The Lighthouse Page 10

  He holds me for a moment longer, with white hot anger in his eyes. “Don't cross me,” he adds finally, lowering his voice a little. “You're not too old to be disciplined. Remember that.”

  “The same way as before?” I ask, feeling a flash of hatred in my chest. If there was even a tiny part of me that was considering going home with them, it's gone now.

  “If you act like a child, you'll be treated like one. Not, just a child, either. You're crazy, Penny. Crazy, crazy...” He pauses, before sighing for effect. “Crazy.”

  “I get it,” I reply. “I'm crazy.”

  “Don't try to be smart.”

  With that, he shoves my chest, pushing me back until I stumble and land on the bed. I want to tell him to go to hell, but I don't dare speak to him that way.

  “Jesus, what's up with this door?” he mutters, still trying to get the wardrobe open. “Is there a trick to getting it open, or what?”

  He turns to me and smiles, pretending that everything's fine between us. He's decided the argument is over, and he's letting me know by being all friendly and happy.

  “You want to give me a hand, sweetheart? Come on, make yourself useful. We want to be on the road soon.” Turning back to the wardrobe, he gives the door another tug before letting go of the handle and sighing. “It's like -”

  Suddenly the door swings open violently, slamming into his head with enough force to send him falling back. I immediately move out of the way and get to my feet as he slumps onto the bed, holding the side of his face. I open my mouth to ask if he's okay, but for a fraction of a second I become aware of a female figure standing next to me.

  I turn to her, but she's gone by the time I can see her properly.

  “What the hell?” my father shouts, as the door slowly swings shut again.

  To my shock, I see that there's blood on his hand, and when he looks at me I realize he's got a thick cut on his cheek. Before I can say anything, he gets to his feet and storms back to the wardrobe, grabbing the door and slamming it back until there's a splitting sound from the wood around the hinges. Letting out a series of curse words, he kicks the door a couple more times, almost breaking it completely, before finally he steps back and wipes a trickle of blood from his face. I've seen that anger before; it's always in him, always bubbling just beneath the surface, waiting to burst out at anyone or anything that provokes him.

  I look back to where the woman was standing a moment ago, but now there's no sign of her. I can't admit that I saw her, though, not right now. Dad would immediately drag me back to the doctor so my dosage could be increased, but my mind would end up foggier than ever. I can deal with this if I'm just left alone.

  “Jesus,” my father hisses, grabbing my duvet and using the edge to wipe blood from his face, “this place is a goddamn death trap!”

  I stare at him for a moment, and suddenly I feel a twisting sense of fear in my gut. At the same time, I know I can't back down.

  “I'm not coming with you,” I tell him.

  He sighs. “Penny...”

  “I'm not,” I say firmly, somehow managing to keep from trembling with fear. “You can't make me, and I don't need your money or anything like that. I'm fine on my own, and if you can't accept that...” I take a deep breath, and after a moment I hear a faint cough from downstairs; my mother, ever the ghost whenever my father's throwing his weight around, can hear every word I say, but there's no chance she'll intervene. She never did in the past, even when I was little. “If you can't accept my decision,” I continue, staring at Dad and refusing to back down, “then you'll just have to punish me. Whatever, I can deal with it, but it won't change my decision. I'm not coming home with you, I don't want to be like -”

  I pause, before holding my hands out.

  “Do what you want. It won't change my mind.”

  He stares at me for a moment. “If you go ahead with this stupidity,” he says finally, “then it'll be without our blessing. Your mother and I won't want anything to do with you until you come around and see reason. Don't bother calling us, don't email, not even a postcard... We don't want any contact while you're in such an insufferable state.”

  “Fine by me,” I reply, maintaining eye contact even though I desperately want to turn and leave the room. “Did you come for anything else, or you done here?”

  ***

  Standing in the hallway, I listen to the sound of the car door slamming shut, and a moment later the engine starts up. The car's tires screech as Dad sets off, and I wait until I hear him and Mum disappearing into the distance.

  Oh God, what did I just do?

  Dropping down to the carpet, I lean back against the wall and finally allow myself to start trembling. I've never, ever stood up to my father like that before, but something seemed different today and I know there's no way I could ever have got into the car with him. I feel bad for Mum, I'm sure she'll have to endure a long, silent drive home, but it's not as if I can teach her to stand up to him. Sniffing back tears, I take a series of deep breaths as I realize that I'm finally free. Sure, Dad'll phone in a day or two and act like nothing happened, and he'll assume I'm heading home, but I can ignore all of that. Something just felt really different today, as if I had some extra sliver of strength.

  Still, there's no backing down now. I burned my only safety net, so the lighthouse – crazy as it might sound – is suddenly my only option. I just have to hope that I'm not getting sick again.

  Slowly, I turn and look toward the stairs. For a moment, just as the wardrobe door hit Dad in the face, I swear I saw a woman standing right next to me. I didn't get a proper look at her, but she seemed to be looking at me and if I didn't know better, I'd start to wonder whether...

  No.

  She's not real. She's just a hallucination I've been having, on and off, for a few years now, and I'm not the kind of person who's going to let a minor mental illness take control. I'm stronger than that.

  It was just a flash, a brief misfire somewhere in my brain. There was no-one in the room with us and there's no-one here now. I'm on my own, and maybe that's just the way I like it. And if I don't like it, I'll just have to get used to it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Today

  “Oh Jesus bloody Christ,” Matthew exclaims the following morning, holding his hand out as we make our way past the harbor wall, “here comes the rain.”

  Barely even noticing the spots of rain on my face, I keep pace with him while still trying to work out what really happened last night. I swear I saw that woman again, she seemed more real than ever, but I guess deep down I know that she can't be real. Maybe Dad was right after all, maybe coming to the lighthouse was a huge, mania-driven step too far. I should have gone home, lived in my old bedroom, and done the same thing as everyone else.

  “You alright there?” Matthew asks.

  “Fine,” I mutter, as I try to imagine making the journey to Mum and Dad's. I don't want to give up, but at the same time, it's clear that I'm not well.

  “Still thinking about that woman you reckon you saw?”

  I glance at him, and I immediately feel a shiver when I see the smile on his lips.

  “I know you said it was nothing,” he continues, “but for a moment you really seemed like you were panicking. She must've seemed pretty real.”

  “Forget it,” I tell him. “I think maybe I need to -”

  “It's okay to be crazy,” he adds, interrupting me. “Everyone's a little crazy around here.” With that, he nudges my arm, as if he thinks this is all a joke.

  “I'm not crazy,” I tell him.

  “But you take the same pills that crazy people take.”

  I open my mouth to reply, but suddenly I realize that there's no way he should know about the pills I take.

  “I saw you,” he continues. “What's up? Depression? Some kind of manic bipolar thing?”

  “It's nothing,” I reply, trying not to panic. “I just... I had a bad time when I was a kid, and I got put on some medication. Mood sta
bilizers, mainly. They help, or at least they did. Lately...”

  “Lately you've been seeing things?”

  “The pills were supposed to stop all that,” I tell him. “They did, for a few years.”

  “There's no such thing as ghosts,” he says with a sigh. “Not here and not anywhere. Jesus, why did I tell you that stuff about Essie Davis, eh? I should've known it'd get your mind whirring so much you'd be imagining all sorts of rubbish. You've got an overactive imagination and I made the mistake of giving you some nightmare fuel. Don't worry, I'll make sure I don't do it again.” Stepping closer, he puts his hands on my cheeks, as if to hold my head still. “You need to get a grip, Penny. Seriously, don't start getting cabin fever on us, not so bloody fast. Life out here isn't easy, the loneliness can eat away at you.”

  “I saw something last night,” I tell him again, pulling away from his unwanted touch. Damn it, sometimes he reminds me of my father. “Whether it was real or not,” I continue, “I saw it.”

  “Jesus,” he says with a sigh, “you're becoming a right pain, do you know that? Maybe...” He pauses, staring into my eyes. “Maybe you're not cut out for this job after all. Maybe we should think about you going back to the mainland. I mean, bloody hell, if this is what you're like after two days, how are you gonna be in a fortnight? What about a month? You're already losing your mind!” Another pause. “Maybe I should call them and tell them -”

  “You want to get me fired?” I reply incredulously.

  “For your own sake -”

  “There's nothing wrong with me,” I tell him firmly, suddenly feeling infuriated by the way he's talking to me. “I'm not the first person who's reported seeing things here, am I?” I wait for an answer, but I already know that I'm right. “Am I?”

  “No, but -”

  “You said Essie Davis was never found,” I continue, interrupting him again. “What if...” Stopping myself just in time, I realize that I was about to say something that sounded completely insane. At the same time, my mind is racing right now and only one thing makes even the slightest sense. “What if she's still here?” I ask finally. “I know it seems nuts, like something from a bad horror movie, but what if that thing I saw last night in the room next to your bed was... What if it was her?”

  He rolls his eyes.

  “I know how it sounds,” I tell him, “but -”

  “Shut up,” he says suddenly, interrupting me.

  I open my mouth to reply, but something makes me hold back. “What?” I stammer.

  “Just shut up,” he continues, with a harsher tone than before. “Listen to yourself, for God's sake. Are you so completely unaware, so utterly impressionable, that you believe a word of what you just said could be true? There are no ghosts here at Culthorpe, and if by some complete miracle there were, you wouldn't be the one to rock up and suddenly see them. You need to get over yourself and accept that you've got problems, instead of suddenly jumping onto the ghost bandwagon.”

  “You said Essie Davis -”

  “I made that up!”

  I stare at him. “What?”

  He sighs. “Well, no, she was real, she vanished, that part happened, but the rest... The stuff about people claiming to see her, I just made that up on the spot.”

  “Why would you do that?” I ask.

  “Well...” He pauses, and finally an embarrassed smile crosses his lips. “To be honest, I thought if I gave you a good scare, maybe you'd be nervous about sleeping alone, and then maybe... Well, you can't blame a guy for trying, right? It was dumb, though. Obviously I freaked you out too much and now you're -”

  Before he can finish, I slap the side of his face so hard that I even shock myself.

  He steps back, wincing with pain.

  “Okay,” he mutters after a moment, “I guess I deserved that...”

  “You do, huh?” I reply, feeling as if I might do the same thing again, before reminding myself that I should hold back. Still, for maybe the first time since I was a kid, I feel genuine, burning anger. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I guess my idea of fun is a little skewed,” he mutters, forcing a smile. “Still, no harm done, eh?”

  Staring at him for a moment, I don't know whether to hate him or feel sorry for him.

  “I've seen her before,” I tell him finally. “Whoever she is, the woman I saw tonight...” Taking a deep breath, I realize that I'm going to sound like a complete fool. I swear, I can barely work out what's happening. “I saw her before, or at least I thought I did.”

  “You mean on your first night? Penny -”

  “Not just then,” I continue. “I think I might have seen her before I even came here.”

  “Before you came to the lighthouse?”

  “I know how it sounds,” I tell him, “and I wouldn't be saying any of this to you if I hadn't gone over it a million times in my mind, but I think maybe I saw her a couple of times back in Exeter, and maybe even at Glasgow station as well.” Thinking back, I realize the first night I saw the strange woman recently was at the club with Mel, which also happened to be the first night I found out about the lighthouse job. It's as if the woman came back into my life around the time that I made the decision to come here.

  He stares at me for a moment. “Well... Yeah, you do sound a little nuts right now...”

  “Do you have a photo of her?” I ask.

  “Of Essie? No chance, I don't think they even had cameras back then.”

  “The nineteenth century?” I reply. “Sure they did.”

  “You'd have to ask Colin about stuff like that,” he mutters, still rubbing his cheek as if he can feel the pain from the slap. “I doubt there's any old stuff floating around, but if there is, he'd be your man.” He pauses. “Seriously, though, why would some dead bird from this lighthouse have shown up to see you before you even came here? Doesn't really make a lot of sense when you think about it, does it?”

  The rain is starting to really fall now, and I can hear the sea getting rougher as it crashes against the rocks on the other side of the lighthouse.

  “We've got work to do,” Matthew continues. “Actual work, yeah? That storm's gonna hit in the next few hours, so let's focus on what needs doing, 'cause in case you'd forgotten, we're not just here to wind each other up all the time. There'll be plenty of time to sit around in darkened rooms telling each other ghost stories once we've done our jobs.”

  “But -”

  “And I've got a few more stories up my sleeve,” he adds, stepping closer to me, until our faces are almost touching. “I need to check the landing rigs. You go find Colin, see what he needs you to do. If you have any trouble, go look in the generator building, that's where he is half the bloody time anyway. And don't go mentioning any of these dumb ideas to him, okay? He's an impressionable soul. Trust me, I know how to handle Colin.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I've been here longer than you,” he says firmly, his hot breath smelling slightly of cinnamon, “and I know how to keep the peace.”

  He pauses for a moment longer, as if he's contemplating some other thought, and then he turns and walks away, heading past the far edge of the quayside wall.

  Turning to look back toward the lighthouse, I watch as rain is blown through the air. Matthew's right about one thing, the storm is definitely picking up pace. Still, I can't shake the feeling that a ghost has started following me, and that sooner or later I'm going to see her again. It's almost as if she started appearing to me as soon as I began thinking about coming to the lighthouse, like she was trying to warn me to stay away.

  Above, the lamp continues to turn, blasting out its beam of light through the rising storm.

  ***

  “Colin?”

  Stopping next to his bed, I realize that he's nowhere to be found, which means he's most likely at the generator, getting it ready to survive the incoming bad weather. Turning to go and help, I stop when I see the shelves of notebooks, and I can't help making my way o
ver to take another look. After all, Colin did tell me I could go through them whenever I wanted, and I figure it's worth checking to see if there's any mention of old records he might have located.

  I pull out a couple of volumes from the first shelf, but there's nothing useful. After flicking through them, I slide them back into place, ready to leave, but suddenly a few scraps of paper fall from on top of the shelf and land at my feet. Reaching down, I pick them up and start to unfold them, only to realize that they're some of the torn pages from the journals. When I read the first, I immediately realize why he tore them out:

  September 29th – I saw her again last night. She was on the stairs when I got back late from the generator. I stopped and stared at her, but she wasn't looking at me, she was looking up toward the living area. I didn't know what to do, so I went back outside and checked the rigging. When I returned, there was no sign of her again. I didn't mention this to the others, just in case they started laughing at me. It was definitely her, though, and I'm certain I saw her before I ever came to the lighthouse.

  I check another of the torn-out pages:

  February 1st – The first time I saw her, I thought I was just imagining things. But then today, I spotted her in the forest, about halfway between the lighthouse and the generator. She was looking toward me, but not right at me. Matthew was coming the other way, and I waited to see if he'd react to her, but he didn't. More and more, I'm starting to think that I'm the only one who can see her. I'm also starting to think I saw her before, a long time ago, back when I was on the mainland.

  As rain starts battering the nearby window, I flick through a few more of the pages and find that they're all about sightings of the same ghostly woman. I guess he felt compelled to write them down, and then at some point he decided he didn't want to remember them at all. I guess I can't blame him; after all, if he found a way to forget he was being haunted, why shouldn't he go for it? When I get to the final torn page, I'm shocked to see that it's dated from just a few days ago: