The Lighthouse Keeper
The Lighthouse Keeper Valerie L. Ravenscroft
The Lighthouse Keeper Published by Valerie L. Ravenscroft Distributed by Pronoun First edition: 2016 This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2016 Valerie L. Ravenscroft
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. This book cannot be, partly or wholly, reproduced and/or transmitted, in any form and by any mean, without author permission. Thank you for respecting this author’s hard work!
For more info about upcoming books, author appearances, contests, etc., visit the author at: www.valerieravenscroft.com
Cover art for The Lighthouse Keeper by Margó Wiessman (Aniɣu´s design shop)
This is for long-forgotten Light at the end of the world T. Holopainen, M. Hietala (Nightwish, The Islander)
PROLOGUE The old man squinted, studied the horizon. The icy air bit his skin under his long coat. He shivered and breathed some warmth into his hands, folding his hood tighter. Grabbing the pole standing in the crook of his elbow, the man gave a push against the bottom of the lake. His boat dragged on the freezing waters in silence. This eternal silence. This place had never known anything else. A thick fog rose from the waters. As always. He squinted once more, peering through the darkness and the clouds until a bare shore appeared straight ahead. He frowned. One more push on the pole brought him closer and any doubt he had vanished: the shore was indeed denuded of all presence. This was unprecedented. Something was happening... Even the black waters were lacking their usual undulations. The old man landed on the sand, and with agility beyond his years jumped off of his boat. With long paces, he surveyed the beach. Nothing. No one. Not a soul in sight! He extended his survey and exited the cave he was in. The quiet calm inside the cave clashed against nature’s wrath. Outside, the sky was dark, gales were blowing in all directions and waves were crashing with violence against the rocks. Stars were hidden behind invisible clouds massing above, spewing cold rain and threatening of more. Standing on the part of the beach out of the cave, beaten by the elements, the old man was about to turn back when a shape caught his attention in the corner of his eye: something had landed on the sand out there. Forgetting everything else, the old man braved the fury of the storm and ran in the mud, holding firm to the stone walls when a wave swept the beach. He was making good progress towards the inanimate lump when a sudden realization stopped him in his tracks: the lump was a young man! Lightning cracked above head. The old man rushed to the poor soul’s help and bent over it; perhaps his clothes were stuck somewhere. He knew better than to mess with sea victims; the drowned had best be returned to the ocean that had claimed them. He was looking around, trying to find out how it was that this dead man was not drifting away when he saw it, something rather unusual in dead bodies: the young man’s hands were clutching a small boulder on the beach. The boatman’s eyes opened wide. “He’s alive!” A wave came crashing, dragging the old man back out to sea. With all the strength he could muster, he fought the elements: he had to save that young man! Soon, the miserable little rock that poor guy was holding onto would be drowned into the tide. He had no hope for life aside for the old man. The boatman swam and kicked, prayed and swore and eventually, the sea spat him back out on the beach. Without a single thought, he ran to young man’s help and dragged him against the storm’s fury to the safety of the cave. Inside, the old man noticed the shore had filled again with people as it should but in this instant, he cared very little: the young man in his arms was alive! The old man sighed. “Finally.”
CHAPTER 1 “My name is Jonah.” “Erin,” she replied, handing out her hand to me. I shook it. “And this little lady here is Sophie,” she added, designating the six-or-seven-year-old in the seat next to hers. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” Let’s face it: introductions aren’t that great a material, but distractions are few on a plane flying over the Atlantic, so I had my chances at retaining her attention. Erin was very pretty. In her mid-twenties like me, with beautiful blond-red hair, stunning blue eyes and a great smile. And I had a little over six hours to find out everything I could about her and her life. The conversation was pleasant. I learned that she was on her way to visit some family back in the old countries; that she hoped to one day become a teacher; and that the father of her child was now out of her life. When she asked me where I was headed and why, I stuttered for a second, but managed to casually reply that I was on my way to see some family too. “Oh? Really? Where?” She had a way of asking things, of looking at you so you knew that she was genuinely interested in what you had to say. I almost felt bad... “Oh, you know. In England,” I replied. Liar. “That’s a bit vague,” she chuckled. “Where in England?” My face must have frozen but my brain overheated: I had to find a believable answer. I know that answering London seemed like the obvious choice here: the city is big and overcrowded. I could easily pretend to have family there, but what do I do when she asks me which part of London, which quarter, which street? And then when she goes like “Oh! You must know that super famous restaurant right on the corner of where your family lives!” and “Oh! I’ve been there! I love this museum and that store and this park.” I’d be screwed; I’ve never been to London... So I simply hoped that she would know very little of England outside of the big cities. I came up with a total random name that sort of sounded like it could have been a British county. “Er, Hamshire,” I said, having no idea why that name popped into my head. (Now I want to emphasize my excellent pronunciation here as I remember distinctively saying: “hamshyer”…) She giggled. “Don’t you mean Hampshire?” Crap. “Uh, no. No. Ham-shyer. It’s a very small county in the north. I doubt you heard of it.” “Oh. Indeed, I haven’t.” She smiled. Phew. We talked for almost an hour after dinner had been served and cleaned up. When they turned off the lights to allow us to rest, I have to admit I was a bit relieved when she expressed the need for some shut-eye: I was running out of lies. She turned her back to me, opening her arms to the kid who happily snuggled up. I did try to get some sleep as well, but something was stirring inside of me. Something new. An unease. Perhaps it was time for me to get acquainted with truth again... I gave up the idea of sleeping. Instead, I looked at them – couldn’t help but. They seemed so happy, so peaceful. Of course, they probably have had hardship in their lives as everyone does, but somehow, they had managed to move past it all, together, and to be sitting here happy.
And in that moment, I was astonished to find out that I wanted that too. Happiness... and someone to share it with. As I imagined what my life would be like with a wife and a kid like them, I felt one of those candid, irrepressible smiles stretching my lips. Maybe it’s time I stop running... That was my last thought before the plane crashed.
The Lighthouse Keeper Published by Valerie L. Ravenscroft Distributed by Pronoun First edition: 2016 This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2016 Valerie L. Ravenscroft
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. This book cannot be, partly or wholly, reproduced and/or transmitted, in any form and by any mean, without author permission. Thank you for respecting this author’s hard work!
For more info about upcoming books, author appearances, contests, etc., visit the author at: www.valerieravenscroft.com
Cover art for The Lighthouse Keeper by Margó Wiessman (Aniɣu´s design shop)
This is for long-forgotten Light at the end of the world T. Holopainen, M. Hietala (Nightwish, The Islander)
PROLOGUE The old man squinted, studied the horizon. The icy air bit his skin under his long coat. He shivered and breathed some warmth into his hands, folding his hood tighter. Grabbing the pole standing in the crook of his elbow, the man gave a push against the bottom of the lake. His boat dragged on the freezing waters in silence. This eternal silence. This place had never known anything else. A thick fog rose from the waters. As always. He squinted once more, peering through the darkness and the clouds until a bare shore appeared straight ahead. He frowned. One more push on the pole brought him closer and any doubt he had vanished: the shore was indeed denuded of all presence. This was unprecedented. Something was happening... Even the black waters were lacking their usual undulations. The old man landed on the sand, and with agility beyond his years jumped off of his boat. With long paces, he surveyed the beach. Nothing. No one. Not a soul in sight! He extended his survey and exited the cave he was in. The quiet calm inside the cave clashed against nature’s wrath. Outside, the sky was dark, gales were blowing in all directions and waves were crashing with violence against the rocks. Stars were hidden behind invisible clouds massing above, spewing cold rain and threatening of more. Standing on the part of the beach out of the cave, beaten by the elements, the old man was about to turn back when a shape caught his attention in the corner of his eye: something had landed on the sand out there. Forgetting everything else, the old man braved the fury of the storm and ran in the mud, holding firm to the stone walls when a wave swept the beach. He was making good progress towards the inanimate lump when a sudden realization stopped him in his tracks: the lump was a young man! Lightning cracked above head. The old man rushed to the poor soul’s help and bent over it; perhaps his clothes were stuck somewhere. He knew better than to mess with sea victims; the drowned had best be returned to the ocean that had claimed them. He was looking around, trying to find out how it was that this dead man was not drifting away when he saw it, something rather unusual in dead bodies: the young man’s hands were clutching a small boulder on the beach. The boatman’s eyes opened wide. “He’s alive!” A wave came crashing, dragging the old man back out to sea. With all the strength he could muster, he fought the elements: he had to save that young man! Soon, the miserable little rock that poor guy was holding onto would be drowned into the tide. He had no hope for life aside for the old man. The boatman swam and kicked, prayed and swore and eventually, the sea spat him back out on the beach. Without a single thought, he ran to young man’s help and dragged him against the storm’s fury to the safety of the cave. Inside, the old man noticed the shore had filled again with people as it should but in this instant, he cared very little: the young man in his arms was alive! The old man sighed. “Finally.”
CHAPTER 1 “My name is Jonah.” “Erin,” she replied, handing out her hand to me. I shook it. “And this little lady here is Sophie,” she added, designating the six-or-seven-year-old in the seat next to hers. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” Let’s face it: introductions aren’t that great a material, but distractions are few on a plane flying over the Atlantic, so I had my chances at retaining her attention. Erin was very pretty. In her mid-twenties like me, with beautiful blond-red hair, stunning blue eyes and a great smile. And I had a little over six hours to find out everything I could about her and her life. The conversation was pleasant. I learned that she was on her way to visit some family back in the old countries; that she hoped to one day become a teacher; and that the father of her child was now out of her life. When she asked me where I was headed and why, I stuttered for a second, but managed to casually reply that I was on my way to see some family too. “Oh? Really? Where?” She had a way of asking things, of looking at you so you knew that she was genuinely interested in what you had to say. I almost felt bad... “Oh, you know. In England,” I replied. Liar. “That’s a bit vague,” she chuckled. “Where in England?” My face must have frozen but my brain overheated: I had to find a believable answer. I know that answering London seemed like the obvious choice here: the city is big and overcrowded. I could easily pretend to have family there, but what do I do when she asks me which part of London, which quarter, which street? And then when she goes like “Oh! You must know that super famous restaurant right on the corner of where your family lives!” and “Oh! I’ve been there! I love this museum and that store and this park.” I’d be screwed; I’ve never been to London... So I simply hoped that she would know very little of England outside of the big cities. I came up with a total random name that sort of sounded like it could have been a British county. “Er, Hamshire,” I said, having no idea why that name popped into my head. (Now I want to emphasize my excellent pronunciation here as I remember distinctively saying: “hamshyer”…) She giggled. “Don’t you mean Hampshire?” Crap. “Uh, no. No. Ham-shyer. It’s a very small county in the north. I doubt you heard of it.” “Oh. Indeed, I haven’t.” She smiled. Phew. We talked for almost an hour after dinner had been served and cleaned up. When they turned off the lights to allow us to rest, I have to admit I was a bit relieved when she expressed the need for some shut-eye: I was running out of lies. She turned her back to me, opening her arms to the kid who happily snuggled up. I did try to get some sleep as well, but something was stirring inside of me. Something new. An unease. Perhaps it was time for me to get acquainted with truth again... I gave up the idea of sleeping. Instead, I looked at them – couldn’t help but. They seemed so happy, so peaceful. Of course, they probably have had hardship in their lives as everyone does, but somehow, they had managed to move past it all, together, and to be sitting here happy.
And in that moment, I was astonished to find out that I wanted that too. Happiness... and someone to share it with. As I imagined what my life would be like with a wife and a kid like them, I felt one of those candid, irrepressible smiles stretching my lips. Maybe it’s time I stop running... That was my last thought before the plane crashed.
