Lamplight

In the outreaches of the great Sea of Ghosts, there was a tall, pale lighthouse, very much like the pale cliffs around it. The isle on which it stood was not tamed, as it was a tiny patch of land in the middle of the ocean. The tower of this particular lighthouse, nearly decrepit and worn with age, was stone inside and out. The keeper’s quarters, furnished with some ancient wooden fixtures, a kitchen, and an electric radio, opened onto the empty pier. A ragged tall wild woman was seated on one of the counters, listening to the tune “Lady of the Lake” which she had just chosen. It was playing at full volume and the wild woman was staring very seriously ahead at the machine. She doesn’t know much, but she does know at least three things: 

she likes this song; two, her name is Lace; three, she’s an amnesiac.

Lace washed up on shore in the heat of the summer, curly black hair caked in sea salt and sand. She laid there for hours-- hoping she was dead because that would at least get rid of her pounding headache-- until she finally rolled over and stared into the sky. The sun setting in the distance plastered a beautiful array of colors across the clouds. At least one thing was good about this entire situation. Lace wondered, ‘Is anything good about this situation?’

She pushed herself up on her elbows, ignoring her protesting bones and her screaming head. Well, definitely not in the best shape right now. She looked around, slowly as to not make her temples twinge with pain. She was on a beach, rocky yet pristine, and only the ocean met her gaze. The only thing she saw was the clear blue expanse, dappled with the orange light of the sun, as far as the eye could see. No other islands, no other landmarks, nothing at all, just Lace and her little patch of land.

She scowled, the motion familiar to her mouth, and heaved herself up from the sand. Grunts and whines left her every time she twisted too hard or moved too fast, but she managed to stand on her own two feet with only some amount of fumbling and falling. She shakily turned, only to marvel at the structure behind her. A lighthouse towered behind her with the lamp dimmed and only a small white light coming from inside the cottage attached. Lace’s head pounded as she lurched towards the cottage, knocking upon the door, only for it to swing open at her first touch.

“Hello?” She called, wincing when her voice sounds rough and raw. Her throat was as dry as the sand outside, no doubt from the sand and sea salt coating her lungs. There was no answer, and she nudged her way into the doorway, murmuring an apology to whoever it is whose home she’d disturbed. Made of the same stone as the lighthouse tower, the walls were barren save for a painting here in there, showing what she’d already seen. The ocean. There was wooden furniture strewn about, neat and orderly save for the cobwebs and dust on their surfaces. A kitchen with a wood-burning stove and an icebox stood in the corner, along with two doors along the far wall. She stumbled towards the sink and turned it on. Surprisingly, the water is clear, not at all full of the dirt of ages past like the outward appearance of the cottage would suggest. She scooped it up greedily, lapping from her palms and near gasping of relief when the water finally soothed her irritated throat.

The cottage was silent and undisturbed, save for Lace’s ragged breathing. She glanced around, wondering where the light had been coming from, only to find a few unlit candles and a lantern hanging by the door. Warily, she considered that this island was a hallucination, and she was still lost to the whims of the waves. She dug her nails into the flesh of her palm, praying that a bite of pain would be enough to wake her from this dream. She ended up with crescent-shaped marks on her hand; she grinned wide enough to hurt. She couldn’t remember how she ended up in the sea or what her life was even like before waking up on the island, but at least the island was real. Which is more than she could say about her shaky memories of the foam of the sea and the stench of death.

She continued to explore the cottage, wobbling towards a radio sitting by the fireplace. She smiled upon it, an impression of a woman singing tickling at her brain, before reaching out to grab the knobs to turn it on. The static gave rise to a gentle crooning. Lace swayed softly, trying her best to match the rhythm of the song. Suddenly, the song was interrupted by static once more, startling Lace from her reverie. A woman’s voice cut through the static, calling out for someone to help her. Her voice was familiar, but Lace couldn’t place it, not on her life.

“Save me!” The woman’s voice then cut out, replaced by the static turning to song and the ever-persistent crashing of waves on the sand. Lace swallowed heavily before reaching to turn off the radio. As she did so, she swayed on her feet, stumbling towards the couch. She just needed to rest, then she could finish exploring. The woman’s voice didn’t echo in her ears, haunting her like a siren at sea. That’s just the sound of the sea, whispering and screaming at the same time. Lace wasn’t scared. Now if only could convince herself of that.

Lace’s consciousness faded in and out, waking to the call of the woman in her dreams only to be rocked back to sleep by the waves beating upon the shore. She half recalled sensations of the past. A feverish feeling racing through her, only to be soothed by a warm ladle of soup and the touch of a loved one. Jaunty jigs and roaring shanties, made sweeter by the sweet voice and leading hand of a loved one. The shock of betrayal turned cold and cloying at the view of a loved one’s back, turned upon her before she can even beg for salvation. The burn of sea salt in her lungs, dragging through her throat, making her scream as her salty tears got lost to the waves.

“Alesia…”

…

“You need to wake up.”

…

“I don’t think I can live without you.”

...Liar.

“She means the world to me.”

Liar.

“You need to wake up!”

LIAR.

Lace shot up with her heart in her throat and tears in her eyes as she mourned someone who loved her and left her all at the same time. There wasn’t anything she could do, wrapped in rope and nudged towards the briny depths. They wouldn’t save her, they pushed her towards it, leaving her to the whims of the frenzy. Her last view as she pitched overboard was of the dawning horror on their face as if they’d just realized what they’d let happen. A hand shot out, not that she could grab it, and she fell into the sea, sinking like a stone. She couldn’t remember who they were or why they let her drown, let her die. She couldn’t even recall why she missed them so much it tore at her chest, even if they wanted her dead.

Once her heart stopped lurching and jumping, she glanced to the sky outside, only to find it deep black. She winced, wondering if the owner of the cottage had come back while she slept, only to leave her on the couch out of the kindness of their heart. Disturbing them so late at night wouldn’t be a nice repayment for their generosity, so she quietly exited the cottage, staring out into the inky darkness of the night sky and ocean melding together. It’d be so much better if she was still out there. Then she wouldn’t suffer from these memories, these faint sensations, the yearning for a love that didn’t burn hot enough. Lace frowned, turning from the ocean and looking up at the lighthouse above.

Despite its age, it’s still a beautiful thing, a surprisingly bright spot against the expanse of night. The stars twinkle around it, pinpricks spotlighting it like an actress on stage. Somehow she ended up at the entrance door. She wasn’t sure when she got there, but not one to ignore a gut feeling as strong as this. She gently nudged open the door, marveling at the lack of screeching hinges or creaky floors belying her presence. The stairs don’t creak either, no sound following as she climbed her way towards the beacon. When she reached the top, all she could do was stare.

Up here, there was no dark night sky, no moon swinging gently, no stars shining like lamp lights in a sky-bound city. As far as the eye could see, all she found was the same glowing white lights that led her to the cottage. They danced across the ocean, waltzing and jiving to the faint music now replacing the crash of the waves. Lace found herself swaying along, drawn closer and closer to the rising tide of the song. The woman from earlier’s voice rose above the song, calling out for Lace, giggling as she asked for a dance. Lace bit her lip, stepping closer and closer to the parapet of the lighthouse. 

“It’s just one little leap, Lace!”

And she took it.

About the Author

Jocelyn Royal is a second-year biology student at Arcadia University. She's in the pre-forensic science program; she wants to be a forensic lab analyst. Despite her scientific pursuits, she has a deep appreciation for literature and hopes to be able to pursue both academic and creative interests as she navigates through life.