Hopefully, it will generate enough interest to help the Preservation Society with their fundraising efforts."

Ghosts create interest. He snapped his fingers. The Preservation Society could charge for ghost hunting tours. See the ghosts and save the lighthouse!

I seriously doubt the ghosts, not that there are any, are going to whoo-whoo on command.

You never know—

Dillon, no. This place has tons of history which will make the story interesting enough.

What kind of history?

Did you even research Pelican Rock when you got the assignment? She crossed her arms. Not just the ghost stories but the actual history.

I read some stuff. He shrugged and looked away.

Riley rolled her eyes. Pelican Rock was big enough to create a problem for passing ships, contributing to three shipwrecks. In 1855, they approved the construction of a lighthouse. By 1858, after several mishaps, both the lighthouse and cottage were finally completed. John and Anna Sawyer, the first and only lighthouse keepers, lived on Pelican Rock from 1858 to 1860. They were paid a salary of three-hundred-and-fifty dollars—what are you doing?

The cha-cha.

Do you want to educate yourself or goof off?

Is that a trick question?

She let out an annoyed sigh.

Okay, okay, I’m listening. He affected an expression of mock seriousness. All ears.

It wasn’t an easy job, by what I read. she continued. They had to haul whale oil up and down the lighthouse stairs, trim the wick, clean the lens glass, and basically keep the flame burning all night long.

Whale oil?

Yes. Fifty pounds of it, to be exact.

Poor whales.

If it makes you feel better, I think they switched to lard in the 1870s.

Poor piggies.

"Anyway, John and Anna grew most of their own food and had livestock. Supplies were dropped off every month. If they needed anything extra, they’d take their dinghy to the mainland."

Did they have horsies?

No, they had livestock. Cows, goats, sheep, and chickens. Horses would have been unnecessary.

Aw, I like horses. They have long eyelashes.

She gave him a flat stare before continuing. In 1860, Anna gave birth to their first and only child. Four months after the birth, John took their dinghy to the mainland. Unfortunately, he never made it. They found his body washed up onshore.

Why did he leave in the first place?

They don’t know. The weather was reportedly bad, so it makes little sense. A local barkeep by the name of Benjamin Cook volunteered to see if John had made the trip alone, or if Anna and the baby had also drowned. When he didn’t return, they sent several fishermen out after him.

And that’s when they found the bodies?

Yes. Both Anna and Benjamin had plunged to their deaths from the top of the lighthouse. They found their bodies on the rocks below.

What about the baby?

I couldn’t find any mention of the baby, oddly enough. I’m guessing the baby died too. She stared out at the ocean reflectively. It was only later they found out Benjamin had a crush on Anna years before she’d even married John. He’d kept a stack of love letters, unsent, that he’d written to her. They found them in a lockbox under his bed.

I read that! Dillon said, triumphant. Benjamin told Anna how he felt and it went bad.

That’s the rumor, she corrected. Nobody knows for sure.

He had a temper. Bar brawls, picking fights with the local fishermen. An all-around dark horse.

Where did you read that?

Places. He wiped a spray of sand from his freckled face. Lots of people have seen Anna haunting the shore, looking for her baby.

Folklore, like I said.

She haunted the rocky shore, sobbing in grief and despair as she reached out with cold, dead hands, he continued theatrically. If you want to use that, feel free.

That would make this assignment a ghost story, which it isn’t, she said. I interviewed the head of the Preservation Society, Mrs. Johnson. There were historical details that nobody seems to care about.

I care, he said defensively. What details?

Just…details. I’m including them in my story.

Ooh, secret details. He rubbed his hands together.

They decommissioned the lighthouse shortly after the tragedy.

Because it’s haunted.

No, because they lost funding to keep it up and running. They replaced it with a bunch of floating buoys. Definitely not as impressive or intriguing but they did the job. She shouldered her backpack. "The haunting is a folktale and the result of one hundred-and-sixty years of gossip. An abandoned lighthouse, two unsolved deaths—"

Three deaths, don’t forget her baby.

Okay, three deaths, she continued. It’s perfect ghost story fodder. I doubt anyone has truly seen a ghost.

"Au contraire. There’ve been tons of sightings. I also read Anna’s ghost spoke to someone. She asked him for help and then disappeared."

Let me guess, you read that on one of those weird ghost-chat sites?

They aren’t, weird ghost-chat sites, he replied, indignant. They’re places people can share paranormal experiences without being judged.

She caught the hint. I’m not judging. I’m just—never mind.

What about Captain Merrick? He seemed one hundred percent convinced he saw Anna.

He also said it was nighttime. It was a living person, Dillon.

In a long, blue dress? Is that the fashion these days?

"This place is accessible by boat, you know."

Why would someone go to the trouble of dressing up and then coming out here? Forty minutes in, forty out. Plus, the lighthouse is locked, where would they get the key?

They could have picked the lock.

Maybe, but be a little open-minded, geez. I’ve read through hundreds of sightings. Shadows, full-bodied apparitions…even if half of those are bullshit, the other half are worth taking seriously.

We’ll see, she replied, unconvinced. We have three days. I’m gathering as many factual details as possible. You can do whatever you want but please get some decent photos. Something other than shadows and apparitions would be awesome.

Hint taken. Removing the lens cap from his camera, he pointed the camera towards the lighthouse. But maybe she’ll show up in one of my photos. Snapping the photograph, he checked the display. Nothing, but you never know. Once I download it, we may see all sorts of ghosts. He replaced the lens cap. Ready to check out our digs. You got the key?

Mrs. Johnson gave me four; lighthouse, galley room, widow’s walk, and the cottage. Do you want to explore the cottage first? We may be on borrowed time. The roof looks pretty damaged.

"Nah. I want to go to the top of the lighthouse. He stared up at the widow’s walk. That’s where it went down, and that’s where I wanna go."

Of course, she murmured. Let me call Carol and let her know we arrived in one piece. She checked her cellphone. All of one bar. Fabulous. She dialed and watched Dillon navigate the rocky beach to the lighthouse door. His unruly hair, off-white oversized hoodie, and ripped-up jeans made him look homeless, she reflected. She fitfully smoothed her long, dark braid and straightened her trench coat. Looking professional was important, whether they were in the middle of the ocean or a crowded building. At least people won’t mistake me for a random ghost hunter, she assured herself. I’m a serious journalist. Once I get a decent portfolio, I’m headed to the big city for a real job—

Pelican Cove Gazette. Carol Tucker speaking.

Carol? It’s Riley. We made it. Riley’s gaze fell on Dillon’s backpack and clothing he’d left strewn on the dock. A pair of happy-face boxers lay next to a Bigfoot T-shirt. She inwardly rolled her eyes. Sorry for the late check-in, but our boat never showed.

Bill’s wife called several hours ago. Carol’s strained voice faded in-and-out with the reception. He came down with the flu. I tried to call you but couldn’t get through. I’m glad you found another boat. I thought we’d have to delay the story. Do you have a ride back? They’re predicting a huge storm tomorrow.

A storm? Crap. She worried the end of her braid. Um…yeah. Hopefully, Captain Merrick won’t leave us stranded—

Four months until Lighthouse Day. There was a thread of tension in Carol’s voice. "I’ve reiterated to everyone we will meet deadlines for this special edition. No excuses. I’ve given everyone more than enough time to get their shit together."

Seven a.m., Tuesday morning. I never miss a deadline.

"Which is why I chose you for this assignment. The Preservation Society is banking on the timing to help raise money, and I’m banking the special edition will sell papers. If Michael waves one more circulation report in my face, I will scream. It’s not my fault we’re losing subscribers. I keep telling