Speaker 1: Lighthouse is a production of I Heart Radio and Bamford Productions.
Speaker 1: Lighthouse revealed a secret to us that warm summer's day
Speaker 1: in nineteen eighty six, one that began to make the
Speaker 1: pieces clicked together. When that recording ran out and the
Speaker 1: real to real player was left spinning an empty spool,
Speaker 1: my mind reeled from the revelation. My father had a sister,
Speaker 1: a sister that had died in the very same room
Speaker 1: he was. In a way, it was almost poetic, if
Speaker 1: not horrifying. But this sister, Madeline, also was a race
Speaker 1: from the family's history. Thinking back, my father had never
Speaker 1: spoken about her. Even the painting in his former study
Speaker 1: excluded her from the family portrait. She was the secret
Speaker 1: shame whitewashed away in an effort to forget. But she
Speaker 1: wouldn't be forgotten. Consumed by the darkness both in life
Speaker 1: and in death, she had returned with the other entities
Speaker 1: of the house. Lini's imaginary friend, Abigail was one and
Speaker 1: the same as Madeleine. The darkness that lived in Lighthouse
Speaker 1: had corrupted her, and now she had latched onto Leani
Speaker 1: for who knows what purpose. Hearing all this, it was
Speaker 1: too much to bear. While I stood there captivated, fingers
Speaker 1: digging into my palms when it was playing. Once the
Speaker 1: recording had run its course, I ran from the dark room.
Speaker 1: I bounded up the stairs, through the pantry and the
Speaker 1: rest of the house, straight outside, leaning against the ancient
Speaker 1: red oak tree. I was sick to my stomach. I
Speaker 1: hadn't eaten all day, so nothing came up with bile,
Speaker 1: and it burned my throat, as if my body was
Speaker 1: trying to expel what I had just learned. I looked
Speaker 1: back to the house. I saw the man in the
Speaker 1: hat standing in the window on the third floor, in
Speaker 1: the same place I had first seen him all those
Speaker 1: years ago. He smiled, knowing that he had helped expose
Speaker 1: me to a secret that the family had tried to forget.
Speaker 1: I couldn't stand it anymore. Lighthouse was a stain on
Speaker 1: the soul of the world, and I had to get away.
Speaker 1: I had to keep my family away, to keep them safe.
Speaker 1: I would move to the ends of the earth if
Speaker 1: I had to, and keep moving to stay ahead of
Speaker 1: the man in the hat and whoever else the house
Speaker 1: sent for me. I ran. I ran back to my car,
Speaker 1: and when it didn't start because it was still overheated,
Speaker 1: I kept running. I ran until I eventually found my
Speaker 1: way back home days later, and hucked my son until
Speaker 1: Chris had to pry me off. I was never going
Speaker 1: back to Lighthouse again. But that's not how it works,
Speaker 1: does it. On that day in it was thirteen years
Speaker 1: since my father died, thirteen years since Lighthouse had claimed
Speaker 1: another soul, and it was hungry again. But the house
Speaker 1: was patient. It bided its time until the moment was right.
Speaker 1: It reached its tendrils into its next victim, continuing to
Speaker 1: claw its way inside until finally I snapped. On a
Speaker 1: cold winter's day in, I came back to Lighthouse. Seven
Speaker 1: years had passed, and though I swore never to return,
Speaker 1: something tragic happened that caused me to break myself imposed exile.
Speaker 1: Leaney was dead. Lighthouse, Chapter seven. Lighthouse never left my mind.
Speaker 1: During those years away. I stayed in contact with my sister,
Speaker 1: more so than I had previously. I had gone dark
Speaker 1: for a few months, but called the house late one
Speaker 1: night check on her. Thankfully it was her that picked
Speaker 1: up the phone and not my mother. I wasn't sure
Speaker 1: I would be able to face her after I left
Speaker 1: without saying goodbye, but Leni was always thrilled to hear
Speaker 1: from me. Since my mother was somehow intercepting her mail,
Speaker 1: we decided on an alternate route. I would establish a
Speaker 1: PO box in Leni's name in town, away from my
Speaker 1: mother's overbearing eyes, where I would be able to send
Speaker 1: her letters. Lenie had already established a habit of long walks,
Speaker 1: disappearing from the house for hours at a time, so
Speaker 1: mother was never suspicious of the days she visited the
Speaker 1: post office to receive our secret communications. Most times her
Speaker 1: letters were a childlike the way I had come to
Speaker 1: know her. But other times it was as if my
Speaker 1: sister had an air of clarity about her, like the
Speaker 1: fog in her mind cleared and she was herself. She
Speaker 1: seemed normal, normal for her age. I mean, those letters
Speaker 1: were more coherent focused. It was incredible. But unfortunately, these
Speaker 1: moments came and went quickly, and she always reverted back
Speaker 1: to the way I remember her being. So it went
Speaker 1: for years. We traded letters secretly back and forth. I
Speaker 1: spoke of my family in the outside world, while she
Speaker 1: wrote innocently of her long days spent within the house.
Speaker 1: Of color she had painted her bedroom, how the flowers
Speaker 1: were growing in the garden, how the ocean was rough
Speaker 1: that day. She never complained, but there was always a
Speaker 1: hint of sadness in her letters, maybe even regret, regret
Speaker 1: for not leaving Lighthouse and regret for me not being
Speaker 1: in her life. More from her letters, I could tell
Speaker 1: my mother was demanding much of her and often treated
Speaker 1: her as a child. It was as if they were
Speaker 1: both stuck in a perpetual state of when Leni was
Speaker 1: still a young girl. This point was driven home, even
Speaker 1: more so by the drawings she sometimes included, similar to
Speaker 1: that birthday card she gave me all those years ago.
Speaker 1: I often begged her in my letters to come visit,
Speaker 1: to get away from Lighthouse and from our mother, but
Speaker 1: she always ignored these requests. Those last few months, her
Speaker 1: letters grew shorter. There was less about her comings and goings,
Speaker 1: and more about how happy she was that I was
Speaker 1: having a good life. These were worrying, of course, as
Speaker 1: she seemed to be drawing inward. I tried to follow
Speaker 1: up each of these with a phone call, but most
Speaker 1: of the time they went unanswered. All this was concerning,
Speaker 1: to say the least, and I doubled my efforts to
Speaker 1: invite Leny to visit us, or at the very least,
Speaker 1: start seeing someone. I sent a letter detailing my concern,
Speaker 1: asking her to spend Christmas with us, a letter which
Speaker 1: went unreturned. This was sometimes common, as getting to town
Speaker 1: and away from mother did not happen as much as
Speaker 1: she would have liked. But when the next letter, and
Speaker 1: then when after that went with no response, I grew
Speaker 1: more worried. I spent many sleepless nights thinking of her,
Speaker 1: often waking from a nightmare that would not let me
Speaker 1: fall back to sleep. In it, I saw the lighthouse,
Speaker 1: the dim glow atop it, steadily growing brighter and brighter again,
Speaker 1: until I could see nothing but the blinding brilliance emanating
Speaker 1: from it. I received the call a few days before Christmas.
Speaker 1: It was from an old friend from high school, when
Speaker 1: I kept in contact with sporadically over the years, who
Speaker 1: was offering her condolences. I was confused at first, thinking
Speaker 1: that she perhaps had dialed the wrong person, but she
Speaker 1: soon realized that I was not yet informed and broke
Speaker 1: down telling me the news. Lenny had gone missing a
Speaker 1: few days before. She had left lighthouse to go grocery
Speaker 1: shopping alone. Since the weather was inclement, it wasn't until
Speaker 1: two days later that my mother, coming out of a
Speaker 1: drunken stupor, realized that she had never returned home. The
Speaker 1: police searched the town and surrounding areas for her, but
Speaker 1: to no avail. There was no trace of her, no, no, nothing,
Speaker 1: until her body had washed up on shore a few
Speaker 1: days later. Eventually, the police found her jacket in the lighthouse.
Speaker 1: The prevailing theory was that she climbed to the top
Speaker 1: and jumped over the edge of the bluff to her death,
Speaker 1: down to the ocean below. As I listened to my
Speaker 1: friend tell me the story, I was in a state
Speaker 1: of shock. I gripped the phone in my hand until
Speaker 1: my knuckles turned white and my teeth ground against each other.
Speaker 1: When she ended the connection, I stood there, my mind
Speaker 1: trying to process all that she said, until it all
Speaker 1: weighed down on me and I could not hold it
Speaker 1: together any longer. I collapsed. I lost all track of time.
Speaker 1: Chris found me there much later, furious at me from
Speaker 1: missing several phone calls and for not picking up Kevin
Speaker 1: from school. And when the initial shock of her death
Speaker 1: finally wore off, the anchor set in. I was furious
Speaker 1: with my mother for not letting me know Leni was dead,
Speaker 1: let alone missing. I was furious at Leni for not
Speaker 1: reaching out for help during the time that she so
Speaker 1: desperately needed it, But most of all, I was furious
Speaker 1: at myself for not being there for her, for not
Speaker 1: making a better effort, and for letting this happen to
Speaker 1: begin with. I tried calling my mother for further details
Speaker 1: on arrangements, but like usual, the phone just rang and rang.
Speaker 1: I eventually mustered up the guts to call the funeral
Speaker 1: home in town and got the details from them. The
Speaker 1: service was happening the next day, so I quickly packed
Speaker 1: the bag and once again I found myself back on
Speaker 1: the road to Lighthouse. Chris wanted to join me to
Speaker 1: provide the emotional support that I so desperately needed, but
Speaker 1: I refused. I wanted to keep both him and Kevin
Speaker 1: as far away from there as possible. The snow was
Speaker 1: coming down heavily by the time I made it to town. Thankfully,
Speaker 1: I did not miss the viewing, as there wasn't one.
Speaker 1: Apparently the result of her jump was too grisly for one.
Speaker 1: But I drove as quickly as I could to make
Speaker 1: it in time for the service. The roads were slippery,
Speaker 1: making my progress slow, but I pulled into the cemetery
Speaker 1: just as Leney was being loaded out of the hearse
Speaker 1: and toward her grave site. Bracing myself against the cold,
Speaker 1: I pulled my coat tight or on me and climbed
Speaker 1: out of the car. The wind was bitter, assaulting my
Speaker 1: face and making my eyes tear immediately. My shoes were
Speaker 1: not made for these conditions, but I trecked a few
Speaker 1: inches of snow on the ground as the minister's voice
Speaker 1: drifted towards me. He began his eulogy to an empty audience.
Speaker 1: My mother sat solemnly in her wheelchair, the only soul
Speaker 1: in attendance. I walked up beside her, placing my hand
Speaker 1: on her shoulder, but she didn't react. Instead, her eyes
Speaker 1: were focused on her daughter's final resting place. The minister
Speaker 1: spoke of Leni as if he hadn't really known her
Speaker 1: at all. He said she was a happy woman, living
Speaker 1: of fulfilling and rewarding life that went through a rough patch,
Speaker 1: but now it was in a better place. I could
Speaker 1: have laughed, if not for how sad I was. My
Speaker 1: own thoughts drowned him out. As I continued to blame
Speaker 1: myself for what had happened. I couldn't help but feel
Speaker 1: like it was my fault that Leanie was dead because
Speaker 1: I didn't do enough to help her. The tears began
Speaker 1: to flow as I considered how I could have taken
Speaker 1: her away from this place ages ago, given her a
Speaker 1: better life, one that was not marred by lighthouse and
Speaker 1: are past. Would that even have been possible? Was she
Speaker 1: so far gone by then that it wouldn't have mattered anyway.
Speaker 1: It wasn't until my mother began to wheel away that
Speaker 1: I realized they were lowering the coffin. She grabbed a
Speaker 1: handful of dirt and tossed it on the casket. She
Speaker 1: rolled away toward a limousine waiting for her, and I
Speaker 1: watched her go without saying a word to me. I
Speaker 1: thanked the priest for his kind, if untrue words, and
Speaker 1: dropped my own handful of dirt into Lini's grave. With
Speaker 1: my mother gone and me on my way back to
Speaker 1: my car, they didn't waste any time in starting to
Speaker 1: fill in her plot. Each shovelful of dirt striking the
Speaker 1: casket was like a knife through my heart. A period
Speaker 1: accentuating the end of her chapter. I got in my
Speaker 1: car and watched them as they worked. It was grueling,
Speaker 1: especially in this weather, but they looked like a well
Speaker 1: oiled machine working together to get it done, with the
Speaker 1: snow swirling around, giving everything in the area a natural
Speaker 1: white coat. I didn't notice the little girl standing beyond
Speaker 1: them at first. She was wearing a short white dress
Speaker 1: that made her blend into the scene. Her pigtails were
Speaker 1: the only splash of color aside from her eyes, which
Speaker 1: were focused on Leni's grave site. I was concerned at
Speaker 1: first because she wasn't wearing a coat, which in this
Speaker 1: weather it could be the death of anyone. But then
Speaker 1: I saw she was holding onto a teddy bear, one
Speaker 1: that looked very familiar. There was no question about who
Speaker 1: it was. It was Abigail paying her last respects to Lenie.
Speaker 1: I drove away before she finished Lighthouse will return after
Speaker 1: these messages and now back to Lighthouse. Since my mother
Speaker 1: did not acknowledge me at the funeral, I was ready
Speaker 1: to drive back home to Chris and to Kevin, to
Speaker 1: the life I had made away from this wretched place.
Speaker 1: But despite her cold shoulder, I knew my mother was hurting,
Speaker 1: especially now that she was alone I made my way
Speaker 1: back to Lighthouse. The falling snow made it seem less menacing,
Speaker 1: but the familiar feeling of dread reared its ugly head
Speaker 1: as soon as it came into view. My plan was
Speaker 1: to pay my respects to my mother, see if I
Speaker 1: could set her up with any help, and get out
Speaker 1: of there as soon as possible. The limousine that had
Speaker 1: taken her from the cemetery was leaving the gates as
Speaker 1: I pulled up to them. I envied the person behind
Speaker 1: the wheel as they were leaving Lighthouse behind a speck
Speaker 1: in their rear view mirror. I parked avoiding a gla
Speaker 1: said the third story window, afraid that the apparition of
Speaker 1: the man in the hat would be there to greet me. Instead,
Speaker 1: I focus solely on the front door, and I went
Speaker 1: inside to get out of the unpleasant weather. At least
Speaker 1: it was warmer here, the only thing going for it.
Speaker 1: With the door shut behind me, the silence of the
Speaker 1: house was striking. If it wasn't for the limousine I
Speaker 1: saw dropping my mother off, I could have sworn no
Speaker 1: one was home. I didn't bother to call out for
Speaker 1: my mother as she rolled into the main hall, bottle
Speaker 1: of scotch in hand. She continued on past me, content
Speaker 1: to ignore my presence until I called out to her.
Speaker 1: When I did, she stopped, but didn't bother to turn
Speaker 1: around to face me. Instead, she merely tilted her head
Speaker 1: back in my direction. What do you want? She said.
Speaker 1: I didn't know what to say. I came here to
Speaker 1: comfort her, to help her through a difficult time, and
Speaker 1: she was treating me this way. I came to say
Speaker 1: goodbye to Leni, I started before she cut me off,
Speaker 1: and you did. Now what do you want? She still
Speaker 1: wouldn't look at me, and it was clear that I
Speaker 1: was keeping her from her busy schedule of getting so
Speaker 1: drunk she forgot how sad she was. I don't want anything,
Speaker 1: I told her, I just want to be there for you.
Speaker 1: She turned her wheelchair around so she could finally look
Speaker 1: me in the eyes. Why now, you weren't there for me,
Speaker 1: and you weren't there for her, so why bother? Now?
Speaker 1: Go home? Tara. You made it clear you didn't want
Speaker 1: anything to do with us, and now I don't want
Speaker 1: anything to do with you. She turned again, wheeling herself
Speaker 1: out of the room before stopping once more. I left
Speaker 1: some things for you upstairs in your room, she called
Speaker 1: over her shoulder. Take them, leave them. I don't care,
Speaker 1: but after that, I want you gone. I was speechless,
Speaker 1: standing there, all alone in a house I hated, with
Speaker 1: a mother who hated me. The tears began to form,
Speaker 1: but I held them back. I didn't want to give
Speaker 1: her the satisfaction. Instead, I made my way upstairs, anxious
Speaker 1: to see what she left so I could get out
Speaker 1: of there as soon as possible. I stood in the
Speaker 1: doorway of my old room, my eyes searching every corner
Speaker 1: before entering, just to make sure there was nothing lurking
Speaker 1: in there. My eyes fell upon the bed, where a
Speaker 1: cardboard box was waiting for me. My name was scrawled
Speaker 1: across the side hastily with a black marker, and when
Speaker 1: I opened it, I could tell she haphazardly threw things
Speaker 1: inside to rid herself of them. There were a few
Speaker 1: things from my childhood and there, including my old camera,
Speaker 1: the one I had found in the dark room all
Speaker 1: those years ago. Sitting on top of it was the
Speaker 1: very first photograph I ever took with it, the one
Speaker 1: from my twelfth birthday, where my parents and Leany sat
Speaker 1: around the table eating cake. I took it out studying it,
Speaker 1: and while I remembered my father wandering off to the
Speaker 1: study shortly after it was taken, I also remembered being
Speaker 1: happy in those few moments. It was the last true
Speaker 1: memory I had of all of us together as a
Speaker 1: family that I enjoyed. That moment was marred, though, by
Speaker 1: the appearance of a dark shadow crossing my father's face
Speaker 1: in the photo. Whether a flaw of the camera or
Speaker 1: a harbinger of things yet to come, it cast him
Speaker 1: in a darkness that reflected what was invading his soul.
Speaker 1: Placing the photo aside, I reached deeper inside the box
Speaker 1: and felt something soft, pulling it out, I saw it
Speaker 1: was a teddy bear Abigails, the one Leonie had grown
Speaker 1: so attached to, despite my aversion to it all those years.
Speaker 1: It was the only real piece of Leanie. I had.
Speaker 1: The bear, and Abigail had meant the world to her,
Speaker 1: and now here it was discarded. I pulled the bear
Speaker 1: close to my chest and sat on the bed. I
Speaker 1: could fight the tears no longer, so they flowed freely.
Speaker 1: I cried and cried until I tired myself out so
Speaker 1: much that I fell asleep. I awoke hours later, my
Speaker 1: room as dark as the night outside. I jolted out
Speaker 1: of bed, unsure of how long I had slept and
Speaker 1: wanting to get out of there immediately. I grabbed the
Speaker 1: box of things and ran down the stairs. The house
Speaker 1: was dark and quiet still. The only sound drifting through
Speaker 1: the air was my mother's gentle snoring. I opened the
Speaker 1: front door and was immediately battered by the cold winter
Speaker 1: night air. It had gotten worse than the time I
Speaker 1: was out. My car was covered, and I did my
Speaker 1: best to clear its windshield so I could see. It.
Speaker 1: Took a few minutes to actually open the driver's side door,
Speaker 1: but once I was able to, I threw the box
Speaker 1: inside and followed suit, wasting no time. I turned it on,
Speaker 1: thankful for the blast of hot air that was to
Speaker 1: follow shortly, and shifted into drive, pressing lightly on the
Speaker 1: gas pedal. The car didn't move fine, I thought, it
Speaker 1: just needs a little more gas. I applied more pressure
Speaker 1: to it, but still nothing. The car tried to lunch forward,
Speaker 1: but the snow was piled too high, not giving way.
Speaker 1: I cursed loudly, hitting my hands against my steering wheel
Speaker 1: and anger before trying again. Still the car did not move.
Speaker 1: My eyes looked ahead traveling down the driveway, and I
Speaker 1: realized it was rootless. The storm had blocked me in
Speaker 1: for the night. I was stuck. I cursed again, hating
Speaker 1: that I was going to be forced to stay the night,
Speaker 1: and placed my head in my hands. I leaned against
Speaker 1: the steering wheel, frustrated and wondering what I was going
Speaker 1: to do despite the night, my car was suddenly filled
Speaker 1: with light. I looked up, hopeful that it was a
Speaker 1: snow plow making a path for me to leave this
Speaker 1: dreadful place. Instead, the light was coming not from the driveway,
Speaker 1: but from off to the side, closer to the ocean,
Speaker 1: from the lighthouse. The glow from the top, the one
Speaker 1: that haunted my dreams. It was there, beckoning me. It
Speaker 1: was brighter than I had ever seen before, so much
Speaker 1: so that I had to use my hand to shield
Speaker 1: myself from it. And as it grew so bright reflecting
Speaker 1: up the snow that I felt it was going to
Speaker 1: blind me, started to fade away until it was nothing
Speaker 1: at all. The dark of the night returned, leaving me terrified.
Speaker 1: It was getting cold and I needed to get back
Speaker 1: inside before I froze of death. Out there, I opened
Speaker 1: the car door, ready to make a run for the
Speaker 1: front door. When the light returned, it grew brighter and
Speaker 1: brighter again, illuminating everything it touched, making me want to
Speaker 1: scream and terror. But as I watched it go bright,
Speaker 1: I understood what was happening. There wasn't a mysterious light
Speaker 1: atop the lighthouse. It was a lighthouse itself, despite sitting
Speaker 1: in neglect for over seventy five years, it was somehow operational. Confused,
Speaker 1: I stood transfixed, watching the light go round and round again,
Speaker 1: calling out to the night. I wanted to run back
Speaker 1: to the house, wanted to hide somewhere under the covers
Speaker 1: and wait for the first light so I could call
Speaker 1: for a plow so I could get back home. But
Speaker 1: I knew deep inside that wouldn't happen. I knew that
Speaker 1: the things in the house would not let me be
Speaker 1: and would come after me, assaulting my senses all night
Speaker 1: long until I did something. I bundled my jacket up
Speaker 1: tighter and made for the lighthouse, It's light illuminating my path,
Speaker 1: my only hindrance being the mounds of snow that I
Speaker 1: trudged through. Though it was not too far from the
Speaker 1: house itself. The weather made my journey long and arduous,
Speaker 1: and by the time I reached the clearing where it stood,
Speaker 1: sweat dripped off me. Despite the cold. Long ago we
Speaker 1: would play here in the shadow of the lighthouse and
Speaker 1: never once paid at any mind. We were forbidden to
Speaker 1: go inside, and with the door padlock shut, we didn't
Speaker 1: bother to try. But now the door was wide open.
Speaker 1: A flickering light invited me to step inside. I was
Speaker 1: eventually going to have to anyway. It was also freezing outside,
Speaker 1: and I wouldn't last much longer in the cold. I
Speaker 1: stepped in and instantly felt a wave of heat, despite
Speaker 1: the weather outside. I shrugged my coat off a bit
Speaker 1: and looked around. This bottom floor of the lighthouse was
Speaker 1: mostly barren. On the hard concretes at a few old
Speaker 1: wooden boxes rotting from the inside out. A melting candle
Speaker 1: sat on one. A large, frayed length of heavy duty rope,
Speaker 1: the kind of big ship might use to tie itself
Speaker 1: to a dock, sat on the floor. The end looked
Speaker 1: like it was hacked off to whatever it was originally
Speaker 1: attached to. A spiral metal staircase was attached to the wall,
Speaker 1: winding its way up to the very top of the lighthouse.
Speaker 1: There was a vague hint of a heavy, intoxicating smell
Speaker 1: as well, gasoline. Perhaps. I looked up, hoping to catch
Speaker 1: a glimpse of what awaited me up there, but there
Speaker 1: was not much to see. The stairs continued upward into
Speaker 1: the darkness, but ended a few stories up when they
Speaker 1: disappeared into another concrete level. The wind howled outside, battering
Speaker 1: against the walls, but beneath that sound was something else,
Speaker 1: something unearthly, something whispering. Much like the voice I once
Speaker 1: heard coming from the vents, I could hear someone calling
Speaker 1: out to me from the upper level of the lighthouse,
Speaker 1: It's words mixing in with the wind. I didn't want
Speaker 1: to obey, but I found myself doing so anyway, perhaps
Speaker 1: out of a morbid curiosity. This place had been closed
Speaker 1: off to me my entire life, and after all this time,
Speaker 1: I deserved to know what secrets it held. I took
Speaker 1: the candle from the box, thinking it was left for me,
Speaker 1: and began to climb the stairs. I went slow at first,
Speaker 1: my strength still weak from the trek through the snow,
Speaker 1: But as it returned to me and I felt more
Speaker 1: confident that the stairs were sturdy enough not to collapse
Speaker 1: under my weight. I went faster, much like the light itself.
Speaker 1: Round and round I went, circling the cylinder shape of
Speaker 1: the building to the top. The higher I climbed, the
Speaker 1: louder the whispered voices became. Their words became less distinguishable
Speaker 1: and more cacophony of sound, and such a chill through me.
Speaker 1: But still I continued. There are a few times I
Speaker 1: passed small windows along the stairs, looking out to the
Speaker 1: outside world. At first they showed me actually what I expected.
Speaker 1: The beacon from above lit up the massive grounds of lighthouse,
Speaker 1: filled with snow as it continued to fall from the
Speaker 1: sky and droves. But as I got further up, looking
Speaker 1: out the window revealed a different scene altogether. The winter
Speaker 1: weather seemed to melt away. Before I reached the next floor.
Speaker 1: I took a quick glance out the window and was
Speaker 1: surprised by what I saw. There was no more snow,
Speaker 1: no more winter. Instead, it resembled a cool summer's night.
Speaker 1: But I had no time to ponder that. Now I
Speaker 1: was at the top. Another candle flickered above me, joining
Speaker 1: my own. As I took the final step off the staircase,
Speaker 1: I found myself in a small room just below the
Speaker 1: very top of the lighthouse. Though the room was dark,
Speaker 1: the other candles sat on a table pushed against the
Speaker 1: far wall. I thought I was alone at first, but
Speaker 1: then a shadow shifted near the table, and I realized
Speaker 1: someone was sitting there. His face was heard by the
Speaker 1: darkness of the room, but he turned to face my direction.
Speaker 1: Who are you, I asked, but he didn't say anything. Instead,
Speaker 1: he stood I asked who he were, an edge in
Speaker 1: my voice, but still he remained quiet. Instead, he took
Speaker 1: a step towards me, and then another. On his third
Speaker 1: his face came out of the darkness and into the
Speaker 1: light of my candle. It was the man in the hat.
Speaker 1: Lighthouse were returned after a word from our sponsors, and
Speaker 1: now lighthouse continues. The man in the hat came for me,
Speaker 1: his long strides crossing the room in no time at all.
Speaker 1: He was upon me, ready to strike, and then he didn't. Instead,
Speaker 1: he walked right past me toward a cabinet attached to
Speaker 1: the wall. He opened it, pulled out a bottle, and
Speaker 1: walked back to the table. I called out to him again,
Speaker 1: trying to figure out what I was doing here, what
Speaker 1: he was doing For that matter, but instead he ignored me.
Speaker 1: I walked over to the table, where I watched him
Speaker 1: sit and cork the bottle before taking a swig of
Speaker 1: whatever it was. I went to grab his shoulder to
Speaker 1: make him face me, but instead my hand went right
Speaker 1: through him. Confused, I moved closer and waved my hand
Speaker 1: in front of his face instead of acknowledging it. He
Speaker 1: continued to drink. For some reason, he couldn't see me,
Speaker 1: and now that I thought about it, he was walking.
Speaker 1: I had never seen the man in the hat walk before,
Speaker 1: but here in the lighthouse he was more human than
Speaker 1: I had ever seen him. The walking and not being
Speaker 1: able to see me, the winter weather, no longer being
Speaker 1: out the window, I had a sinking feeling that I
Speaker 1: was no longer where I came from. As crazy as
Speaker 1: it sounded, I was seeing something else, perhaps a memory
Speaker 1: of the past, an impression of an event that came before.
Speaker 1: I watched as the man in the Hat, in his
Speaker 1: human form, continued to drink right up until he drowned
Speaker 1: every last drop of the bottle. I saw a pain
Speaker 1: in his eyes, one I had never seen before, and
Speaker 1: all those other times he had appeared to me, it
Speaker 1: nearly broke my heart, if not for the fact that
Speaker 1: this was a man who had terrified me throughout my
Speaker 1: entire life. He abruptly stood again, walking back to the
Speaker 1: other end of the room. He stood before what I
Speaker 1: had earlier thought was a chest, but was actually a
Speaker 1: small bed. I got up to join him, looking at
Speaker 1: what he was seeing. Sleeping in the bed soundly was
Speaker 1: a beautiful woman. The man in the hat looked at her,
Speaker 1: his right hand, finding his left spinning a ring that
Speaker 1: was there a wedding ring. The woman in the bed
Speaker 1: was his wife. He looked at her longingly and leaned
Speaker 1: over to gently brush some hair away from her face.
Speaker 1: After he did, he kissed her forehead, and she smiled
Speaker 1: in her sleep. Despite the darkness of the room, I
Speaker 1: could see a tear fall from his eye. Still leaning
Speaker 1: over her, the man in the hat took one of
Speaker 1: the pillows from beside his wife's head and forcibly put
Speaker 1: it over her face. She didn't struggle at first, then
Speaker 1: she did. She tried to get up, but he held
Speaker 1: her down, held the pillow in place. She kicked and clawed,
Speaker 1: her screams muffled by the pillow he held against her.
Speaker 1: As the man in the hat continued to cry. My
Speaker 1: brain wanted me to do something, but my heart knew
Speaker 1: it would be useless. This was in the past, it
Speaker 1: had already happened, and even if I wanted to do something,
Speaker 1: I couldn't. The ordeal went on for far too long,
Speaker 1: and I grew more uncomfortable watching it play out before me.
Speaker 1: But I could not look away. My eyes were fixated
Speaker 1: on his actions, his remorse, and her struggle to break free.
Speaker 1: Soon her movements subsided, and then she went limp. He
Speaker 1: held the pillow there as if to make sure that
Speaker 1: it was over, and when he realized it was, he
Speaker 1: let go. He sank to the floor, his head in
Speaker 1: his hands, and he sobbed loudly. The man in the
Speaker 1: hat he killed his wife. But why he didn't look
Speaker 1: like he was consumed by the darkness like my father was.
Speaker 1: Why did he do this despite the fact that he
Speaker 1: had just murdered his wife. I wanted to console him
Speaker 1: and was about to when he stood again. He went
Speaker 1: to another cabinet and took out a rope from inside,
Speaker 1: one that looked very similar to the one I saw downstairs.
Speaker 1: The man in the hat wounded around his wrists, tugging
Speaker 1: testing its strength. Satisfied, he tied a noose with it.
Speaker 1: He strode past me towards the staircase, and I followed.
Speaker 1: I expected him to walk all the way to the bottom,
Speaker 1: but instead he stopped a few steps below the ceiling.
Speaker 1: It was here that he reached out over the edge
Speaker 1: of the railing toward a hook attached there. It was
Speaker 1: originally intended to help hoist large, heavy objects up to
Speaker 1: the small apartment above us, but now he seemed to
Speaker 1: have a more sinister purpose for it. He wound the
Speaker 1: rope around the hook, tying it tight. He left a
Speaker 1: length of it out, giving it a bit of slack,
Speaker 1: before taking the noose and wrapping it around his own neck.
Speaker 1: The tears falling from his eyes, I gasped as I
Speaker 1: watched him take a step over the railing, and then another.
Speaker 1: He stood facing the hook, his back toward me, and
Speaker 1: held on. His sobs echoed, bouncing off the bottom floor
Speaker 1: and back up toward us, along with something else, whispers
Speaker 1: much like the ones that lured me up there, but
Speaker 1: somehow more sinister in their intent. I thought it was
Speaker 1: my imagination at first, until my eyes looked down to
Speaker 1: the entrance to the lighthouse. The shadowy thing was there,
Speaker 1: coming up the stairs, making straight for the men in
Speaker 1: the hat. It lunged in and out of the walls,
Speaker 1: stretching them into unnatural shapes and sizes in a desperate
Speaker 1: attempt to get to us. The man in the hat
Speaker 1: saw it coming for him and readied himself. I could
Speaker 1: do nothing but listen as I heard him speak only
Speaker 1: two words, forgive me. With that he let go, his
Speaker 1: body falling from the railing, plummeting down to the floor below.
Speaker 1: I watched it slow motion as the shadowy thing leapt
Speaker 1: out straight into the screaming open mouth of the man
Speaker 1: in the hat. It forced its way inside him. As
Speaker 1: he fell, his skin pushed and pulled in every direction,
Speaker 1: much like my father's had. The rope ran out its length,
Speaker 1: and when it pulled taut, I heard a sickening snap.
Speaker 1: His neck had broken, and while for most that would
Speaker 1: have put an end to it, but for him it
Speaker 1: only made it worse. I hurried down the steps to
Speaker 1: get close to him, as if my mere proximity would
Speaker 1: help comfort him in some way, but it did nothing
Speaker 1: but a nerve me. His body convulsed as a rope
Speaker 1: pulled tighter his lungs no longer receiving oxygen. He struggled
Speaker 1: for air, but none came, and his black is consumed
Speaker 1: by the darkness, bulged out of his head. His neck
Speaker 1: bent at such an angle that I could almost see bone.
Speaker 1: I wanted to reach out, just to let him know
Speaker 1: he was not alone in those final moments, but I couldn't.
Speaker 1: Soon he stopped struggling, and I watched as the life
Speaker 1: left his eyes. The man in the hat was dead.
Speaker 1: I ran from the lighthouse down the stairs, faster and faster,
Speaker 1: as the world outside the window turned from a clear
Speaker 1: summer night to a winter wonderland all over again, the
Speaker 1: sun rising over the Atlantic Ocean. When I reached the bottom,
Speaker 1: I looked up, I found that the body was gone.
Speaker 1: I hurried back toward the house, my mind racing why
Speaker 1: was I meant to see that? What did it mean?
Speaker 1: And who was showing it to me? A pain in
Speaker 1: his eyes, the way he tried to complete his task
Speaker 1: before the shadowy thing arrived told me everything I needed
Speaker 1: to know. Killing his wife had been a mercy, saving
Speaker 1: her from being consumed by the darkness of the house,
Speaker 1: and his own death was a lastic effort to escape
Speaker 1: it as well, but the darkness had taken him in
Speaker 1: his final moments, claiming it another life. With the lighthouse
Speaker 1: no longer showing me a vision of the past, the
Speaker 1: glow from the top was gone, thankfully, the sun coming
Speaker 1: over the horizon lit my way. When I arrived back
Speaker 1: to my car, I saw that at some point during
Speaker 1: my journey to the past, the road had been plowed.
Speaker 1: Who knew how long I was stuck in that vision,
Speaker 1: but who cared? I was free, free to leave this
Speaker 1: place again. I didn't bother to say goodbye to my mother.
Speaker 1: What could would that do? I wasted no time in
Speaker 1: leaving lighthouse that day. As I drove away, I glanced
Speaker 1: in my rear view mirror, watching the house receipt there.
Speaker 1: I nearly drove off the road when I saw what
Speaker 1: was on my porch. I could see Leny standing there
Speaker 1: on our left was a little girl, Abacail. They both
Speaker 1: smiled me as someone stepped out of the darkness behind them.
Speaker 1: It was the man in the hat, not the one
Speaker 1: I had seen earlier that evening in the lighthouse, but
Speaker 1: the one that had stopped me in my entire life,
Speaker 1: the one consumed by the darkness. He smiled as he
Speaker 1: took Cleany's hand in his own. His message was clear.
Speaker 1: She belonged to the darkness Now. Lighthouse is a production
Speaker 1: of I Heart Radio and Bamford Productions. Chapter seven featured
Speaker 1: the voice of Ali Trasher, written and directed by Jeff
Speaker 1: Himbuck audio engineer, ring an original musical score by Corey Celeste.
Speaker 1: Production assistance by Alex Gona. Executive produced by Holly Fry.
Speaker 1: Questions comments, you can reach us at the Man in
Speaker 1: the Hat is Watching at gmail dot com. Thank you
Speaker 1: for listening. M