Lighthouse Ghosts

His mother says the lighthouse is an adventure, all of their belongings stuffed to the brim in the back of her car, their grouchy cat tucked in its carrier between them in front. Jake stretches his legs out in front of them, straining to reach as far as he can, canvas shoes scraping against the carpet of the car. He would rather stay at his house than go on an adventure but his mother is determined and she is like a bull dog—unrelenting and without the ability to be shaken off.

She’s driving right now, cigarette casual between her fingers out the window, other hand alternating between the wheel and running through her brown hair. Jake looks at the printed brochure with scribbled on directions, the lighthouse tall in the front photo. He thinks it looks proud, if lighthouses could feel things.

“What exit is it,” his mother says and he squints at her poor handwriting before replying, “Four.”

She veers suddenly, barely making their turn, tires squealing in protest against the wet asphalt. A horn honks behind them but she's off, barreling down the two lane road into the heart of the small coastal town that houses this adventure. The path is lined with tall oak trees, standing like sentries with a hint of disapproval as she speeds down the road. Jake watches them zip past, a blur of green and earth until the hostel appears on the horizon.

The hostel sits at the edge of the lighthouse property, a sprawl of haphazard cottages that have been turned into single room housing across a pasture of green. A dilapidated wooden gate holds the scene together, once painted white but now more revealed brown than not. Jake feels a jittering in his chest at the yard, the desire to run making him jangle inside. His knee starts tapping up and down, making the cat grumble.

“Stop it,” his mother snaps as they coast into the dirt parking lot.

Jake hugs the cat carrier to his chest as he trots behind his mother, her floral dress hugging her smartly as they make their way down the path to the main office. Their cat, creatively named TC for ‘The Cat’, lets out a dissatisfied mew. The constant moving should be commonplace for him, he’s been Jake’s companion for a few years now and has traveled more than he’s stayed put.

The main office is a small white house with large windows surrounded by trellises covered in purple -blue flowers. TC lets out a more definitive declaration of displeasure as they cross the threshold. A woman sits at a desk that's been built into the far end of what appears to have been a former living room. A fire crackles in the fireplace, two small couches circle it. A game of scrabble sits on the hearth along with a few magazines.

“Checking in?” the woman clicks on her keyboard and looks up with a smile. She’s young, her dark hair wrapped into a braided bun at the nape of her neck.

“Yeah, we’re staying for a few nights,” His mother sets her luggage down and pulls up her purse, producing a printed reservation number.

“I’ll check you in and then you’re free to settle in your room. The office is open until midnight and you’re welcome to spend time in our living room next to the fire.”

“Thanks,” his mother says briskly and heads for the back door. Jake stumbles after her and they quickly make their way to the room. It's the building closest to the lighthouse and Jake finds himself slack jaw at the sheer magnanimity of the thing. It towers them like how he imagines Goliath would, bricked walls aching towards the sky.

Jake sets TC and his backpack on the bed farthest from the door. The cat paws at the cage to communicate its continued desire to get out.

“I paid extra to get us a room to ourselves,” his mom flops her luggage on the bed across from him ,“do you like it?”

“It’s nice,” he looks out the window at the shore line, “when are we gonna have a forever place though?”

“Soon baby,” she says, sounding tired, “soon.”

As the sun goes down and mother falls asleep, still clothed and face down over the covers, Jake slips out. He finds the path easily under the light of the setting sun, vibrant colors egging on his journey to the office. When he gets there he almost expects it to be locked but the door swings open easily. He glances behind him as the sun dips into the night, a single green splash like a blister of emerald light escorts it away from the full moon.

The fire is crinkling quietly, like a pleasant hum that heats the whole room. Jake eyes the scrabble board and wishes he had a sibling to play with.

The woman from earlier is gone, instead there's a man sitting on the couch closest to the fire. He looks rougher than his day time counterpart, shaggy brown hair and a stubbled beard, young but with the lines flinging out from his eyes that belie hard labor in his past.

“Where did the other lady go?” Jake asks, tentatively steps towards the other couch.

“I’m nightshift,” the smiles with his whole face, eyes crinkled briefly, “you stayin here?”

“Yeh,” Jake slips into the couch opposite the man and looks at the book he’s reading. It has a brown cover and words that were once embossed on the front but now illegible.

“Your parents know you’re here?”

“”Nah, but my moms asleep she won’t mind.”

The man seems to accept this, leans back with a readjustment sigh, setting his book down next to another magazine on the hearth. He’s wearing a green shirt that's worn thin, a faded lighthouse on the front.

“You want some licorice?” The man produces a bag of them and Jake nods shyly. He hands the carton over and Jake takes a few, nibbling one eagerly.

“Do you know any ghost stories?” Jake asks and the man laughs jovially.

“I know a lot of ghost stories,” there’s a twinkle in his eye as though he means more to this statement than Jake understands.

“Can you tell me one?”

“Did you know that this place is haunted?”

“Really?!” Jake sits up straighter and scooches to the edge of the couch.

“These are old buildings,” the man looks up at the eaves, “they have a lot of history.”

“Tell me, tell me, tell me,” Jake can barely contain his excitement. Actual GHOSTS in his house! Real live ghosts.

“This hostel was made to pay for the maintenance on the lighthouse,” the man begins, “but before that it belonged to a clan of wealthy folk who would spend the summers up here. But one by one tragedy seemed to strike their families until they decided this was cursed land and gifted it to the town.”

“What kind of tragedies?”

“Oh, I’m getting there, be patient.”

Jake sits back and his cheeks color. Munches on another licorice to stop himself from asking questions. The man continues on.

“The most documented one is when LilahLee Hargaves drowned. She was a beautiful girl, a teenager, but back then they married young so she was already betrothed. Rumor has it she wasn’t particularly fond of her fiance but her parents expected it of her. He was the son of another wealthy family. You know, typical stuff. Same old same old.”

Jake had never heard of anything like that and was enraptured. Forced to marry someone just because they had money? Jake supposed he had just never been rich enough to know these things.

“Well, one day, LilahLee and her fiance Benjamin went out on a little boat. The weather was getting harsh and the boat was too small but they were determined. LilahLee had an adventurous spirit, and the story goes that she pressured Benjamin into it. Claimed they needed to get to know each other better. Storm comes in when they are barely a speck on the horizon. Their families wait up all night praying for their return. A rescue crew was dispatched but they disappeared as well.

In the morning, only Benjamin returned. Said LilahLee was swept off by a giant wave. She was never found. He married someone else a month later and there were quieter, nastier rumors, that this was a giant conspiracy to rid himself of a bride he didn’t want.”

“What about the rescue crew?”

“Oh, their bodies washed up the next day. Entire boat was destroyed. Crew of fishermen and the town never really forgave the Hargaves for insisting they go out.”

“So who is the ghost?”

“LilahLee of course. They say she's still out on the water, a green light flashing at sunset, still wandering the ocean wanting justice.”

“The green light! I saw that!” Jakes hops up, “on my way over here before the sun set.”

“Well then, she must be out tonight then,” the man smiles and for a moment his pleasant face looks sinister.

“Do you have another?”

“I do, but its time for me to close up shop,” the man nods towards the large clock on the wall that reads midnight. Jake isn’t sure how the time went by so fast, it felt like it was only ten minutes but the clocks says two hours.

Jake hops up, mashing the last two licorice into his mouth and chewing them quickly so he can ask, “Are you going to be here tomorrow?”

“I’m here every night,” the man gets up and guides Jake to the door, “question is, will you be?”

Jake looks up to ask him what he means but he’s already outside. The man is gone. The moon is plump and full in the sky, giving the path to his room ample light. He thinks about the green splash, a viridian beacon of a wandering spirit. His stomach is a hollow shell as he looks at the road he must take to get back. The path looks very long. He looks up at the ocean, deceptively calm and dark. The path back home is long. So, very, long.