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Shipwrecked on an isolated island...
How far would you go to help a new friend? Would you kill someone?
How do you know what is and isn't real?
When The Beacon beckons safe harbour isn't guaranteed.
CHAPTER SIX
Shivering with cold and fear from a violent
dream, I woke with a start. The dream faded as soon as I opened my eyes, but
the chill remained. Where had the quilt gone? It no longer covered me and did
not lie on the floor at my feet.
Early morning light belied the chill. It
streamed through a tiny window high in the stone wall, illuminating the room in
a golden glow. No warmth remained from the fire I’d stoked the night before.
I looked to the hearth to see if embers
remained that I could spark to life. My jaw dropped in disbelief. I rubbed my
eyes, yet the image did not change. The hearth lay empty except for the fire
grate. Not only were there no embers burning, there was no ash. It had been
swept clean.
I shivered again, teeth chattering as I
blew warm air on my freezing hands. No wonder it was so cold. But how? And who?
Looking around, what I saw made my stomach
clench and chest tighten. What the hell was going on here? My patient, Ruth, no
longer occupied the bed. In fact, the bed was stripped clean and all that
remained was a moth-eaten, old feather mattress on the bed frame. No signs of
what had taken place the night before remained at all.
My body was clothed in my own tattered
jeans and sweatshirt, instead of the flannel gown I’d worn when I’d fallen
asleep. I still wore no shoes, and my feet were still freezing. What happened
to the bloody nightdress?
Shaking with fear and cold, I left the
relative comfort of the rocking chair. Again tiptoeing – I always felt the need
to tiptoe in this house – I ventured into the corridor. Peeking into the little
girls’ room, I was uncertain what I would find and braced myself for anything.
In spite of my precautions, the wind was
still knocked out of my sails. The room was empty save for the bed frame also
covered with a worn and tattered feather mattress. This house felt so desolate
it was as if no one had lived there for decades.
One door further down the corridor, my own
room was also vacant except for the bed, bare mattress and rough furniture. No
soft furnishings remained. Even the cross above the bed was gone.
No longer tiptoeing I searched the main
room. All of the small items, dishes, everything, were gone, but the furniture
remained, although it looked even more worn than the day before. The grate here
had also been swept clean.
The kitchen shelves were bare. Not even a
scrap of food to be found. My stomach rumbled reminding me I was hungry.
Starving in fact. I was so hungry I could eat a horse. Where the heck did that
expression originate anyway?
I wanted to let the random thought distract
me. Instead I examined the remainder of the house. I needed to solve this
riddle.
Could someone really have come in and
packed up all the household goods, the kids and Ruth, absconding with them in
the middle of the night while I slept and not have disturbed me at all?
Was it possible the man wasn’t dead after
all? Had he recovered enough to get help? Or to take off with Ruth, the kids
and all their belongings? But why would he have left me sleeping and taken off
with his family. A more likely scenario would have been for him to attack me
while I slept.
After exploring all the rooms on the main
floor, I stood before the spiral staircase at the opposite end of the corridor.
As the morning progressed more light came through the high windows, making it
easier to see. At the foot of the metal steps I looked up as far as I could
see. Although there were rust spots here and there, they appeared to be sturdy
enough. Grasping the iron handrail, I took the first step, bouncing a bit on
the tread to make sure it would hold. I felt no give. Gingerly, I began to
climb, clinging tightly to the handrail just in case. There were so many rungs.
I began counting them. The iron felt even colder on my bare feet than the slate
floor.
At fifty I quit counting, but I kept
climbing. At the top stood a trap door. I gave it a shove and it moved
slightly. Pushing with all my upper body strength and using my legs for extra
leverage, I managed to shove the heavy door until it fell back, allowing me to
climb through. The hatch opened into a tiny little circular room with large
windows all the way around. Most of the windows were broken and there were
shards of glass scattered across the floor so I didn’t venture off the
staircase in my bare feet. In the centre of the tiny room was a giant lantern.
This was no ordinary house. It was a
lighthouse. The lantern was shattered too. Apparently this lighthouse had not
been operational for some time.
Even from a distance I could see much
through the windows. Straight ahead the sea spread out in all its glory. Where
the sea met the shore stood the remnants of a short pier, most of it under
water, the remainder teetering on its supports. About fifty feet to the right
of the pier was a crumbling boathouse. I could see holes in the roof, and a
distinct lean to one side.
Unable to step forward for fear of slicing
my soles, I stood as tall as I could on my now numb toes, to see through the
remaining windows. All I was able to make out were the tops of trees.
I felt a little vertigo as I walked back
down the staircase. I needed food, drink and something to cover my blue feet.
I also needed to check to see if the body
was where I’d left it alongside the house. I turned a little green at the
thought. Maybe food could wait a little longer.
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1 comment:
Alison thank you for hosting this excerpt of The Beacon and for participating in its launch tour! You are a doll.
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