STORIES to Keep you AWAKE

Chapter 1: THE LIGHTHOUSE GOES DARK

The storm arrived before nightfall.

From the harbor of Blackwater, the sky looked like an iron vault descending over the sea. The clouds had swallowed the last light in the west, and the wind rushed between the warehouses, slamming doors, chains, and shutters. The fishermen secured their boats with a second mooring line. Some with a third.

Mara Vane stood at the end of the pier, looking toward the island.

She could barely make it out: a black stain amid the foam and mist. Above it rose the lighthouse of Saint Orra, outlined against the lightning. Its lantern was dark.

“You won’t make it,” old Harker said behind her.

Mara turned. The harbormaster wore an oilskin coat that was far too large for him and carried a lamp that the wind threatened to extinguish at any moment.

“The current still allows for a crossing,” Mara said, without taking her eyes off the island.

“Now. In half an hour, it won’t.”

“That’s why I’m leaving now.”

Harker fixed his gaze on the lighthouse.

“Alden knew that tower better than anyone,” the old man said.

“And he hasn’t answered the signals for three days.”

“Perhaps he left.”

“His boat is still moored at the island.”

The old man did not answer.

Mara left her tool bag inside the boat. She checked the lamp sheltered beneath the bow, arranged a rope, two flasks of oil, and the iron hammer she used to free jammed gears. Its rectangular head was covered with small inscriptions, simple marks made by the blacksmith who had forged it.

Harker looked at the hammer.

“If the mechanism is broken, you won’t be able to repair it in the middle of this storm.”

“I don’t need to repair it. I need to light it.”

Thunder rolled over the rooftops of the harbor.

“The Mary Bell should round the cape tonight,” Mara continued. “Without that light, it could end up on the reefs.”

“So could you.”

Mara climbed into the boat. Harker helped her loosen the mooring line. He did it without conviction, as though every knot he untied were a decision he would later regret.

“If the lighthouse is still dark at dawn, send another boat,” Mara said as she began to row.

“By dawn, there won’t be anyone left drunk enough to agree.”

Mara smiled without mirth.

“Then wait until they get drunk again.”

She moved away from the pier as quickly as she could.

“Did you bring the radio to keep in touch?” the old man suddenly shouted.

But the wind carried the question away.

The first waves met her before she had left the protection of the breakwater. The boat climbed them violently and then plunged into the black valleys that opened between one crest and the next. Mara rowed with her entire body leaning into the effort, trying to maintain her rhythm. Every time she raised an oar, the wind tore a curtain of water from the blade.

The bow lamp cast a small amber glow over the wet wood. Beyond that circle, the sea had no boundaries.

The island appeared and disappeared behind the rain.

With every flash of lightning, the lighthouse seemed closer. It was an octagonal tower of dark stone, connected to the keeper’s house by a low structure with a sloping roof. A staircase descended from the door to a landing carved into the rock.

No light could be seen in any of the windows.

Mara called Alden’s name once.

The wind carried her voice away.

She called out to him again when she was closer.

There was no answer.

When she reached the island, her arms were numb.

She jumped onto the landing with the rope in her hand and looped it twice around the mooring post. The boat bucked behind her, striking against the stone. The lamp was still burning.

Mara placed one hand on the stair railing.

The lighthouse door remained closed.

“Alden!”

Nothing.

She climbed the first step.

At the top of the tower, something began to turn.

The lantern came to life with such violence that Mara stepped back.

The great Fresnel lens blazed inside the glass cupola. Its rings captured the light and compressed it into a solid golden beam that cut through the rain and aimed directly at the Mary Bell, illuminating the entire ship against the immense darkness.

For a moment, Mara could only watch it. Almost frozen by the sudden and strange nature of what she had just witnessed. Astonished.

There was no one on the gallery. No silhouette moved behind the glass. And yet the lens turned with perfect regularity, casting its light across the sea.

“Alden,” she murmured.

The mechanism might have been left wound. A counterweight, once released, would have set the gears in motion. But the lamp needed fuel. Someone had to have opened the valves, lit the burner, and adjusted the wick.

Mara looked up at the tower.

The beam passed over her and continued out to sea.

It did not sweep across the horizon.

It followed exactly the same path again.

Mara followed the light with her eyes.

The Mary Bell appeared beneath it, transformed into a small white ship among the waves. The lighthouse illuminated it for several seconds. Then the lens turned, and darkness covered it once more.

Mara counted silently.

Thirty seconds later, the beam returned to the same point.

The light was not rotating over the sea.

It was searching for the ship.

A wave struck the cliffs and hurled foam across the staircase. Mara clung to the railing.

When she lowered her gaze, she discovered something among the crests.

A mast.

It rose at an angle above the water and disappeared again. Farther out, another emerged, broken near the fighting top. Then she saw a third.

The next flash of lightning illuminated the sea around the island.

There were dozens.

Remnants of masts and rigging swayed beneath the waves. Some were covered in seaweed; others still bore shreds of sails that stretched in the current. They were not rocks or trees carried in by the tide. They were sunken ships.

Before her lay enough wreckage to fill a graveyard.

The beam reached the Mary Bell again.

This time, the ship seemed closer.

Mara watched its sails. They were set toward the west, trying to move away from the island, yet the hull was advancing toward Saint Orra.

As though the current had changed.

She ran up the stairs.

The tower door did not yield when she pushed down the handle. Mara struck the wood with her shoulder.

“Alden! Open the door!”

No one answered.

She took a maintenance key from her pocket. She inserted it into the lock, but the mechanism would not turn. Something had been placed on the other side.

Mara looked toward the landing.

Her tool bag was in the boat. The hammer rested beside the rope.

She descended the steps two at a time.

The lighthouse continued to sweep the sea with its single eye of light.

Mara picked up the hammer and turned toward the tower.

The island trembled.

It was not the impact of a wave or the roar of thunder. The vibration rose through her boots, travelled across the staircase, and reached the keeper’s house. Several of the tiles that still remained on the old, ruined roof slid off and shattered against the rocks.

The boat pulled against its mooring line.

Mara rested one hand on the railing.

A sound came from inside the cliff.

Deep.

Slow.

Like the creaking of an enormous ship beneath the water.

The rock beneath her feet trembled again.

Mara raised the lamp.

A crack opened across the cliff face.

At first, she thought it was a fissure caused by the storm. But its edges moved. The stone folded inward and then opened once more.

Something shone within the darkness.

An eye.

Its iris was the same colour as the lighthouse beam.

Mara stepped back along the staircase. The hammer hung from her hand.

The sea erupted to her left.

A black column rose among the waves. At first, it appeared to be a rock formation torn from the seabed, but it continued to grow. It curved above the water and poured torrents from its surface, which was covered in shells and seaweed.

Another appendage emerged behind the sunken masts.

Then a third.

The island shuddered again.

The lighthouse tilted slightly and righted itself. The house creaked. The stairs warped as though the rock supporting them had just breathed.

Mara looked toward the tower.

It had not been built upon Saint Orra.

It had been driven into her.

The creature had remained motionless beneath the sea for so long that stone, seaweed, and birds’ nests had covered its body. Men had built a lighthouse upon its back without understanding what it was. Or perhaps someone had understood it all too well.

The golden beam crossed the storm once more.

The Mary Bell responded with a signal. A small light flashed from its deck.

They were asking for help.

Mara raised her arm instinctively, although no one could see her from that distance.

One of the appendages fell upon the water near the ship. The resulting wave lifted the bow and pushed it toward the wreckage.

The lighthouse beam remained fixed upon its sails.

Mara looked at the hammer.

Then she gazed at the glass cupola at the top of the tower.

The main door was still blocked, but the keeper’s house had other entrances.

She climbed.

The creature shook the cliff, and part of the staircase collapsed behind her.

Mara reached the landing in front of the house. She struck the door with the hammer, beside the lock. The wood resisted the first blow. On the second, it splintered. On the third, the door swung inward.

The smell stopped her.

Rancid oil, dampness, and something else.

Alden was sitting at the table.

He wore the lighthouse keeper’s coat and still had one hand closed around a cup. His head was bowed over his chest. A thin layer of salt covered his face and hair.

Mara approached him.

“Alden.”

The man raised his head.

His eyes were open, but they did not look at the room. He moved his dry lips.

“Do not turn off the light.”

Mara stopped one step away from him.

“What happened?”

“She needs it.”

Another tremor ran through the house.

“Who?”

Alden slowly turned his face toward the wall.

A bronze pipe passed through the stone and rose toward the tower. A pulsing golden glow flowed through it.

“I gave her oil,” he whispered. “Then she no longer wanted oil.”

The salt on his skin cracked when he smiled.

“Now she eat ships.”

The wall split open behind him.

Mara ran toward the tower’s interior staircase.

The iron steps spiralled upward around a central shaft. The tower swayed. With every movement, Mara struck either the wall or the railing.

Below her, Alden began to laugh. His laughter was lost beneath the creature’s roar.

Mara climbed, gripping the hammer. The wind blew through the narrow windows, carrying rain and fragments of stone with it. The golden beam appeared and disappeared above her head.

When she reached the mechanism room, she found the gears turning without counterweights.

There was no fuel in the tanks.

The bronze pipe ended beneath the lens pedestal. Inside it, the light rose with every pulse of the creature.

Mara did not stop.

She opened the gallery hatch and stepped outside. The storm nearly tore her from the tower.

She held on to the railing. From there, she saw the true extent of Saint Orra: the black body rising above the sea, the open eye in the cliff, and the enormous appendages surrounding the island.

Farther below, the rock split apart. A row of teeth appeared among the waves.

The Mary Bell was close enough for her to make out the men running across the deck. One of them was cutting a rope tangled among the remains of a wreck. Another was trying to keep the rudder away from the rocks. The lighthouse beam continued to illuminate them.

Mara went around the gallery until she reached the door to the cupola.

It was locked. She struck the glass with the hammer.

The first blow left only a white mark.

The creature’s eye shifted toward her.

Mara struck again. The glass cracked. Finally, with the third blow, she broke through the panel. The wind invaded the cupola and hurled fragments of glass across the gears.

Mara entered, shielding her face with her arm.

The lens turned before her.

It was taller than a man and composed of hundreds of glass rings. The light pulsed at its centre like a heart.

Mara raised the hammer.

The lighthouse tilted.

She fell to her knees but did not release the tool. She stood again, bracing herself against the pedestal.

Below, the creature’s mouth opened fully.

The Mary Bell was moving toward her.

Mara gripped the hammer with both hands and struck the centre of the lens.

The glass shattered.

The golden light exploded inside the cupola and disappeared.

For an instant, there was only the rain, the darkness, and the roar of the sea.

Then came the scream.

The creature arched its body. Its appendages lashed the waves, and the cliff shook with such violence that the keeper’s house lost part of its roof. The eye contracted. The enormous mouth closed over water and rotten masts.

The Mary Bell broke free.

Mara watched it turn slowly toward the open sea. The wind filled its sails and carried it away from the reefs. A light flashed from the stern: once, twice, three times.

She did not know whether it was a signal of gratitude or a farewell.

The creature began to sink. The water covered the mouth first, then the eye. The stairs descended into the sea as the tower tilted several degrees. Mara left the cupola and made her way down through the gallery.

The interior was filled with dust and pieces of masonry. All that remained of Alden was the broken cup beside the table.

Mara reached the door when the waves were already covering half the landing.

Her boat was still moored. She jumped inside, cut the rope, and took up the oars.

Saint Orra was sinking behind her.

The tower remained visible for a few minutes longer, leaning over the sea like a dark finger.

Then the cupola disappeared beneath the waves.

The storm began to move away toward the north.

When Mara reached Blackwater, dawn was staining the rooftops grey. Harker was waiting for her at the end of the pier.

He helped her climb out without asking any questions. He looked at the boat, the hammer covered in glass dust, and the empty horizon.

“Did you light the lighthouse?” he finally asked.

Mara looked toward the place where the island had been.

“No.”

In the distance, the Mary Bell sounded its horn as it entered the harbour.

Mara set the hammer down on the pier.

“I turned it off.”

THE END

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