“The meagre lighthouse all in white, haunting the seaboard, as if it were the ghost of an edifice that had once had colour and rotundity, dripped melancholy tears after its late buffeting by the waves.”
-Charles Dickens
Wind Shear Cliff was like something out of a postcard. The way the rocky shore rose out of the foaming sea, crowned with a perfect picturesque lighthouse, caught my eye immediately. As soon as I saw the listing, I went straight to my boss and begged her to put me on the paperwork as the listing agent. At first, she was hesitant. The house wasn’t easy to get to, and it was in a remote location without much cell service; the sort of house she only ever assigned to the male agents. But eventually, after a bit of shameless begging on my part, she agreed.
Just as I suspected, the buyers were interested in it, too. I had my first showing within a week.
It turned out, Wind Shear Cliff was only accessible by boat. Luckily, my dad used to take me out fishing, so I knew the basics of how to drive one. There was a a small dock on the island which connected to a set of steep steps, carved directly into the rocks, and led to a bright red door to the the keeper’s quarters. I helped the couple who had requested the viewing out of the boat and began giving them all the details about the property. It was built in 1910, and the previous owner had died before paying off his mortgage, so that was the only reason the listing is a little higher than expected. But I was sure to use words like “historical heritage site” and “once in a lifetime opportunity” to ensure they were primed for what would inevitably be a fixer-upper, as most older homes were.
As we approached the front door, I noticed the building seemed much larger in person than it did on paper. The cold concrete was like a white bone sticking out from the dark slimy rocks. And the island felt more secluded and lonely than I expected it to. A cold gust of wind came rushing past us, almost knocking us over. The reason for the property’s name was clear, but it wasn’t the wind that chilled me. The dark, churning sea below us coupled with the sharp rocks at our feet felt sinister. It was nothing like the perfect postcard I had been hoping for.
I’d been an agent for over a year, but I suddenly felt as nervous as I did at my first open house. I decided it was just the long drive out. I was tired, and that double espresso was probably a bad idea. It always left me jittery.
We hurried up to the door, and my frozen fingers fumbled with the heavy metal keys. After a few tries, there was a heavy clunk as the key turned in the lock, and we stepped inside, slamming the door shut behind us. It latched with a loud click, and echoed off the bare walls of the silent room. The smell inside the front entrance was musty and it wasn’t much warmer than it was outside, even without the wind.
The couple laughed, collecting themselves, and I attempted to fix my hair and appear unfazed by the wind. I couldn’t let them sit too long with any downsides of the house, or they might talk themselves out of buying it. If I could land this sale, this property would give me a handsome cut of the final price. God, I needed it…
But looking at the couple, something about this viewing felt strange. The properties usually matched or reflected the personality of the new buyers. These people seemed so cheery, and nothing like the cold, hollow house that surrounded us. Perhaps I looked strange there, too.
“So, if I may ask, what made you interested in this property?” I attempted a smile, but my tone didn’t match my outward facade. Was that…fear in my voice? Why was I so nervous?
The husband shrugged, “I’m working on a second PhD right now, and I need to spend hours a day in silence, reading and writing. The city was too distracting for me. I need some solitude, I guess.”
His wife clung to his arm, smiling up at him like she was looking up at the night sky. Newlyweds, I supposed.
“Well, this place is definitely great for finding some solitude,” I nodded, beginning to walk them through the rooms. The house was mostly bare bones, with creaky floorboards, and only one or two items in each room. In the living room, an old sofa sat beside a charred, ashy fireplace. A single chair was propped beside a small wooden table in the kitchen corner. In the bedroom there was a single bed, but it wasn’t made. The blankets were pushed aside and the pillows were in need of fluffing. It looked slept in. Recently slept in…
“Who’s that?” the man asked pointing at the far wall. Above the bed was a large oil painting of a man with a bushy white beard in a navy uniform. His eyes were dark, almost black, and his expression was menacing. A shiver ran down my spine.
“Probably one of the lighthouse keepers, I’d imagine. Obviously this place would need some redecorating to feel cozy. There’s only one bedroom, so it isn’t necessarily great for a family.”
There I went again. Why was I being so negative?
“No problem at all,” the woman whispered, her cheery disposition fading, “I can’t have kids.”
A lump formed in my throat, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t…”
“It’s fine,” she replied, smiling back up at her husband, “We are just so excited to finally buy our own home.”
“Of course you are! And this place is…one of a kind.” I forced my smile back on and continued to guide them through the rooms.
It was dark and drafty, but the windows framed a beautiful view of the ocean. I stopped at one and peered out to the distant shore. That creeping dread crawled up my spine again like a spider. I took a breath and started to turn towards the stairs that led up to the actual beacon, when a dark shadow suddenly darted past the window. It looked like the outline of a large man.
“Jesus!” I shouted, knocking back into the couple behind me.
The man laughed, “Afraid of birds, miss?”
“No, of course not,” I faked a laugh, leaning towards the window to look out at the flock of seagulls. “It didn’t look like a bird, though. Are you sure that’s what it was?”
The couple looked at each other, their eyebrows knitted with concern. I was losing them. I shook my head, clearing my thoughts. “How about we go up and see the actual lighthouse, huh? You don’t see that in every house.”
We climbed the stairs, and they gasped as we reached the top. The view was breathtaking, and their smiles returned.
The woman perked up a bit, and turned around to face me again, “This is fantastic! Does it still work?”
I shook my head, “According to the records, the lighthouse was decommissioned about 50 years ago and hasn’t been officially used since. The last owner had tried to get it working, but it would need expensive repairs and a full-time caretaker to keep it running.”
“Could be a fun little hobby to keep you busy,” the man joked, nudging his wife.
I looked back out at the water and noticed that the sun was beginning to set, and a few streaks of a pink and orange had begun to paint the sky.
“We should probably start heading out. We don’t want to try navigating out of here in the dark.” I sighed with relief as they agreed and we turned towards the stairs.
Suddenly, there was a loud thump behind us against the glass. We turned to see a smear of bright red blood down the window. We rushed to the glass and peered down. Below us, sprawled on the rocks, was a dead seagull with a crown of crimson red, and it’s neck at an unnatural angle.
“That’s bad luck. May God have mercy on us,” the woman said, grabbing the cross pendant from around her neck and kissing it.
We descended the wooden stairs in silence, as if the death of the bird had somehow drained the remaining magic of the lighthouse behind a gray fog. Now the couple seemed almost as eager to leave as I did, keeping up with my hurried pace as we crossed the living room and turned towards the front door.
I stopped. The front door was cracked open, wavering slightly with the frigid breeze. I remembered the door being difficult to open, so there was no way the wind could have done it. My stomach tightened into a knot. I couldn’t place it, but something was wrong, and I wasn’t interested in waiting around to find out what it was. I grabbed the door pulling it the rest of the way open.
“Miss?” The wife’s voice was so quiet, I almost didn’t hear her. I turned to face them. Her face was as pale as a ghost. “Was the fireplace always lit?”
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.
Kent Juniper 