Phantom Light

Abby stood motionless in the crowded front room, numb. Extended family, some she had never met, huddled and laughed as they swapped stories. Neighbors, like gossipy Mrs. Blake, trolled the room looking for any new dirt they could share with the ladies at the women’s charitable society. Fellow sea-men chided one another in pairs buoying up the perimeter of the room. Abby would not likely see them again. Many of them hadn’t seen Thomas in years. Thomas would say, “Fly by night”… “Here today, gone tomorrow.” Standing awkwardly amongst the crowd were a few stragglers that didn’t belong but came out of obligation. And then there was Kat, the only real friend in the room. The only one who understood and had been there through it all.

Kat looked around as an inspector seeing what more could be done. “Everyone’s on their way out; I’m sure you could use the quiet time after this week.”

Abby nodded mechanically.

Kat, doing her best to manage the situation, spoke in authoritative tones, “I put all the food away and will stop by in the morning to clean up the rest. You should eat something and try to get some sleep.”

“Thank you for all your help, Kat.” Abby responded politely, a regretful smile showing. “I wouldn’t have been able to get through this week without you.”

Kat smiled solemnly and reached for her coat hanging on the stand near the door. Abby panned the room; mourners, like a black school of fish, followed Kat’s lead to the door. Her home had been full of people all week, yet Abby had never felt so alone, empty like a shell stolen of its most precious pearl. Guests flashed sympathetic smiles as they stepped into the cold, windy night air. Living on the coast had its advantages, but the gusty wind wasn’t one of them. Out of the corner of her eye, a lingering mourner approached.

“My condolences, Ma’am.” He spoke with a slight drawl out of one side of his mouth, the other side filled with tobacco. He kept his head down, avoiding eye contact and hiding beneath the brim of his cap.

“Thank you,” Abby replied mechanically. “Did you know my husband?”

The man glanced awkwardly at his spit cup and then pulled his cap into his hand. “Yes, Ma’am. I worked on the Sea-King with Captain McLeod some time ago,” tension increasing as he hesitated to continue. “I was wonderin’ if you happen to know if your husband left an old compass behind? Gold with an anchor engravin on the front.” He looked up at Abby with interest and then spit sideways into his cup.

“I’m sorry,” Abby shook her head, hiding her disgust of his spittoon. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen anything like that. Besides, Thomas sold off everything from his shipping days to buy us this place.” She laughed quietly to herself remembering the spontaneous and half-baked venture when they sold everything to purchase the defunct lighthouse and keeper’s quarters. “Our own piece of maritime history,” Thomas called it. “A real New England beauty.”

Abby stepped onto the porch with the man trailing behind, the cold breeze tensing her body. The rhythmic crashing of waves on the rocky shoreline beat acceptance in, Thomas was gone. Unwilling to let the emotions in, she looked up at the tower, “After the Sea-King, Thomas always said here is where our treasure lies now.”

Showing a look of acknowledgment, the man nodded, set his cap on his head, and turned to leave.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.” Abby inquired.

Glancing back, the man hesitated, “It’s no matter. Sorry for your loss.”

As the man stepped down the steps and into the night with the last of the mourners. Kat helped Abby inside and flashed one last sympathetic smile as she shut the door behind her, the ship bell Thomas insisted on placing there jingling in celebration of their departure. Abby stood in the still silence, unable to find her bearing.

Abby had been swimming in a sea of sympathy all week as family and friends poured in from across the country to mourn her loss. Of sympathy there was plenty, empathy was nowhere to be found. But how could they understand? It was Abby alone who had spent the last forty-six years by Thomas’s side. Abby was a shell, hollow without feeling or purpose. Even when the house was full of visitors this week, it felt empty. She was alone now.

Unable to think for herself, Abby remembered Kat’s advice and headed to the kitchen for something to eat. As she passed through the front room, the overflowing sympathy flowers, a nice thought, seemed to mock her, attempting to replace the emptiness of death with beauty. These flowers, however thoughtful, emitted a noxious scent that brought forth images of Thomas, the Captain, lying frozen in time.

Abby opened the refrigerator door and scanned the shelves of casseroles in contempt as if they were intended to provide the comfort her late husband no longer could. She shut the door and decided on a glass of comfort instead. After changing into her long white nightgown, she headed into the living room. Entering, she noticed the fireplace already ablaze. Kat must have started it before she left; it was a cold night after all. Abby lifted the bottle off of the rack at the side bar, another one of Thomas’s ideas, and began pouring the smooth, red spirit into her glass.

Captain McLeod had been a man of complex taste. While his crew much preferred the taste of a cold beer aboard ship, Thomas savored the complex flavors and sophistication of his favorite red. “Beer is for brutes,” he would chide, “not for a captain.”

Abby sat by the fire and sipped her smooth red comfort, letting her mind wander through memories of their years together: the early playful years of marriage; waving him off on each voyage; and listening intently as he regaled her with his tales of sea. But the last ten years had been the best. After retirement, Thomas convinced Abby to buy this old defunct lighthouse and keeper’s inn. Thomas’s eyes had sparkled when he looked up at the tall tower; it felt intoxicating to share in his passion and pursuit after all these years of separation on the sea. A glutton for a good project, Thomas insisted they restore it with historical integrity, foregoing electrical lighting and air conditioning. That was okay, but she did insist on updated bathrooms. Thomas was so committed to this idea he even kept the old Argan lamp beacon lit nearly every night…until tonight. Throughout the last week family had helped keep it lit at night in his memory, but now Abby was on her own. Abby set her glass down as her eyes grew heavy in the warmth of the fire.

Stirring, Abby heard a faint chiming at the door. I must be hearing things, she thought as a cold gust blew the flame out, embers smoldering in its place. “Hello? Is anyone there?” Abby sat erect in her chair. The air was empty, the silence a cold reminder that he was gone. Abby looked to the front door ajar. She hurried to close it, maybe Kat didn’t close it all the way? Then she stiffened, a soft cadence of faint footsteps on the wood floors in the back room. She listened closely, her hearing aroused: footsteps, a soft tinkling, and then a slow creak of the back door opening.

Abby, chilled, clutched her shawl around her shoulders and began a tentative walk towards the back door. Wishing they had added electrical lighting, she felt her way along the walls, the soft moonlight through the windows guiding her. As she rounded the corner, she stared into the night through the open door. The lighthouse. Abby reached for the lantern stored on the shelf near the door. As the soft light illuminated the foyer, she noticed the key, usually hung on the hook near the door, gone. Someone’s in the lighthouse.

Then, a familiar scent filled the room: smoky, sweet, and nutty mixed with the salty, fishy smell of the sea. She had smelled this many times before. It was how Thomas smelled smoking his cigar after a long voyage! It couldn’t be. “Thomas?” she called out into the cold. Abby new it wasn’t true, but she couldn’t stop the optimistic hope from bubbling inside her. She slipped on her shoes and stepped out into the cold onto the path to the lighthouse.

Abby followed the path carefully through the dark, the stone unforgiving beneath her. The waves crashing maintaining their familiar cadence and setting her pace as the fog closed in. The door is open. Fearful, yet excited by the possibility, she stepped over the threshold into the belly of the lighthouse. Crash! The solid metal door slammed shut behind her causing Abby to jump, dropping the lantern with a smash. Heart racing, breathing heavy, Abby clutched her chest to slow the pace as the warm light of the lantern retreated into darkness. Desperately, Abby began to feel in the dark, only subtle moonlight showing through the small arched windows of the tower above. Where are the extra lanterns? Her hands felt around until she found the metal handle she was looking for.

With a new lantern in hand, Abby struck a match as light filled the corridor. Stepping carefully, she began her ascent up the stairs when she was overtaken by the same nutty, salty aroma. Thomas, she thought as a chill shivered up her spine from the damp coldness inside the tower. Desperate to see if he had indeed returned, she pulled up her shawl and continued her ascent up the 219 stairs toward the height of the tower. He always said he would never leave this place, she smiled to herself for the first time all week.

Just then, a cacophony of metal tinging on metal and clomping boots echoed through the spires. Abby stopped to listen, the sound ringing eerily. She looked down the center of the spire and then up. Half-way there; no turning back now. Her foot reached for another step but slipped beneath her as she fell forward onto her hands. The noise startled a nearby colony of gulls, flying and squawking around and around the spires until they found their escape. Abby looked at her hands, dirty and scraped. Luckily, the lantern was intact this time. As she pushed to her feet, she was enveloped in cold and heard a faint voice, “turn back.”

She gasped, hand to mouth, “Thomas, is that you?” She didn’t need to ask, she knew it was him. With newfound vigor she hoisted the side of her nightgown and continued ascending the stairs.

“Turn back,” it came again. A gust of wind and a pitter patter of rain started outside.

Considering her options, she determined to press forward. If she could see him even one more time, it would be worth it. The goodbye they never had. “Thomas, I’m coming!” Her voice shook, overcome with emotion.

She took another step then heard the slow, distant creak of the rusted metal hinges opening the hatch at the top of the steps that led to the upper deck. Two more spires to go, she rounded the first and then the second, each step echoing through the cold, empty tower. She reached for the rusted latch of the hatch door and opened it with ease as her determination enlisted help from the adrenaline pulsing through her body. She made her final summit into the lantern room as she stepped onto the circular platform, carefully closing the hatch behind. She fanned the lantern around as the light bounced off of the unlit reflectors. Nobody here.

Turning, she saw the sudden dart of a shadow. It was outside on the gallery! Abby stepped through the doorway onto the gallery, as the rain dampened her nightgown. Edging around the corner, shielding herself from the elements, she saw him. “Thomas!” She called out. A dark shadow figure bent over the repair box.

“Thomas, is that you?” Abby wasn’t so sure now.

The shadow straightened, turning to look at her. Taller and much leaner than her late husband, she could see his shifty eyes as he stepped into her lantern light; his hands produced a gold, round object with a long chain. The compass! Gasping, Abby stepped backward towards the door. It’s the man from earlier.

“Wish you wouldn’t have followed me up here,” the man said regretfully and then spit off the side rail. “I could have snagged this and left, you’d have never been the wiser. But, now…”

“No! Just take it!” Abby retorted, as the rain continued to pour adding insult to injury.

The man lunged toward her. Instinctively she jumped back, losing her footing on the slippery metal gallery. Falling onto the rail, the man approached laughing at how easy this would be.

“Your husband didn’t put up much of a fight either,” the shadow said laughing, then sucking in his chew and spitting over the rail again.

“You…you killed Thomas?” Abby stuttered incredulously, her eyes wide with recognition.

“The compass belongs to me,” he said firmly, resolute. “But old Tommy had different ideas.”

“You found him on his boat last week?” Abby asked not really wanting the answer.

“Found him,” he laughed. “I called him out there. McLeod would do anything to help an old sea mate. When I called him, he was happy to meet. Oh, I tried to get’em to come to his senses and give me the compass,” he said raising his voice and taking another slow step towards Abby.

“No, its not true!” Abby thought back over the last week, her beloved Thomas found on his boat with the anchor puncturing his head, blood pooled beneath. It was ruled an accident, assumed he had tripped and hit his head.

“Ma’am, I can assure you it is true,” he grinned showing his blackened teeth. “I would say I was sorry, but I’m not. Actually, I rather enjoyed it: a favorite pastime you might say,” he laughed.

Abby began grasping the rail to steady herself; she could not believe what she was hearing. Oh, no. My poor Thomas, she thought. Desperate now to escape and not wanting to hear more, she threw the lantern at the man and dashed towards the door.

With ease, the man dodged the lantern and grabbed her arm before she could clear his reach. He threw her back onto the rail; her back screamed in agony.

“There is only one way this can end,” he said through his teeth.

“No!” Abby screamed as she looked over the railing down the 164 feet drop. But he was on her now, pushing her backwards over the edge. She tried to fight him but her growing back pain and emotional exhaustion from the week betrayed her. He muscled her over the edge, throwing her off balance. As she teetered, she tried to grasp the metal railing but couldn’t find hold in the slippery rain.

Suddenly, all 10 lanterns lit, shining from the reflectors. Startled, the man shielded his eyes from the intense light. Someone else is here, he thought. Weighing his options, he ran for the stairs leaving Abby teetering on the edge. She lost her hold and began to fall backwards in what seemed like slow motion. A catastrophe she could see coming but couldn’t stop.

Before she could give in, a gust of cold enveloped her. Her breath producing a white fog. An embrace as light as air and gentle as the ocean breeze pulled her from the edge as she landed softly on her knees. Looking up she saw a white, glowing mist coming into focus. Captain Thomas McLeod, her love, in full regalia as he was buried. Her eyes filled with tears.

As a faint whisper in the wind, he spoke. “I will always be here, I love you.”

“Thomas,” Abby called as she reached to him.

But just as quickly as he appeared, he was gone, stepping through the wall behind him into the lantern room.

The shadow man slipping through the hatch to make his escape lost his footing as he saw a great white mist floating towards him. Recovering, he began to run down the spires.

Thomas, pulling energy from the rain and ocean outside mustered one final gust. The shadow man was lifted from the stairs and flung towards the center of the spires. Screaming and kicking he fought the gale to find his footing, but the footing never came. He plunged deep into the darkness down the center of the spires. His screams of protest echoed through the tower until the cold cement broke his fall with a thud.

Hearing the echoes from below, Abby pushed to her feet and ran into the lantern room. She slipped through the hatch and looking down the center of the spires saw the shadow lying still on the tower floor. Relieved, Abby exhaled, embracing herself in the sudden cold. Looking up, a familiar mist came into focus, Thomas. He offered a solemn smile and began to fade into the darkness.

Wiping her eyes, she whispered, “Goodbye, my Thomas. I love you, my light in shining armor.”