Kent Juniper

All three of us stared at the now glowing fire, and the armful of logs now piled beside the sofa.



“Maybe there is a caretaker who watches the grounds until new owners come,” the man suggested. His eyes were wide, and I couldn’t tell if he was reassuring his wife or himself.



“Let’s go. We can search the records for paid services when we get back to the office,” I assured.



I stepped out onto the stairs, but then, from behind me, I heard a scream, and the front door suddenly slammed and latched behind shut. I could hear them both panicking inside. There were loud thuds, screams, and the door rattled like they were trying to break it down.



“Shit!” I took the keys out of my pocket, but my shaking hands caused them to slip from my fingers. They fell between two rocks, just out of reach. “I’m coming!”



I knelt on the slippery step and reached as far as I could. Just before I could grab them, another gust of wind came and threw me off balance. I fell off the step, tumbling forward onto the jagged rocks. I could feel them slash at my skin on my hands, face, and knees, until…with a sharp crack, my head hit one of them, and everything went black.



When I woke up, the screaming was gone. It was night, and the only sounds were the waves crashing against the little island. My head was pounding, and my body was bruised and cut all over. Once I managed to sit up, I pulled out my phone to check for any service. The screen was cracked, and it was difficult to see anything, so I tried making a call, but I was met with silence.



As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I looked towards the dock in hopes of seeing our boat, but it was gone. There were no boats in sight. Behind me, a light flicked on from inside the keeper’s quarters. I thought about shouting, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong…and I was right.



I climbed over to a rock below the window and peaked inside. There, sitting at the dining room table, was a large man with a white beard: the same man from the painting. His face and hands were tanned and wrinkled wrinkled from years of sun and wind exposure, and he seemed otherworldly. There was a translucent glow around him, and his eyes were black as night. He was hunched over a plate of steak, eating it like a starving man, and the juices from his plate dripped down his chin.



There was no sign of the couple. But there, on the floor behind the red door was a dark brownish red puddle of blood with streaks of blood that led down the hall towards the stairs. As the man finished his steak, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood, walking towards the stairs to the beacon. I ducked out of sight, praying he hadn’t seen me. I held my breath there in the dark, waiting for what might come next.



Suddenly, there was a heavy mechanical grinding sound, and the beacon lit up like a searchlight, rotating in a slow circle, illuminating the dark sea around me. Then, a window above me opened, and I could hear the man groaning and muttering to himself. I kept my back against the cold cement of the wall to keep from being seen. Something fell from aloft and landed in front of me with a sickening thud. I covered my mouth to keep from screaming as, in front of me, lay the broken, bloodied bodies of the couple. Their eyes were wide open in shock, staring at me in a silent scream. The window closed above me and I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Bile rose up in my throat as I threw up onto the rocks, heaving and sobbing until my body was weak.



The truth was clear. The lighthouse keeper never left, and the light was now a warning to the boats, warding them away from the rocky shore of Wind Shear Cliff.



I should have stayed away, too. And with no boats on the way anytime soon, I crawled to the end of the dock and laid down, looking up at the stars, and waited in the dark for the light of the sun to return. All I could do was hope that I’d be there to see it.