𝐍𝐎 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃

THE LIGHTHOUSE

Wild, uncontrollable waves clashed against the cliffs ten feet down. She leaned against the cold iron bars of the lighthouse and studied the dark bay from up-high her mighty tower as the wind caressed her blue curls. Salt stenched the air.

A dark figure rose up from one of the hills, slowly like honey from a pot. The woman reached for the binoculars hanging around her neck. She spotted a lady, around thirty years old, but she wasn 't alone. A small child, a boy, held onto one of her hands. A bright smile was plastered on his lips and his head turned swiftly everytime they passed a new interesting flower or stone.

She grinned to herself, because only a child could find the heap of grass and rocks that surrounded her firewatch tower interesting. If she had to guess his age, something she had become rather good at after spending a few months with her pregnant sister in law last July, she would say he was four. Her gaze shifted to the unruly water below again as she recalled with a heavy smile how her mother had taken her and her little brother out to the woods near their house with wooden swords, and they would recreate the duels from all of Shakespeare's plays. Her little brother always lost to her, his anger always got the best of him, while she moved swiflty as a cat and calculated every move ahead like in a chess game.

Black clouds started to gather in the north, the distant rumbeling got increasingly louder as it neared. The sea drew back, birds were startled by something and hurried off in a flock. A chill ran down the woman 's spine and all of the hairs on her neck stood upright. The unnerving silence then was replaced by a scream defying all laws. Nature had turned it's back, because even that in all it's cruelty could not spectate. But not her. She 'd gotten her hands on her binoculars just in time to see it happen. The lady in the meadow drawing a long silver blade from behind her and the bloodshed that followed, turned her stomach around. A hand flew to her mouth, but then she stood still, petrified, turned to stone almost. Even without the binoculars she could feel the empty eyes of the woman burning on her and it urged her to run inside her office, where she locked the door and stayed inside the rest of the cold night, accompanied only by a dim lantern and a bottle of wine to keep her safe.

When the first rays of sun hit, she pried her eyes open and then shot upright as soon as she remembered the events of the previous night. A few pieces of paper that had stuck to her head fell onto her desk and she frowned noticing the mess on her desk. Shoving a few more documents aside, she uncovered her phone and was about to dial when her gaze fell upon a lady. One with long black hair and in a red and white striped sleeping gown who had a tight grip on the iron bars. She threw the horn down and walked out of the door, the freezing January morning wind cutting into her brown cheeks. Those damned tourists always went in regardless of the signs clearly stating that the tower was opened from monday to friday, but closed on the weekends, she raged to herself.

'Hello?' she carefully greeted, 'the tower's closed at the moment, so I 'm afraid I 'm going to have to ask you to leave, madam.'

The woman turned to her with a tear stained, hollow face. She froze and could feel her dinner from last night coming up again when she recognised it. Her hand reached for her phone in her back pocket, but she forgot about it as the lady started climbing the iron bars. Instictively she lurged forward and held her arm with a steel grip.

The empty eyes turned to her, in the daylight the woman saw that they were a light shade of grey.

'Don 't.' she commanded.

'Why not. What I did will pain me for the rest of my life.'

'Then why do it?'

The young woman shook her head. 'They made me do it.'

A frown formed on her forehead. 'Who?'

'The voices.' Her eyes widened, as if she'd just had an epiphany. 'The voices, yes. The voices, the voices, the voices, the voices.'

Her heart dropped and punched her stomach. She could not shake the feeling that she could be next. Her grip loosened, which had made the lady focus on her again.

'They want me to be next.' Her wild animalistic eyes darted to the arm holding hers, her only connection to life. 'They are taunting me with their songs.' 

You can't live with the pain of the deceased.

The pale white arm slipped out of her fingers like a slippery soap and she raced to the iron bars, as if she could still catch her. As she peeked over the rails she could just catch a glimpse of the red and white blur being emerged by the waves as mother nature welcomed one of her childeren home.