Speaker 1: Warning. This episode contains descriptions of domestic violence. Listener discretion
Speaker 1: is advised. Lighthouse is a production of I Heart Radio
Speaker 1: and Bamfor Productions. For six long years after the night
Speaker 1: of my twelfth birthday, I lived in a constant state
Speaker 1: of fear. After we opened the dark room, the man
Speaker 1: in the hat made more frequent appearances. He didn't visit
Speaker 1: every night, but I was always afraid he would. I
Speaker 1: tossed and turned in my bed, restless, afraid that every
Speaker 1: creak of the settling house, every banging of the pipes,
Speaker 1: every gust of wind outside was him coming for me.
Speaker 1: On the nights he did come, the ritual was always
Speaker 1: the same, his shadow blocking the tiny bit of light
Speaker 1: spilling into my room from under my door. He would
Speaker 1: turn the knob, jiggling the handle, trying to open it.
Speaker 1: When the lock prevented him from doing so, he tried
Speaker 1: to force his way in, banging against it with such
Speaker 1: force that I was sure he would tear from its frame.
Speaker 1: I cried myself to sleep those nights, often curled up
Speaker 1: with my sister by my side, eyes closed tight, slowly
Speaker 1: counting to five over and over again, wishing him away. However,
Speaker 1: the man in the Hat was only the beginning. Though
Speaker 1: his presence was often seen. He was nothing more than
Speaker 1: a malevolent spirit that used us as ponds to unleash
Speaker 1: something else upon our house that had long since been
Speaker 1: sealed away. We did not realize it at the time,
Speaker 1: but when we opened the dark room, we freed something
Speaker 1: from a prison that should not have been unlocked, something
Speaker 1: that was set loose upon the halls of Lighthouse once again,
Speaker 1: and we my family or its prey, pray that it
Speaker 1: toyed with and tormented endlessly. For six long years. Lighthouse
Speaker 1: became my prison. The darkness that lived within its walls
Speaker 1: had us in its grasp, and it wouldn't let us
Speaker 1: go until it tore my family apart. Lighthouse Chapter three.
Speaker 1: Conditions in the house steadily declined over those six years,
Speaker 1: not only mentally but also physically. The first time I
Speaker 1: truly realized how bad things were getting was when I
Speaker 1: was thirteen. Yes, the nightly torment from the man in
Speaker 1: Hat was gnawing away at my nerves, and things we
Speaker 1: set loose from the dark room were slowly beginning to
Speaker 1: make their presence known. But things took a turn for
Speaker 1: the worse the first time my father hit my mother.
Speaker 1: Since moving into Lighthouse, my father began to transform into
Speaker 1: someone else. Though his initial hesitation about moving in went
Speaker 1: unheard by my mother, it was beginning to become apparent
Speaker 1: that it was for a good reason. He never shared
Speaker 1: much about his childhood and his family home with us,
Speaker 1: but it was clear that his time in the Lighthouse
Speaker 1: was not a pleasant one. Being surrounded by his past
Speaker 1: memories of a place he once escaped but was now
Speaker 1: trapped in again took a toll on him. Once we
Speaker 1: settled into Lighthouse, he took a job at a local
Speaker 1: factory that manufactured plastic products. With most of the inheritance
Speaker 1: from my grandmother's passing now gone, used to pay off
Speaker 1: their outstanding debts and for living expenses over the past years,
Speaker 1: we desperately needed money to survive again. How they had
Speaker 1: dwindled away so much so quickly was lost to me
Speaker 1: at the time, but my mother's lavish spending habits were
Speaker 1: likely part of the problem. She only wanted the best
Speaker 1: for our family, though, and now that she was finally
Speaker 1: able to provide that, who can fault her for some
Speaker 1: extravagant spending. It fell on my father, though, to pick
Speaker 1: up the slack, hence his job. A naturally thin man,
Speaker 1: the job demanded a lot of physical labor that he
Speaker 1: was just not suited for. But a job was a job,
Speaker 1: and he took it in stride. Every day, he left
Speaker 1: early in the morning before we awoke, and didn't come
Speaker 1: home until after nightfall. All evenings and week ends used
Speaker 1: to be reserved for family time. He now spent his
Speaker 1: free moments sitting in his study, staring at his old
Speaker 1: family portrait hanging above the fireplace, drinking. He started to deteriorate,
Speaker 1: and all the time alone in his study was not helping.
Speaker 1: One evening, when dinner was ready, my mother called out
Speaker 1: to him from the dining room. Leaney and I were
Speaker 1: already seated, awaiting the oka to begin eating, but my
Speaker 1: mother insisted we wait for him. When he still didn't
Speaker 1: respond after the second and third time, she stood up
Speaker 1: to fetch him. Leny and I waited and waited and waited,
Speaker 1: But then they're raised. Voices began to float down the
Speaker 1: hall toward us. We couldn't quite make out what they
Speaker 1: were saying, but as curiosity got the better of us,
Speaker 1: we both got out of our seats to see The
Speaker 1: study door was cracked ajar, but we stayed out of sight.
Speaker 1: We used the tiny crack between the door and the
Speaker 1: wall so we could peek into the room without risk
Speaker 1: of being spotted. What we saw was my father, still
Speaker 1: slumped over in his chair, drink in hand, while my
Speaker 1: mother stood over him. It was obvious from their body
Speaker 1: language and their voices that their conversation was heated and
Speaker 1: my mother was upset. The exact specifics of what they
Speaker 1: were saying have long been lost in my memory, but
Speaker 1: what is forever etched there was the moment when my mother,
Speaker 1: in an impassioned flash, knocked the drink out of my
Speaker 1: father's hand. The sound of shattering last stunned both my
Speaker 1: sister and I as we froze as still as statues.
Speaker 1: We watched intensely to see what would happen next. We
Speaker 1: could see my father finally rise from his chair. As
Speaker 1: my mother began to apologize, she was caught off mid
Speaker 1: sentence by the unmistakable sound of flesh striking flesh. He
Speaker 1: hit her so hard, the back of his hand connecting
Speaker 1: with her face, that she fell to the ground. The
Speaker 1: sound echoed within the house, Hanging in the air for
Speaker 1: what seemed like an eternity. The silence was only broken
Speaker 1: by the gasp that escaped her lips. My father didn't
Speaker 1: say anything else after that. He merely stared hard at her,
Speaker 1: rubbing his old scar before sitting back down in his chair.
Speaker 1: My mother, stunned, slowly got back to her feet and
Speaker 1: walked out, holding her face, where a red mark began
Speaker 1: to form on her cheek. She didn't register our presence
Speaker 1: as she stormed away towards her bedroom. Leaney took off
Speaker 1: a few secon games later in the opposite direction, sobbing.
Speaker 1: That night, I saw the dim glow from atop the
Speaker 1: lighthouse again, the first time since the night we had
Speaker 1: moved in. I watched it from my bed and fell
Speaker 1: asleep while wondering what it was. While the opening of
Speaker 1: the dark room may have set the darkness loose upon
Speaker 1: the house, what my father did to my mother emboldened it.
Speaker 1: The man in the hat had friends, and they wanted
Speaker 1: to make themselves known. The first did so in a
Speaker 1: most unexpected way. During one of my many many sleepless nights,
Speaker 1: I laid in bed staring at the ceiling. Thankfully, the
Speaker 1: man in the hat did not pay a visit that evening,
Speaker 1: but something far worse did. As I tossed and turned,
Speaker 1: I heard the music box in Lini's room begin to play.
Speaker 1: What was once a comforting sound for me had since
Speaker 1: turned into a waking nightmare. I found that the haunting
Speaker 1: melody was often a precursor to a visit from the
Speaker 1: man in the Hat. With the music wafting from my
Speaker 1: sister's room into mine, I decided I was in no
Speaker 1: mood to listen to his assault of my doorstep that night. Instead,
Speaker 1: I opted to do something I started a few weeks prior.
Speaker 1: I gathered my blanket and pillow, opened my balcony doors,
Speaker 1: and created a makeshift bed out there. My hope was
Speaker 1: always that the night air would drown out the cacophony
Speaker 1: of noise caused by the man in the Hat, and
Speaker 1: while that theory didn't always work, being out there did
Speaker 1: calm my nerves a bit. As I stepped out on
Speaker 1: to the balcony, I felt an immediate chill run through
Speaker 1: me as wind from the ocean blew in my direction.
Speaker 1: I didn't mind, just held my night gown around me
Speaker 1: closer to fight some of it off. The dark shape
Speaker 1: of the lighthouse loomed in the distance. The glow not
Speaker 1: making an appearance. That night, clouds blanketed the sky, allowing
Speaker 1: only small slivers of light to touch the ground. In
Speaker 1: these small patches of moonlight, I could see our vast
Speaker 1: yard stretching out in all directions. I leaned against the
Speaker 1: railing and I breathed in the cold air, stinging my lungs.
Speaker 1: For a moment, it was quiet outside, more so than usual.
Speaker 1: Crickets usually saying their symphony by this time, helping me
Speaker 1: to block out other noise, But this night was devoid
Speaker 1: of life. I thought nothing of it, though, just glad
Speaker 1: to be out of the house for a few brief moments.
Speaker 1: As my eyes adjusted to the dark, they fell upon
Speaker 1: the red oak tree. I wondered how long it had
Speaker 1: been there. It's massive and gnarled branches sprung off in
Speaker 1: many directions, creating its own labyrinth maze of limbs. As
Speaker 1: another soft gust of wind blew, I noticed an odd shape,
Speaker 1: something I had never seen before, swaying among the shadows
Speaker 1: of the tree. I assumed it was a dead branch,
Speaker 1: hanging on its last vestiges of life, soon to become
Speaker 1: another stick in the yard. The clouds above shifted, allowing
Speaker 1: more moonlight to shine through, and the shadowy thing came
Speaker 1: into a clearer view. It was a body hanging from
Speaker 1: the trees limbs. I stumbled backwards, shocked by the sight.
Speaker 1: I tried to turn away, but my eyes would not
Speaker 1: listen to my brain. Instead, they continued to stare as
Speaker 1: every gruesome detail came into focus. An old knotted noose
Speaker 1: was wrapped around its neck. The body swayed in the
Speaker 1: light breeze as I could see that the clothing was
Speaker 1: nearly unrecognizable, rotted away, as if he had been hanging
Speaker 1: there for some time. The flesh peeking out from behind
Speaker 1: it hung loosely, giving it a sickly appearance. Thankfully, I
Speaker 1: burn up bag covered the face, saving me from seeing
Speaker 1: anything worse. I could only imagine the face decomposed over time,
Speaker 1: the empty eye sockets burning in whatever direction they faced.
Speaker 1: I saw the head begin to turn in my direction.
Speaker 1: It was too much for me to bear. I quickly
Speaker 1: ran back into my bedroom and closed the balcony doors
Speaker 1: as fast as I could. I jumped into my bed,
Speaker 1: and I pulled the covers over me. When I did
Speaker 1: finally sleep, I had a nightmare about its dead lifeless
Speaker 1: eye is trying to see through the gaps in the
Speaker 1: burlap to catch a glimpse of me, before somehow cutting
Speaker 1: itself loose and hurrying down the tree to get me.
Speaker 1: I never used that balcony at night again. Lighthouse will
Speaker 1: return after these messages, and now back to lighthouse. As
Speaker 1: my father began to drink more and more over the years,
Speaker 1: the beatings he laid upon my mother got worse. What
Speaker 1: started as a slap across the face here and they
Speaker 1: are soon turned into a black eye or a broken limb.
Speaker 1: Though these things were never done. When Leaney and I
Speaker 1: were present, we often saw the immediate aftermath. Sometimes one
Speaker 1: of us would come across her, laying at his feet,
Speaker 1: victim to a recent strike. Other Times it would be
Speaker 1: her hiding her injury as best as she could, though
Speaker 1: we could always see right through her reception. He never
Speaker 1: struck us like he did her, but we felt his
Speaker 1: wrath in other ways, mostly when he yelled. His temper
Speaker 1: became short, and his tolerance for his family grew thinner
Speaker 1: by the day. The smallest thing would irritate him, sending
Speaker 1: him into a tailspin of anger that resulted in us
Speaker 1: running off to cry. As these instances increased, my sister
Speaker 1: began to change, not in the prepubescent sense that everyone
Speaker 1: goes through, but in mannerism send the way she held herself.
Speaker 1: She used to run into my father's arms when he
Speaker 1: came home from work, anxious to tell him about her day.
Speaker 1: Now she ran in the opposite direction, often hiding somewhere
Speaker 1: in the house for hours before making an appearance again.
Speaker 1: It was months before I discovered her secret hideaway, and
Speaker 1: I was shocked when I realized where it was. It
Speaker 1: was late one summer afternoon and I was hungry, so
Speaker 1: I went to check the pantry for snack. To my surprise,
Speaker 1: I found the basement door open. A bit worried, I
Speaker 1: started to close it when I heard a voice make
Speaker 1: its way up from its depths. It sounded suspiciously like Lini.
Speaker 1: I hadn't been down there since we discovered the dark room,
Speaker 1: but I was a bit worried that if it was Lini,
Speaker 1: she could be in trouble. Against my better judgment, I
Speaker 1: crept down a few steps and looked into the basement.
Speaker 1: The light was on down there, so I assumed that
Speaker 1: one of my parents had replaced the burnt out bulb
Speaker 1: At some point. I listened intently again, and there was
Speaker 1: no mistake. Leoni was down there somewhere. I made my
Speaker 1: way through the basement carefully, even though the light was
Speaker 1: shining bright. My previous experience was not one I wanted
Speaker 1: to relive. I followed the sound of her voice as
Speaker 1: I continued to get closer. It sounded as if she
Speaker 1: was talking to someone. What did you use it for?
Speaker 1: I heard her ask. I stopped and tried to listen
Speaker 1: for a response. Instead, she started giggling. A few seconds later,
Speaker 1: my heart dropped as I turned a corner and realized
Speaker 1: where her voice was coming from the dark room. I
Speaker 1: hurriedly walked to the small doorway to find Lini sitting
Speaker 1: cross legged on the floor, facing the back wall under
Speaker 1: the glowing red light. Lini, I called out, startling her
Speaker 1: and immediately feeling bad about it. She turned toward me
Speaker 1: and smiled. Dara. She squealed, did you come to play too?
Speaker 1: What are you doing down here? I asked her. It's dangerous. No,
Speaker 1: it's not, she told me matter of factly. I always
Speaker 1: come down here now, it's my secret spot. I was
Speaker 1: surprised by this, of course, because I had avoided the
Speaker 1: dark room and the entire basement since the day we
Speaker 1: found it. I was under the assumption that she did
Speaker 1: as well. I pushed the memory of my first and
Speaker 1: only visit out of my head for now, though, for
Speaker 1: fear of conjuring any unwanted attention. While I was down
Speaker 1: there still, Who are you talking to, Lini? Oh, it's
Speaker 1: my friend, Abigail, she said. My heart dropped and my
Speaker 1: blood ran cold. There was no one else with her
Speaker 1: but an old, dirty, teddy bear. When she held out
Speaker 1: to me in greeting, I immediately recognized it as the
Speaker 1: one that once sat on the top shelf in this
Speaker 1: very room when we first opened the door. It was
Speaker 1: too far out of reach for either of us to grab.
Speaker 1: Then I silently wondered how Leni got her hands on it,
Speaker 1: and also wondered if that is who she meant as Abigail.
Speaker 1: The implications of her making a new friend down in
Speaker 1: the dark room were too much for me to comprehend
Speaker 1: in that small, darkened space at the moment. Very nice
Speaker 1: to meet you, I stammered, starting to feel a bit dizzy.
Speaker 1: A familiar feeling of unease washed over me. And look
Speaker 1: what she found, Lenie exclaimed, as she showed me something else.
Speaker 1: It took a moment for it to register in my brain,
Speaker 1: but she held an old hunting knife in her hand.
Speaker 1: My eyes grew wide, and I quickly snatched it away
Speaker 1: from her. Lee that's dangerous. It's not a toy. You
Speaker 1: shouldn't be playing with that. Sorry, she said, looking sheepishly
Speaker 1: at the floor. Abigail said it was okay. The dizziness
Speaker 1: was getting worse, and this Abigail was making me nervous.
Speaker 1: Who was she and why was LINI treating the teddy
Speaker 1: bear like a person? Regardless, this was not the place
Speaker 1: to discuss it. Come back upstairs, please, I told her,
Speaker 1: we have chores. That was a lie, but I had
Speaker 1: to get out of there, and the thought of leaving
Speaker 1: her alone in the dark room was not one I
Speaker 1: was going to entertain. Reluctantly, she got up, brushed the
Speaker 1: dirt off her dress, and grabbed the teddy Bear. Come along, Abigail,
Speaker 1: she said, moving past me into the basement. Before I followed,
Speaker 1: I took the knife I had taken from her and
Speaker 1: looked for a good hiding spot for it. Taking a
Speaker 1: quick glance under the bench, I saw a small alcove
Speaker 1: in there, one that someone wouldn't normally see unless they
Speaker 1: were looking for it. I placed the knife there, hopeful
Speaker 1: that it would be enough to keep it out of
Speaker 1: Linie's hands. I took one last look inside the dark
Speaker 1: room before reaching for the chain and turning off the
Speaker 1: red light. I couldn't get out of the basement fast enough.
Speaker 1: H Lighthouse were returned after a word from our sponsors,
Speaker 1: and now Lighthouse continues. Despite my protests, Lenie began to
Speaker 1: spend more and more time in the dark room. Her
Speaker 1: own bedroom was often neglected in favor of it, and,
Speaker 1: much like my father with the study, she would disappear
Speaker 1: for hours at a time down there. Her continued insistence
Speaker 1: on playing with this Abigail was worrisome for me, but
Speaker 1: my mother didn't seem to mind. In fact, if Lenie
Speaker 1: was occupied elsewhere, that meant less work my mother had
Speaker 1: to do. It also meant more time for her to
Speaker 1: be alone with her thoughts, which in turn left me
Speaker 1: alone with my own. The man in the hat, the
Speaker 1: person hanging from the tree, Abigail, all of them were
Speaker 1: just a small portion of the things I saw lurking
Speaker 1: in Lighthouse. There were so many more things I saw
Speaker 1: once or twice, things I only caught the briefest of
Speaker 1: glimpses of things that were almost as common as the
Speaker 1: man in the hat. One of those things was the
Speaker 1: maid in the kitchen. I often saw her hurrying herself
Speaker 1: in there, perhaps preparing phantom meals. Dressed in a simple
Speaker 1: black dress with a small ornamental apron. She only registered
Speaker 1: my presence once, when I bumped the table and knocked
Speaker 1: a fork from its place setting. She turned to me
Speaker 1: as I saw tears of blood staining her porcelain cheeks.
Speaker 1: There was also the servant in one of the spare
Speaker 1: bedrooms upstairs, wearing dark gray trousers a high buttoned black
Speaker 1: coat with a dark tie. He busied himself with keeping
Speaker 1: the room tidy, awaiting orders from the master of the house.
Speaker 1: There was a rust colored stain that spread on the
Speaker 1: back of his coat as he worked. An old sailor,
Speaker 1: likely a pirate from the early days of sailing along
Speaker 1: the bluff, occasionally made appearances on the grounds. That gaping
Speaker 1: hole where his right eye socket used to be dominated
Speaker 1: by his face. In the attic, there was an old
Speaker 1: woman who sat in a darkened corner, rocking back and
Speaker 1: forth in her chair, her face covered in a shawl.
Speaker 1: She didn't do anything else but sit there day in
Speaker 1: day out. Whenever I saw her, there was a man
Speaker 1: with some sort of file, maybe a doctor, paying attention
Speaker 1: to her comings and goings, writing down notes about what
Speaker 1: he was observing. There's a little boy often seen outside
Speaker 1: on the grounds, who moved with an unnatural gait and
Speaker 1: whose teeth never stopped chattering. Not all of the entities
Speaker 1: made their physical presence known. Some of them were content
Speaker 1: to open doors and cabinets, move valuable objects to different places,
Speaker 1: and just generally cause unseen havoc. And Lighthouse one waited
Speaker 1: until the dark early hours of the night to whisper
Speaker 1: indiscernible words to me in a chorus of gentle saying
Speaker 1: song voices from the events. There were many things slowly
Speaker 1: tormenting us in Lighthouse, but none of them were as
Speaker 1: terrifying as the shadowy thing. Whatever it was, I had
Speaker 1: never actually seen its full form. I named it for
Speaker 1: its black, shadowy shape that kept its form nebulous, often
Speaker 1: appearing just out of the corner of my eyesight, but
Speaker 1: making it known that it was present. I was certain
Speaker 1: it was the very same thing that chased us from
Speaker 1: the dark room on the day we opened it, less
Speaker 1: person and more thing. I came to think of it
Speaker 1: as the very darkness living in the heart of lighthouse.
Speaker 1: I mean it quite literally when I say it was
Speaker 1: living within the walls of the house. I sometimes saw
Speaker 1: it slithering behind the wallpaper, a bulging shape protruding from
Speaker 1: the hallway, giving the appearance that the house itself was alive.
Speaker 1: I tried to avoid it at all costs, especially after
Speaker 1: the night I saw it with my father. Unlike the
Speaker 1: rest of my family, I didn't try to avoid him
Speaker 1: like they did. Despite his temper, I made a concentrated
Speaker 1: effort to try to keep connected, to make sure he
Speaker 1: knew that I was there for him and that he
Speaker 1: was loved. One relatively calm evening, where I had gone
Speaker 1: an entire day without seeing or hearing from one of
Speaker 1: the many inhabitants of the house, I had an uneasy
Speaker 1: feeling that I was overdue for a visit. As my
Speaker 1: bedside clock struck three am, I realized how right I
Speaker 1: was when the whispering voices began to call out from
Speaker 1: my vend again. I tried not to listen to their
Speaker 1: hushed words, But sometimes the more you try to block
Speaker 1: something out the more your brain allows it. In this time,
Speaker 1: instead of just words, I could not make out, there
Speaker 1: was something else coming through the cacophony. They were calling
Speaker 1: out my name. I was immobilized because this was the
Speaker 1: first time that anything had addressed me by my name.
Speaker 1: It knew who I was. My fear overtook me, and
Speaker 1: every rational part of my brain told me to stay
Speaker 1: where I was, But my body was not my own.
Speaker 1: Then it was in some sort of trance against my will.
Speaker 1: I found my legs swinging over the edge of my
Speaker 1: bed and then walking along the floor outside my bedroom.
Speaker 1: I supposed, despite all my terror, the lizard part of
Speaker 1: my brain could not resist the call of whatever it
Speaker 1: was out in the hall. It continued, much like the
Speaker 1: music box. I followed it down the stairs and onto
Speaker 1: the first floor of the house. It beckoned me, the
Speaker 1: voice drawing me towards my father's study. As I got closer,
Speaker 1: I found the door jar again, the light spilling into
Speaker 1: the hallway like a beacon night. The closer I got
Speaker 1: to the door, the more my anxiety grew. My footsteps
Speaker 1: slowed as another part of my brain was fighting against
Speaker 1: whatever was calling out to me in that room. But
Speaker 1: it was too late. I was too close to the doorway,
Speaker 1: and I had no choice but to give into my
Speaker 1: instincts and look inside. Was a scene I had laid
Speaker 1: eyes on many times before. My father sat in his
Speaker 1: favorite chair in front of the fireplace and family portrait,
Speaker 1: with his back towards me. In his hand was a
Speaker 1: glass of whiskey, with a nearly empty bottle sitting on
Speaker 1: a table nearby. But as my eyes grew accustomed to
Speaker 1: the bright light of the room, there was a dark
Speaker 1: spot in my vision that refused to go away, a
Speaker 1: shadow that was cast in the room by an unseen object.
Speaker 1: My brain tried to make sense of it, but there
Speaker 1: was no sense to be had, because this was not
Speaker 1: something that human eyes were meant to see. It wasn't
Speaker 1: a trick of the light. It was a piece of
Speaker 1: living darkness that had lodged itself in the middle of
Speaker 1: the room, sucking all the light and life away from
Speaker 1: where it stood. The shadowy things stood tall over my
Speaker 1: father and leaned in close, whispering to him. But these
Speaker 1: whispers were not the same ones that lured me here.
Speaker 1: These whispers were dark and full of malice. Whatever brought
Speaker 1: me here, it wasn't one and the same. Whatever it was,
Speaker 1: it wanted me to see this. It wanted me to
Speaker 1: see this malicious thing leaching into my father and filling
Speaker 1: his head with dark thoughts. It wanted to show me
Speaker 1: what was happening. I took a step back, and a
Speaker 1: floorboard creaked. Almost immediately, the shadowy thing turned its rough
Speaker 1: approximation of a head toward me, hissing in anger. My
Speaker 1: father sat unmoving as the shadow coiled itself up like
Speaker 1: a compressed spring and then leapt in my direction. I
Speaker 1: took off at full run, my trance broken, and made
Speaker 1: for the stairs. I could hear it behind me, hissing
Speaker 1: and fury because I had interrupted its carefully planned interaction
Speaker 1: with my father. When I reached the top of the stairs,
Speaker 1: I chanced to look over my shoulder, only to see
Speaker 1: the darkened creature wrapping its slithering form around the banister
Speaker 1: as it raced up after me. A dark appendage reached
Speaker 1: out to grab me and just barely gray my arm.
Speaker 1: As I picked up speed, I ran down the hallway
Speaker 1: toward my bedroom, the shadow jumping from the stairs to
Speaker 1: the walls, its form bulging from the wallpaper, scurring beneath
Speaker 1: it like an oversized cockroach. I didn't let up until
Speaker 1: I was back within the safety of my room, slamming
Speaker 1: the door shut behind me. I thought myself safe. For
Speaker 1: a moment, I was. It slammed into my door, forcing
Speaker 1: me away from it and down to my knees. As
Speaker 1: I crawled across the floor backwards, the shadowy thing wasted
Speaker 1: no time in trying to get through my door, the
Speaker 1: wood distending inward towards me in an unnatural way. It
Speaker 1: seeped out of the wood, forming its black in shape
Speaker 1: in the middle of my room, its form becoming less
Speaker 1: nebulous and more beast like. It hissed and ungodly sound
Speaker 1: as I screamed and it swirled around me. It covered
Speaker 1: me in its darkness, the blackest black that I had
Speaker 1: ever seen. As it felt I was no longer within
Speaker 1: my room, but within a dark, never ending void of
Speaker 1: her I screamed and screamed and screamed, but the world
Speaker 1: was gone, and all that was left was me and
Speaker 1: the everlasting darkness. I awoke the next day in my bed,
Speaker 1: my body drenched in sweat and my energy depleted. I
Speaker 1: didn't leave my room for three days. But worse was
Speaker 1: that I didn't know what was scarier the fact that
Speaker 1: the thing attacked me, or that no one seemed to notice.
Speaker 1: I was confined to my bed for so long. My
Speaker 1: father stayed in his study whatever dark secrets that thing
Speaker 1: whispered to him in casing his mind. My mother, beaten
Speaker 1: down by my father both physically and mentally, was not
Speaker 1: even aware. And my sister, my little LENI, was too
Speaker 1: busy spending her days in the dark room to know
Speaker 1: that her sister needed her. I do not know what
Speaker 1: the shadowy thing did to me, but I knew after
Speaker 1: that moment I had to do everything in my power
Speaker 1: to leave Lighthouse. And when I was eighteen, I finally
Speaker 1: got my chance. Desperate to start my own life out
Speaker 1: from under the oppressing nature of the house and my family,
Speaker 1: I applied for college. He was on a whim at
Speaker 1: the encouragement of my guidance counsel or at school, who
Speaker 1: saw potential in me. I had taken quite a few
Speaker 1: photography classes during my high school career, and the camera
Speaker 1: I found in the dark room helped me along in
Speaker 1: that I used it sparingly, never developing the film I
Speaker 1: had used since I was too afraid to use the room.
Speaker 1: But once I realized that technology had evolved drastically since
Speaker 1: that camera was made. I began to use ones that
Speaker 1: the school had on hand. Recognizing a talent in me
Speaker 1: and an eye for photography, Mrs Brown all but forced
Speaker 1: me to apply for program. I didn't tell my parents
Speaker 1: at first because I knew how the conversation would go.
Speaker 1: Money was tight and we couldn't afford to send me away,
Speaker 1: especially since my father had an incident at the factory
Speaker 1: the year before which left him unable to work. He
Speaker 1: was currently on disability and spent his days in his
Speaker 1: rual spot in the study. But when I was accepted
Speaker 1: and the prospect of being somewhere else grew more real
Speaker 1: I formulated a plan. I saved my own money from
Speaker 1: working at the local grocer over the past few years,
Speaker 1: and researched bank loans. I was confident I would be
Speaker 1: able to do it on my own, and now that
Speaker 1: I was eighteen, I realized I didn't need their blessing.
Speaker 1: I was an adult. I had the ability to make
Speaker 1: my own decisions, make my own way, and despite whatever
Speaker 1: they said, I was leaving. In a rare instance where
Speaker 1: I was able to get my father out of his study,
Speaker 1: I sat both him and my mother down to present
Speaker 1: my plans. When I was done, my father merely grumbled
Speaker 1: something that sounded like don't expect any help from me,
Speaker 1: and left the room. But my mother, I could tell
Speaker 1: by looking in her eyes that she was heartbroken. Though
Speaker 1: the years had not been kind to her and she
Speaker 1: was a mere shell of the strong, confident woman she was,
Speaker 1: she was still my mother, and she loved me dearly.
Speaker 1: The thought of her firstborn moving away out from under
Speaker 1: her supposed protective wing was devastating, but deep inside I
Speaker 1: think she saw it for exactly what it was, an escape.
Speaker 1: Three weeks later, I found myself climbing into a taxicab,
Speaker 1: two suitcases full of belongings in the trunk, ready to
Speaker 1: start my new life. The time flew by in a heartbeat,
Speaker 1: and though I tried my best to spend those last
Speaker 1: few days with my family to regain some semblance of
Speaker 1: what we once were, things were just not the same.
Speaker 1: A part of me felt pained pain that I was
Speaker 1: leaving my family, especially leaning in an unsafe situation. I
Speaker 1: don't know why, but I had fared better than all
Speaker 1: of them by not falling into the clutches of lighthouse
Speaker 1: and yet a part of me felt bad because of that.
Speaker 1: I tried my very best to help them climb out
Speaker 1: of that hole, but they just seemed to dig themselves
Speaker 1: deeper despite my best efforts. My father did not acknowledge
Speaker 1: my goodbye. I couldn't tell if my mother's tears were
Speaker 1: of joy or sadness. And Leni, well, our relationship had
Speaker 1: declined since she found a friend in Abiil. She wasn't
Speaker 1: fond of my leaving, so she hit away and refused
Speaker 1: to accept it. A soft rain began to fall as
Speaker 1: I closed the taxis door, the droplets creating a hazy
Speaker 1: view of lighthouse. As the driver began to pull away,
Speaker 1: I looked through the rear window one last look at
Speaker 1: the place I had called home for six years. How
Speaker 1: stood out among the dark clouds, the lighthouse looming in
Speaker 1: the distance like a guardian keeping watch. Regardless of all
Speaker 1: its ups and downs, it was still home. Leni appeared
Speaker 1: on the porch, teddy Bear in hand, staring at me
Speaker 1: as the cab made its way down the driveway. A
Speaker 1: sad smile formed on her face as she raised her
Speaker 1: hand goodbye. I waked back, matching her sad smile with
Speaker 1: my own. In a sudden flash of lightning, the Teddy
Speaker 1: Bear was gone, replaced by another figure at Leaney's side.
Speaker 1: In my rapidly shrinking view of the porch, I could
Speaker 1: see that whomever it was was younger than Leaney, closer
Speaker 1: to eight years old, wearing a pale blue dress and pigtails.
Speaker 1: Her eyes stared hard at me as I tried to
Speaker 1: make sense of what I was seeing. This figure was Abigail,
Speaker 1: and the smile she gave me chilled me to the
Speaker 1: very core Lighthouse is a production of I Heart Radio
Speaker 1: and Bamford Productions. Chapter three featured the voice of Ali Trasher,
Speaker 1: written and directed by Jeff Himbuck audio engineering, an original
Speaker 1: musical score by Corey Celeste. Production assistance by Alex Gona.
Speaker 1: Executive produced by Holly Fry. Questions comments, you can reach
Speaker 1: us at the Man in the Hat is Watching at
Speaker 1: gmail dot com. Thank you for listening.