The Lighthouse (standard:horror, 3036 words)
Author: Hulsey	Added: May 25 2002	Views/Reads: 5381/2725	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Rosie has a gift. She can see things through given objects and moves to Cornwall to escape the publicity, unaware of the horror that awaits her.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

through the mirror behind the bar. 

Rosie frowned as she watched the forlorn stranger shuffle towards her.
“And what can I do for you, Sir?” 

The stranger wiped his runny nose and smiled, not the smile of someone
with an ounce of acumen. “A glass of cider.” It was a demand, rather 
than a request. 

Rosie poured the cider and placed the glass on the bar. “That will be
two pounds and thirty pence please.” 

The bemused looking man picked up the cider, and emptied the glass in
one greedy swallow. 

Ronnie tried hard to not laugh as he watched Rosie. 

She wondered what was so amusing, and frowned at her boyfriend. The
stranger turned away and shuffled towards the exit. 

"Excuse me please. Excuse me!" shouted Rosie. 

The odd-looking man turned to her. 

Rosie repeated her request. "Two pounds and thirty pence please?" 

He smiled at her, a pathetic smile. "Oh, I'm so sorry." He removed his
wallet and fumbled inside for the money. A multitude of coins fell to 
the ground and Ronnie giggled loudly. 

Rosie tried to contain herself, realising the joke. This must be the
village idiot. 

He scrambled on all fours, collecting the coins and mumbling to himself.
Eventually he struggled to his feet and looked at Rosie, a blank stare 
on his face. 

"Here, let me help you," she said, holding out her hand for the wallet. 

A surge of power ran through her body when she grasped the wallet. She
gasped and stepped back, knocking some of the bottles over. 

"Rosie, are you all right?" asked Ronnie, rushing to her aid. 

Vivid-coloured flashing lights had invaded her peaceful sanctuary. Rosie
saw children's faces, intermittently paraded in her thoughts. She 
slumped to the ground holding her head, She was now in a large circular 
room; a room with a red light projecting sporadically on the white 
walls. She moved around the room, her eyes fixed on several objects 
that were set out on the rickety shelf. She edged closer towards the 
objects and saw that they were bowls; tiny bowls with lighted candles 
inside them. The flickering flames blended with the red light, giving 
off an aura not unlike Santa's grotto, only this was not Santa's 
grotto. 

She was now standing just inches from the bowls, and the horror crept in
uninvited, like a stab in the heart. She made out the tiny faces 
adorning the bowls and screamed. When she came round, several people 
were standing over her. 

"Rosie, are you okay?" asked Ronnie. 

She was passed a glass of water and drank thirstily. She looked at the
wallet in her hand and realised that her nightmare had begun once more. 


Rosie was unusually quiet that night, as she sat by the fireside,
sipping her cocoa. Her Aunt Helen left her gazing at the television and 
made her way to bed, content in the fact that Rosie had recovered from 
her blackout. 

Rosie's eyes were attracted to the dancing flames of the coal fire, and
she shuddered at the afterthought of the images. The strange man had 
left the Golden Pheasant unnoticed and without his wallet. 

Her attention was distracted by the reporter on the television, telling
of yet another child abduction in Cornwall. The photograph of a 
ten-year old boy was projected onto the screen, and Rosie gasped, 
crying loudly. It was one of the children she had seen in her vision. 
Eight children had now vanished from Cornwall in the last two years. 

Rosie closed her eyes and tried to envisage the gruesome scene again,
but without the wallet, she was helpless. Ben, the landlord of the 
Golden Pheasant had put the wallet in his safe until the man decided to 
return for it. 

Rosie did not get much sleep that night. She acknowledged that she could
not overlook her ordeal. Rosie reported for work that next afternoon, 
insisting that she was fine. Her thoughts were divided, and she was in 
conflict with her emotions. Should she go to the police and report her 
findings, no doubt projecting her back into the public spotlight, or 
should she ignore it, and feel the guilt, as another young victim was 
added to the macabre shelf? Rosie decided on a third option. She would 
find this house of horror herself. 

"Are you sure you be okay, Rosie?" asked Ben, cleaning a glass. 

"I'm fine, Ben... Tell me, that man last night, the one who left his
wallet. Who is he?" 

"You mean Barney Chapman? Oh, he's harmless enough. Not all there
though. Not firing on all cylinders, if you get my meaning." 

"Where does he live, Ben?" 

"Oh he lives with his brother George. They have a small farmhouse in St
Austell." 

"So why does he come in here?" 

"He be an attendant at St Anthony's." 

"St Anthony's?" 

"Yeah, the lighthouse, you know. You must pass it everyday on the way to
your aunt's cottage." 

"A lighthouse!" She saw in her mind the rotating, red light. "Ben, give
the wallet to me. I'll drop it off on the way home this evening." 

"The lighthouse is closed to the public, Rosie. It's been closed for
many a year now." 

"Is there access to the lighthouse from the land?" 

"Aye. There's a footpath leading up to the lighthouse, but there's a
restriction on it due to foot and mouth disease... Besides, Barney is 
only in the lighthouse occasionally. It's automatic you know." 

Rosie was adamant. "I'll drop the wallet off Ben. If he's not there,
I'll give it back to you first thing in the morning." 

"Well if you be sure, Rosie?" 

"I've never been so sure in my life, Ben." 

The sun was low in the sky, as Rosie struggled against the strong sea
breeze. The gusty conditions attempted to prevent her from making 
progress, along the rocky footpath that led towards the lighthouse. She 
tasted the saltwater on her lips, as she ducked beneath the foot and 
mouth warning sign. The shrill scream of the pristine white seagulls 
and the breaking of the tide on the rocks accompanied her on her way. 

Rosie stopped at another sign, warning of no access to the public. She
looked up at the giant, white structure, protruding from the rocks, 
like an enormous, phallic symbol. When she saw the waves crashing 
against the lighthouse, she wished that she had checked the tide times, 
as this was the last place on earth she would wish to be stranded. 

She gripped the cold iron railing and looked up towards her destination,
before advancing cautiously. Rosie climbed the steps, trying not to 
look down, her fear of heights forgotten for now.  Her legs ached with 
the long climb, and at last, she reached the door to the lighthouse. 

She fumbled in her shoulder bag for the can of mace, and for some
foolish reason she shouted. "Hello, Is anyone at home?" 

She waited for a reply that was not forthcoming. Her upbringing and
polite nature compelled her to shout again. "Hello. Anybody?" 

She tried the door, half expecting and hoping that it would be locked,
but once again, fate had dealt her a bum card. The coldness of the 
interior of the lighthouse was the first thing she noticed, and then 
the rotating, red light that was being reflected around the room. 

She closed the door and advanced cautiously, experiencing a feeling of
deja vous. The musty and putrid odour of the white room was not 
pleasant to her, as she covered her nostrils with one hand and held the 
mace at the ready with the other. Her eyes traced where she had looked 
the day before, and knew what was to come.  The room was dimly lit, but 
there was no mistaking. The rickety shelf with the candlelit bowls 
would not leave her thoughts. 

She smiled slightly, as if to reassure herself. Perhaps they were
novelty candleholders. That's it! She would have a closer look and no 
doubt laugh when she realised her mistake. 

Rosie advanced towards the objects, carefully putting one foot in front
of the other, as if she was walking a tightrope. She swore that she 
could hear her heartbeat accelerating, when she was standing inches 
away from the bowls, her lips quivering uncontrollably. Her cold hands 
reached out for one of the candleholders, and she felt the fleshy 
substance as she brought it close to her face. 

It was the face of a young child, a girl. The eyes were open and
appeared to be pleading for help. Rosie sobbed, noticing the rough-cut 
marks where the top of the head had been hacked away. She replaced the 
skull on the shelf carefully, as if not to hurt the child. She sobbed 
uncontrollably, imagining the sad chorus of the lifeless victims 
joining in. The red light lit up the faces intermittently, as if 
introducing each child to Rosie. 

The shadow on the wall interrupted her mourning, and she felt a warm
trickle running down her leg. She heard his breathing, and her hands 
trembled, when she turned to face a grinning Barney Chapman, the saliva 
hanging from his lips. 

She shook her head and was rendered speechless, attempting to focus on
the cock-eyed, drooling monster. 

"Why have you come here, missy?" quizzed Barney. 

"I've b...b... brought your wallet back” she stuttered. 

The conversation she realised was pointless. She had ventured into his
den of horror, and she had to react swiftly if she wanted to leave 
there alive. 

The obese Barney took a step towards her, and she instinctively sprayed
the mace into his face. He screamed loudly, a childlike scream. He fell 
to his knees and Rosie ran for the door. She heard Barney whimpering 
when he got to his feet and made after her, his hands vigorously 
rubbing at his stinging eyes. 

Rosie heard herself breathing heavily; as she jerked open the door, the
welcome air refreshing her. She slipped on the grimy surface and looked 
back to see Barney squinting, his red eyes trying hard to focus on her. 


"Bad, bad lady... You hurt Barney!" 

She scrambled to her feet and kicked out Kung-Fu style, connecting with
his midriff. He lost his balance and fell backwards, hard against the 
railing. Rosie watched in shock, as the big man toppled over the 
railings, disappearing from view. She dashed to the railing and peered 
down at the rocks, in time to see Barney's once menacing frame crash 
against the rocks below. She gazed at his lifeless body as the sea 
around him turned red, before he was washed away to the depths of hell. 


Rosie was confused. Her options now did not appeal to her. If she
reported the incident, she would no doubt be asked how she knew of the 
lighthouse. She felt she owed it to the children, but her apparent 
crime made her hesitant. She pondered, watching the battered body being 
thrown around by the angry sea. 

She realised that she still had the wallet, and decided to return it to
Ben, with the excuse that nobody was at the lighthouse. She felt 
devious and cold-hearted, acknowledging that Ben would no doubt have to 
visit the lighthouse and experience the horror of what she had 
witnessed. Her mind was made up. 

Three days has passed since the death of Barney, and Rosie had been
living on the edge. Her nerves were suffering, as every time there was 
a news flash, she expected the worst. 

Barney's body had so far not been found and Rosie wondered if that was a
good thing or not. She had erased every trace of her being at the 
lighthouse, carefully wiping the door handle. She had hinted often 
towards Ben to return the wallet, hoping that she was not making it too 
obvious. His response was always, "I'll get round to it." 

Ronnie had noticed a change in her, as she tried without success to
behave in a normal fashion. She had been unable to sleep, and the bags 
beneath her eyes bore testament to this. 

It was quiet in the Golden Pheasant that evening. Rosie was relaxing on
the barstool, her mind in another galaxy. The door opened, and she felt 
the cool breeze against her face, bringing her back to reality. 

A large, stocky man, wearing a flat cap and donkey jacket with soiled
trousers entered the bar. His face looked familiar to Rosie. He took 
off his cap and coat, hanging them carefully on the peg. He approached 
the bar and Rosie stared into the not so handsome, freckled face. His 
lank, greasy hair was combed back, Teddy Boy style, and looked like it 
was in serious need of a conditioner. He had a slight turn in his eye, 
and his yellow teeth when he smiled, reminded Rosie of a piano. 

"I'll be having a pint of cider missie please?" 

The request never registered with the starry-eyed barmaid. 

"Excuse me, is anyone at home? A pint of cider please?" 

Rosie proceeded to pour the cider and heard a voice behind her. It was
Ben. 

"George, long time no see. How are you doing?" "Okay I suppose, Ben.
Listen, have you seen our Barney recently? The shit hasn't been home 
now for three days." 

"Yes, he was here earlier in the week. In fact, I was coming out to the
lighthouse. You see, Barney left his wallet here." 

"The bastard," growled George. 

Rosie pretended to ignore the two men as she cleaned a glass. 

"Is something wrong, George?" asked Ben. 

The large man focused on the wallet. "The fat bastard! It wasn't his
wallet... I wondered what happened to it... Let me take a look?" 

Rosie began to shake violently, feeling her legs turn to jelly. 

George smiled. "Aye, that's mine all right. Just wait until I get my
hands on him." 

As if in slow motion, Rosie dropped the glass, shattering into a
thousand pieces. She looked towards the scowling man, and screamed at 
the top of her voice, before collapsing to the ground, her body falling 
amongst the shards of glass. 

George Chapman looked down at the girl and shook his head. "She ought to
eat more iron, Ben. She's so bloody skinny." 

He finished his cider and walked to the coat peg as Ben tried to revive
Rosie. He wrapped himself up, whistled a nameless tune and exited the 
Golden Pheasant. 


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