The Lighthouse Keeper

By Lily Night

A few months in a rented beach cottage in Peron Cove seems like the perfect respite for artist Laura to create her next series of paintings. However, hidden behind the idyllic seaside town and its quirky inhabitants lies a dark secret from the past which refuses to remain hidden any longer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lily Night
• Release date: Jun 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370724550

Lily Night

Artist, author, gamer, adventurer living in Western Australia.

Book preview

The Lighthouse Keeper

By Lily Night

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter One

I’ve heard that it's the brain that makes our reality, using an elusive neural code. It starts with a flurry of high-speed synapses, taking information that the eye has received, using an algorithm which considers colour, shape and edges, collating it all. Memories and values are cross-referenced, information is added and deleted. Within seconds, the brain usually arrives at a coherent representation of what we see.

As I took the camera away from my eye, squinting slightly in the hope of focusing my sight more clearly, my usually-astute brain struggled to make sense of what I was seeing. It wasn’t that I didn’t understand the image that I saw, but the context was all wrong. In the fading afternoon light I could almost make out what appeared to be a young female, wearing a long white dress, laboriously pulling herself from the waves. I looked frantically along the beach and, seeing no-one else, I quickly started to move towards where I could see the girl emerging from the rough sea.

I stumbled along the beach, balancing as the soft sand collapsed under my feet. I began to run towards the spot where I was sure I saw the huddled figure lying, clasping at the shoreline. Persistent waves nipped at her clothes, trying to drag her back into the dark, cold depths from which she had inexplicably emerged.

She crawled along the sand, rolling onto her back in relief, away from the tormenting waves. Getting to her feet slowly, I watched as she staggering a little, unsure, the weight of her wet clothes burdening her, causing her to lilt. She steadied herself, and then seemed to hear something. Looking up towards the cliff, she appeared to be watching the town lighthouse which peeked from its majestic height on the cliff above where she stood.

I continued running towards her, watching as she started to lift an unsteady foot, almost toppling. Half-crawling, she began to make her way to a wooden staircase that wound its way precariously around and up the sheer cliff towards the lighthouse. I watched as she finally grabbed the balustrade of the staircase, dragging herself upright.

With no warning, my foot hit an uneven spot in the soft beach sand and I stumbled, falling on my knees but still managing to hold my camera upright. I sat for a minute, looking down, wriggling my toes before reaching a hand forward to steady myself to get to my feet again.

When I looked up, however, there was no sign of the girl who, by now, even as unsteady as she had seemed to be, would have climbed part-way up the wooden staircase. I looked down along the beach, which was still deserted, and just sat there, completely still, for a moment.

Haunted by the sighting of the girl and by her even more inexplicable disappearance, I reluctantly began to walk back along the beach, away from the rocky outcrop and the towering lighthouse, moving in the direction of the quaint green weatherboard house which I had been renting for the last few months. I arrived at the steps of the house just as the last rays of light from the setting sun were extinguished below the dark horizon. Climbing up the five steps leading to the verandah, I ducked to avoid my head hitting the melodious wooden wind chime that swirled and danced in the salty breeze that had just begun to blow in off the sea. I groped for the keys in my pocket, then opened the green wooden front door before stepping into the neat little cottage. The door led straight into the sitting room, whose large windows gave way to a panoramic view of the sea. Walking through the room, I made my way to the kitchen. Flicking the waiting kettle on before leaning back against the yellow-painted doors of the kitchen cupboards, I grabbed my phone and started scrolling through its endless screens.

As I checked through the day’s digital detritus, I smiled when I came to Lainie's text message. It was structured in her usual no-nonsense fashion:

Hope all is well, heading down to have a wild weekend with you, bringing treats.

I laughed out loud, leaning back to look out the window along the deserted beach, shaking my head at the message. The weekend weather forecast predicted mild conditions, so nothing but Lainie’s impending presence would indicate that things could be wild.

I made a chamomile tea in one of the huge hand-painted mugs that hung from the small wooden tree on the bench, and then went into the bedroom. The light of the moon reflected on the lapping ocean, giving it an incandescence that was both haunting and alluring. From the spot where I lay on the bed, I could just see the lighthouse as it started to cast its revolving light across the ocean.

When I finally crawled under the covers, the sea breeze was rustling at the net curtain, bringing with it the hint of some far-off exotic shore. Sleep came quickly, but it wasn’t restful. Instead, it was tormented by images of the girl I had seen struggling along the beach. The girl’s white clothing was flapping wildly in the breeze, and I tried to make out her face but to no avail. Each time I got close enough, the girl disappeared into the tumbling waves.

Chapter Two

After a breakfast of microwave porridge and strong coffee, I grabbed my knapsack and packed my watercolour palette, brushes, a pad of watercolour paper, a bottle of water and my camera. As I came out onto the verandah, I could see the large lighthouse looming above the beach on its cliff-top bastion. I decided to head up the beach towards were it sat like a silent sentinel, to see if I could thread my way up the cliff to the grassy hilltop that carpeted the area in front of the lighthouse. I could make out the crude twisting staircase that had been carefully attached to the natural rock of the cliff face. It had a thin wooden banister that followed its twirling ascent. I started to climb, the lighthouse looming above