Chapter 3 – Chap 3

“What in God’s name…” I mutter, as the dark and twisted cathedral from the world below rises grimly up into the rain. Strange and alien lights flash beyond those deep and ethereal stained glass windows. The waves crash and froth maliciously around the building’s paradoxical walls.

The robed men from the depths turn back to me, and their song resumes; in time now to the rumbles of the cathedral bells, sounding out a beautiful yet terrible melody, a haunting song of the sea.

“Repent, Lighthouse Keeper!” cries one of the monks as he shuffles forwards. I catch glimpses of those sharp, thin, yellow teeth as his lips flap grotesquely open and closed.
“Repent and you shall be saved! CLEANSE YOURSELF OF THE SINS OF THE LAND”.

And a rush of sickening emotion swells up within me. Swearing, I bring round the shotgun for another blast, but I cannot focus. I cannot aim and once again the shot goes wide, pieces of rock shattering pitifully from the ground by the speaker’s feet.

I slam my hands to my ears, I try to focus on the sounds of the rain, of the thunder, but the singing only grows louder. And the bells, the bells the bells the bells. I cannot help my eyes. My gaze is drawn to the cathedral’s double-doors, its misted gate, and I see it start to open. A shaft of blue light appears from behind and I know, I know in my heart of hearts that something gristly lies beyond, but I cannot tear my eyes away. I cannot do it… the door…

…

THE DOOR.

That’s why I’m up here at all, to see the DOOR! The TRUE door, the Reflection out at sea, my regular guest, and in this moment of sharp remembrance I bellow and twist my head, my eyes forced back to their original prize. The shimmering standalone Door, the mystic arch beyond, caught just as the beam of the lighthouse passes by. I focus on it now, I focus hard and will myself to think of the Reflection, to see it, and nothing else. And I mutter to myself words of strength, and I find, after a rotation or two, that I can step back.

I do so. I take another. And I turn with a grunt of force, pushing back through the door inside.Taking a breath and cracking my knuckles, I sprint down the spiralling stairs to the level below; I tear open drawers until I find more shells, more precious ammo, and I rifle through my bookcase, pulling books from their shelves haphazardly until I find the King James. Ma tattered old Bible. Can’t hurt.

Hardening my resolve I return up and push back out onto the porch into the rain. Shouting loud above the singing I begin to read from the Bible, any chapter will do. I flip the pages over.

Revelation’s as good as any.

“…And I saw what looked like a sea of glass glowing with fire-” I begin, picking a passage from the middle of the page at random, shouting over the chorus and the bells and the thunder, “glowing with fire- and, standing beside the sea, those who had been victorious over the beast and its image and over the number of its name… They held harps given them by God-” movement catches my eye and I glance down, down to the sight of a cluster of monks casting off the many ropes and covers that keeps my little boat protected from the elements. “HEY!” I call down, “get yer grubby fins off ma boat!”

But they do not. And to my frustration I can feel the chords of the harmony start once again to overwhelm me. I squeeze the Bible under my armpit and hoist the gun, blinking the streams of rain from my eyes and firing shots down to the wayward priests below. Two perfect hits. The chest of a monk in the outer circle explodes and he stumbles, falling back beneath the waves, and the second shot bursts the head of one of the assailants on my boat. My precious boat.

“GET AWAY!” I roar down to the rabble, firing two more shots, both missing, before hurling down the Bible in a desperate last bid.

The book strikes the back of a grey head and its owner tumbles unceremoniously into the sea.

“Fuck me… fuck THIS” I grunt, running a hand across my lower jaw. More of them come, now. More of the terrible monks, striding out of the watery darkness, eyes unblinking.

“They’re not going to stop, are they”. I mutter in despair as they work to untangle the last of the ropes to the boat. “They don’t want me going anywhere, that’s for sure”.

And then, then comes the beam of the great light. Of my great light. She catches as ever on the arched Door out there in the waves, the light reflecting like a mirror of golden glass, caught in a perfect moment of time.

And I know what has to be done.

I try to drown out the song with the noise of my own thoughts and I slam back into the lighthouse. I sprint down the stairs and grab a handful more shells, and something else. Something I hope I can use to bluff my way oot o’ here. An idea I got from the Bible verse. “Glowing with fire”, I mutter to myself, pulling open a cupboard with a clatter and taking firm hold of a rescue flare. “Standing by the sea… victorious over the beast…”

I grab my radio receiver and shout out a responseless call for aid into the crackling void. Won’t do me any good, I’d wager, but again, can’t hurt.

I head down to the lighthouse’s front door, shotgun in one hand, the flare in the other, and I strike it. A burning and altogether overwhelming red light is thrown proudly across the walls. I squint-it’s too damned bright- I hold the gun between my legs and I wrap an old scarf around the flare, burning my hand a little in the process. “Fuck! Shoulda done this afore setting it a flame, ya pillock”. The scarf bursts quickly into a frenzied fire, and I step forwards, unbolting the door and casting one final look at the rules of old Mad Jack, carved so desperately above the bloody sink, of all places:

‘DON’T LEAVE THE LIGHT ALONE’.
‘DON’T LET THEM IN’.
‘THE TWIN BEAMS MUST BE MANNED’.

Rule number one, ‘Don’t leave the light alone’…

“I’m sorry Jack”, I mutter, “but if I don’t leave her alone, just for a little while, then they’ll get in anyway, and then she’ll be theirs. They want me stuck here, Jack, why else would they go for the boat? I’ve got nae choice fella… And besides, what do you know anyway? You’re dead as dick, pal. I’m heading for that fucking Reflected Door”.

And I squeeze my fists, grab ahold of ma gun, and I kick through the door and onto the rock, slamming it shut behind me, the storm casting salt and bitter spray up and across my features. The singing stops at once, and all those terrible eyes turn to stare in horror upon the fire I hold in my hand.

“BEHOLD THE POWER OF THE LAND!” I roar to them, my bravado entirely false. I step across the wet stone and closer to my boat, thrusting the burning flare this way and that, my face and body a-glow in the gloom of the icy tempest. They cower in fear and hold their unnatural hands before their faces to shield their lidless eyes from the red and almighty flame. I pray silently that they do not know how easily they could extinguish my magic with a well-placed blast of water. I worry even now that I will not make it to the boat before the heavy rain gives the trick away.

“THE FIRE OF LIFE!” I bellow, shaking the flare madly as I creep closer and closer to the boat. They’re all around me, dozens and dozens of them, all moaning, twisting, shuffling away in confusion. I think about the Bible verse. “This is ma fucking harp”, I mutter to myself, then I turn to the monks by the boat and make a noise, thrusting the flare suddenly towards them and they disperse, wailing in horror.

With an eye watching warily over the congregation, I pull back the final ropes and tear off the covers with a grunt, dragging the boat fully out of its shelter and hoisting the poles and the trusty wee sail, pushing it out and into the churning waters.

I jump in, still holding the flare high in one hand as I grab the ropes, steering madly as the boat is caught instantly in the swell of the waves.

‘I’ve lost it’, I think to myself; I’ve turned into you, Mad Jack. If only you could see me now. What in the blazes am I DOING!?

And I laugh to myself, despite the fear rippling through me, despite everything. I string the flare hastily to the mast and turn behind, raising the gun up high and blasting the closest monk to kingdom come.

“STAY AWAY FROM MA LIGHTHOUSE!” I call out as the boat leaves the island behind, rocking perilously from side to side.

Lightning streaks through the sky.

I turn back to the waves. Every time the beam of my precious light comes around, I get a good sight of the Door. The Reflection. Out there in the sea. And I alter my course, heading round towards it.

…Yes, I may be mad. Yes, I broke one of the rules. But the storms have, over this last year, been getting steadily worse. It never used to be like this. If I make it through this night then there’ll come another just like it, I can feel it. And the Door is like nothing else I’ve ever seen; it KNOWS I’m watching out for it, and it’s never been any threat to me, that much is true. And the priests wanted rid of ma boat. Well that’s too fucking bad for them.

…Sure, I could try sailing back to the mainland. Twenty minutes on a clear day, might take three times that long in conditions such as these, if I ever made it at all, but what if these fuckers come every night? What if they send ma fucking dead wife again? The door comes once a MONTH. And TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT.

“TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT INDEED!” I roar out into the storm as my knuckles burn white with exertion, the wet and heavy rope no doubt forming ugly new calluses across my hands as I heave and pull, steering my course towards the door.

“TONIGHT’S THE FUCKIN’ NIGHT!”