Pharus Mortuorum

A power up prompt

This story is A part of the Power up Prompt by, Bradly Ramsey

On countless routes across Hudson Bay, hauling the stripped timber of tall, ceaselessly wet pines out of fort Albany. Me and my compatriots of the northern, quiet type. Sailed recklessly close to many bare islands which give little awe, or attention, in forgotten nooks of the bay. Save one—off the cold shore, near old wooden fort Roggan. Barely distinguishable in its rot.

Rimmed with sharp granite, that small island had seemingly little significance to hold any alarm to casual, or seasoned sailors. Aside from its accompanying old lighthouse, worn, yet unnaturally tall for its supposed age. Which no one knew the certain year of its build. Nor its ‘decommission’ as we say. But to this status of deserted as it stands, I disagree… For I know what I saw, really—who I saw, there on my travels. A woman, thinned through my glass by fog. Whom watched out plenty onto the waters, holding the face of someone dead in their will. With their eyes, bright as if the oil burned in them. And in odd moments of my few observations each, weeks apart. I felt hers watch me too. And another’s.

It was nearly two months ago on my first voyage through that area, when humidity blew in hard from the south. Mixing quick with the ever present cold, guarding round the arctic like the last parapet against mankind. And it created a thick murk across the bay and eastern shore of it. A law of nature forcing us to stop near to that very lighthouse. But not all too close, the old captain wouldn’t have it.

That whole evening as the deck grew quiet and bare, I tossed and turned in my bunk. I had a fascination with old structures for as long as I could remember. And the opportunity to see one of local legend was slowly fading into the summer night. So, I got me up quietly with my field glasses and tip toed above to see—as clearly as I could. If the legend of its height was true as the stories had told.

They did not lie—even through the murk I could see it, towering and dark. But featureless in the distance which made it like a monolith carved out by giants long rotted into the earth. Then I brought up my glasses, and gawked through them dumb—more than likely. There was no visible dock, or a path that led to it. Only the tower, with its long-burnt lamp. And a cellar door off to the side of its base, which drove my curiosity. Like one would feel, who wonders what lies beyond a ridge within a strange country.

My field glass couldn’t be torn from it. The more I stared at the door the less it made sense. For it seemed shine dull in my glass like stainless steel—a luxurious alloy to haul so far. With an entrance so large, a condor could fly through it effortlessly. I couldn’t help but stand and wonder what was down there, feeling more of a pirate for it. Brazen—and daring in my thoughts to find my way over and seek… But what came through my glass, tore those feelings for, but a moment. When the large doors swung open, without any warning to my ears.

And it froze me, watching her rise out of that grave, calm. As if her circumstance was nothing to raise an eye over. With a Palla red and miraculously unscathed, which covered her thin body. That if I were to feel across my palm it would prove softer than the finest silk and lighter than a sheet of satin. Swearing, I could make out a change in the air whilst she held her face into the west—it was the pungency of death.

I shook violently, like a hand came up from behind as the steel doors shut forcibly by nothing I saw through my glass. But she only bothered to give a glance, barely so, once she spotted the ship. So odd… As I saw her face, gaunt, nearly starved. When the skin tightened in immense fear, darting around the masts and hull. Like we of the living were more cause of alarm than whatever lay on the other side of that door.

Then she stared right into me and I, her. Before making my own escape. Though, as you can imagine, my interest only grew in that brief meeting, despite the danger. For, her eyes shot through me—down to the depths of my mind. Akin to an ice pick into a glacier, cold and sudden, almost natural than malicious. Yet the thing that truly gave me a fascinating terror of her, one that I couldn’t help to entertain since. Was that I made the same connection to her. And what I saw… were the passings of whole nations and the lives of long dead men in the span of a second. Well as one more, a single man. Striking as the dawn—older than the civilizations I saw before him.

Into the night, and the one after I could not sleep as the face of that man, who I assume to be her lover, seared into my memory. It took weeks to shake the dread I held for that face—got accustomed to it in the end. Though it sometimes stole my attention, to the point of near death. As it came to me on the wrong end of a stripped tree one day at port. Nearly crushing me when the strap holding it snapped like the shot of a bullet.

And I did not speak to anyone about it there, or on the way back around. But I did work more steadily, whilst we made our way back. A week’s worth of my mind growing restless with each day we came closer to that island. Needless to say—I had my glasses ready.

In the early morning, we got close, while the sky was overcast. But the fog was long gone with the growing cold as I snuck up close to one of the shoreside windows. I saw it, a way off. With my glasses I stared and stared as we approached. Paying little heed to the hushing of my crewmates above me. While the steel doors in the distance sat closed as the ship kept its distance.

There she was. Same clothing but perched now at the top of the tower. Pacing here, than there without going all the way round. Maybe guilt kept her doing otherwise or driven by simple madness. Oh, but how I would come to see it all soon enough! Even as we sailed slowly past.

Yet she did not hide or quail this time, when we were detected. While the crew worked as quietly as ever. When the metal of my field glass grew hot with the blood pumping hard throughout my body. She stopped her irate passes and gawked like the last time. And when I changed my position to get a better view, I saw her face clearly. Rested on her arms over the railing—empty of all thought one would guess, in my shoes. Until the visions came again, though this time I was ready, so I thought.

If I could sum up all that I saw, it would be—pain. Seasons coming and going while you remain the same. Countless nights of holding back your simplest wants. And constantly betraying someone that once could barely be without you… Just to think I was alone whenever I found my own life insufficient compared to another’s.

At last, she tore away before I could. And I wonder what she saw in me, a man barely able to read his own mind. But it couldn’t have been any good… For I saw she held both hands over her eyes and perhaps shudder. Though how could I be sure at such a distance? So, I brought down my glass.

And you must think I was a fool for my pursuit of what had happened at the start. But I already let it in, like the sweet poison of drink. And it only got worse; I couldn’t sleep for nights after. While getting my final paycheck for a poor job was a deceitful blessing as the images refused to leave my mind at day or night. Like my life became a dream, and the only way to wake up—was to go there and find out myself.

Using every dollar I had left I sailed from fort Albany in a mad rush. I could tell they were glad to see me go but what did it matter anyway. I had purpose now beyond toil to see her up close and maybe, add to the legend, make my own way. But I know now that was only a fancy lie.

It took about two weeks of poor eat and sleep to reach the lighthouse. Covered in a thin layer of snow it was a beauty and a warning. My salvation from the cold and a solution to what plagued me. So I came ashore quickly as I could, leaving my small sail boat tied to the rocks before my ascension. Every footstep was a shout in that corner of the world as I glanced everywhere to hear Her’s.

But nothing—as the dread of my actions began to clear the fantasy from my mind. Before I even stepped through the front, iron door. I wouldn’t dare go down to the cellar now, not if those doors were made of gold. Cursing myself, as the iron screamed open—its rust chipping off like no one had been through it in years. Another sign of my idiocy. Still, there was nothing else but to continue and warm myself in the climb up to the top.

The inside of the lighthouse was bare save for a desk caked with dust and bits of trash thrown askew. Nothing inviting, but there was something else piled against the desk, on the far side. Now I wish I just got to climbing those stairs… But I had all the time of my life and I figured it could wait. So, I walked around into the grey side of the room. And I saw, on the other side of that desk—were a pile of weathered, broken bones. So grisly gnawed I couldn’t tell if they were animal, or human. Which made the fear all the more unbearable as I kicked trash in my slow steps backward.

What made me halt; however, was the sound of those steel cellar doors swinging open as if they were as thin as dry pine. Something powerful was coming, and after what I just saw, I doubted it was that sad woman. Quickly I got me to climbing, even if it meant my way down was through falling. And a cruel test of God this was, that I felt more alive now than I did on that silent water.

The hatch to the top was already broken off as I came up to the lamp. Down below was all white and grey as I made my last decision over that old railing. That’s when I saw her, one last time. Wearing that same Palla, she had her back turned to me as she gracefully walked down to my sailboat. I dared not to speak as she entered, then unfastened the rope mockingly slow. Didn’t even think to breathe, as the look on her face showed me I was doomed from the start and a fool to think otherwise.

Finally, her eyes met mine, before I was shown a green field under clear blue sky. Warmed by the grateful face of the morning sun. When he appeared, grim—and terrible. Not bothered by any light or any weapon of man.

She turned from me, then sailed away with nothing but what she wore. And I sit here now maybe a few hours gone. Thinking over my own guilt and wanting as the cold lulls me to my sleep. But I must write before I go, that there was someone else here. With the loud thundering’s they made coming out of that cellar I should’ve seen them. But I felt their presence, make no mistake. And I too heard their breath, as if it were the waves of the open ocean. But in my growing weakness, I have no firm answer what in God’s name I unleashed into this sleeping world. But I can think of one—of him.

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I just can’t seem to get away from water in my stories. But if you didn’t mind it, flaws and all. Give it a like! And comment what you enjoyed about it. (Or what you thought I should improve on.) Thanks for reading!