The Keeper Ch.2/2

George turned back inside, grabbed the door and began to push it shut with all his might. But a creature, once a man, its arm torn and broken, its rotting flesh hanging from exposed bones, pressed around the door and into the room, reaching for him.

George forced the door closed and heard the limb break and the severed arm slopped wetly to the stone floor. Gasping for breath, he slid the storm-bolt home and fell back against the heavy door, secure now against these monsters from the dead.

The limb by his feet faded and vanished. George gulped air into his lungs as he backed away from the door. The banging had started again, the door rattling and shaking as the dead demanded entry. Then it stopped.

George half ran, half fell, back up the stairs, locking another door behind him. Grabbing a bottle of whisky, he took a long swig directly from the bottle. He remembered he'd had a few drinks earlier, More than a few. Yes, that was it. He wasn't mad, he was drunk. It was the drinks work! It can only be that.

The whisky burned its way down his gullet. It was another three gulps before the warming effect flooded him and the shaking stopped. He wasn't going mad, he was sure of it now. That could be the only explanation. Too long in the job. The solitude was finally getting to him. Yes, that was it. Tomorrow, he promised himself, he would retire; he was ready to go, he didn’t want to go mad. Not like the others. Not him, not him.

As he tried to convince himself, the radio crackled into life.

‘Mayday, Mayday, this is the ‘Fairwind’ we've lost power and are being blown towards Rockall Lighthouse, Mayday, Mayday!’

Grabbing his binoculars, George raced to the window and scanned the night. He could see the lights of the distressed freighter to the North. It was battling the heavy swell, its bow alternately pointing to the heavens before plunging down to face the next monstrous wave.

‘My God, they’re too close…”

George grabbed the radio. ‘Fairwind, Fairwind, this is Rockall Lighthouse, you are dangerously close to the rocks!’

“Rockall Lighthouse, Rockall Lighthouse,’ a panicked voice answered, ‘this is the ‘Fairwind’ we’re drifting, engines flooded, we need immediate assistance!’

‘Roger that, ‘Fairwind’, I’ll alert the coastguard, steer to port if you can, that’s the safest side! Good luck!’

But he knew the ship was at the storms mercy and the 'Fairwind' was going to lose its fight. Nevertheless, he willed the ship to survive.

‘Come on, get clear, damn you, move!’

The bow of the freighter began climbing yet another monstrous wave. Higher it went, almost vertical. Once at the crest, it paused for a long sickening second before starting the slide back down.

Down and deep the ship plunged, back into the trough of the wave. Half submerged, it staggered, slowed and stopped, as if snared by something hidden in dark waters. The great ship’s mast slowly tilted back and fell. Then the great ship began to list, its hull fatally impaled upon on the rocks of the very lighthouse built to protect her.

George could only watch as puny men battled for their lives against the might of the sea, struggling to release swaying lifeboats before the ship capsized. One lifeboat fell, spilling its men into the dark waters and a certain death. Another boat splintered and broke apart against the ships metal side. People fell from its ruins, dolls tossed like discarded toys into the sea and swept away.

One lifeboat managed against all the odds to make down it intact with a mere handful of men. As they escaped, the dying ship rolled onto its side falling upon and consuming the last of its doomed prey. Never satisfied, the sea then turned its hunger upon those few remaining survivors as they were driven towards the waiting teeth of the rocks.

Watching them struggle for their lives, George gripped the iron railings in fury. Were those visions of his these poor drowning sailors? Had it all been a premonition? George swallowed. He knew what he had to do. Climbed into his survival gear he hurried to open the storm door at the foot of his lighthouse. Leaning into the wind, he strode out into the night carrying a coiled safety rope in his hand. This time there were no demons awaiting him, only nature’s fury.

Down the treacherous steps he went, clinging with one hand to a single chain that was his only lifeline. Lashing one end of his safety rope around the last railing and the other around his waist, he readied the lifebelt, searching the waters for any sign of survivors.

Green phosphorescence swirled around him as waves snapped at his feet. Then he saw them. Suspended at the top of another huge wave, no more than thirty meters away from him.

‘OVER HERE! OVER HERE!’ George screamed, but his words were lost, snatched away by the wind.

Yet somehow they saw him, standing strong against the storm, ready to help, eyes glinting in panic within the darkness. George saw a glimmer of hope flash in their faces before the small boat started its final slide down the racing cliff of water. The boat somersaulting onto its back, throwing all inside into the churning white foam.

Now waist deep in surf, the back-drag of the water sucked at George's legs as he fought to reach them.

Around his waist the rope snapped suddenly taught as he reached the end of its length. At that very moment, beneath his feet, incredibly, George touched an outcrop of rock and managed to stand firm, catching his breath.

One wave reached out, snatched a man and threw him towards George. He grabbed and held him fast, but his footing was lost. Together they were dragged below the surf and into the sharp rocks. With little strength left in either man, they broke surface together gasping for air.

‘HANG ON TO THIS!’ George screamed, pushing the lifebelt into the man's hands.

The lifeline pulled up hard against him, holding him safe. He kicked and thrashed with all his strength against the swell, trying to get back to the railings and safety. If he could save just this one man, it would all be worthwhile.

He almost took hold of the railings. Almost. The briefest touch of safety. Then the line lost its tautness, became slack and useless and his grip slipped away.

The water roared in his ears; the sea was seizing its prey.

The rope, his lifeline, their saviour, had now became a snake. An ally of the sea, it began dragging them down into the depths.

George could feels his lungs bursting, that old nightmare dream of drowning was upon him! Desperately holding his breath in hope of surfacing, his time was running out. Then his body forced him to breath and the sea greeted his lungs. He began vomiting. Convulsing. His last breath to draw in the sea, his nightmare finally come true. To die the death he feared the most.

*

Tom hugged Susan tightly in the bright sunshine as they stood at the front of the boat bobbing its way towards the lighthouse. She wriggled within his arms.

‘This is so exciting!’

She shouted into the wind, her eyes bright as she looked towards the massive structure perched upon the rocky outcrop. ‘It’s really cool, so great coming with you Tom. I’ve wanted to visit this place for ages!’

‘Yeah, the first time is always dramatic, but you should see it when the weather's bad. Sometimes it can be days before we can get close enough to land a boat.’

He moved in front of her. ‘Now, just stand back a bit as I tie us up at the jetty, ok?’

Inside the lighthouse, George awoke, retching again at the dream of saltwater in his mouth.

As soon as the convulsions stopped, he opened his eyes, that old recurring dream of drowning receding along with the salty taste on his tongue. He shook his head as he walked over to the window. Down below he could see a boat being tied up. Tom had a stranger with him this time, a young woman. He made his way down the stairs to greet them.

Outside, Tom was pushing the heavy storm-door open. Once inside, he called out as he always did:

‘How’re ya doing George, everything ok with you today?’

Tom turned and grinned at Susan, who was standing looking a little surprised.

‘Why did you say that?' She asked. 'You said this was an unmanned automatic lighthouse? Is there somebody here?’

Tom’s smile faded. ‘Yes, it’s unmanned Susan. And no, there isn’t anyone here. It’s just a superstition of mine.’

'What superstition?'

'Well, a long time ago, a friend of mine used to live and operate this place – he was the lighthouse keeper before it was made fully automatic. His name was George. But before they could retire him, he was killed during a storm. They never found his body.'

Tom looked out to sea, then back at Susan.

'They think he died trying to save the sailors from the freighter ‘Fairwind’ which foundered just over there,’ Tom pointed pointed to the rocks offshore. ‘No one survived. I like to think George died trying to save some of them.’

Susan’s face became serious.

‘Are you trying to scare me with a ghost story?’

'Maybe,' Tom smiled. 'But no, it's true. A lot of lives were lost that night. Now when I visit, I just go through this little routine. I even leave him some fruit, just in memory of him... you understand, don't you?’

Susan hugged herself and shivered.

‘I don’t know if it’s because of what you just told me, but I feel really cold. I think I’ll wait for you by the boat, I don't want to go inside, if that’s alright with you?’

‘No problem, you won’t find any ghosts around here though,” he said, wishing he hadn't brought the subject up at all now.

“I won’t be long, you just stay away from those rocks as they’re very slippery, be careful, ok? Tom turned back to the room once Susan was out of earshot.

‘Just for you, George,’ he said softly. ‘I have to be quick this time, gotta get back, can’t keep a lady waiting, I'll see you next time.’

Tom felt, if not heard, George answer. ‘Aye, Tom, until next time then, you go scuttle back to dry land, that’s where you belong. No place for you here... no place at all.'