©®2006

Lighthouse
By: Adrian Grey Marsden

Isabelle Abromson lived on the edge of the world – literally.
Cape Horn was the southern most point in South America’s country of Chile, and it was there that her life began just over eleven years ago.
She lived alone with her Papa. Her mother was lost at sea when she was only seven years old. The loss was great, but the bond she had with her Papa was galvanized even further by the tragedy. The only physical memory that remained of her mother was a conch shell she would use to call when dinner was ready. It now sat atop the lighthouse they lived in, fastened down against the very winds that caused it to sing with life – a sound that made Isabelle smile in remembrance.

Her father was a stout man, rugged and sailor-worn, yet his face held infinite kindness. She could always tell when something was bugging him because he would pull on his beard until it was refined to a sharpened gray point.
They were quite poor, and although she loved to help, she could tell he felt guilty at not being able to support her better. He always called her “glowbug,” especially when she was helping to keep the lighthouse lit as she was doing now.
Dusk was approaching. Wind made its rounds through the poor insulation, whistling for repair. The lighthouse she called home was small by lighthouse standards, but massive to a little girl alone in a storm.
It had been four days since her Papa had sailed out on what was supposed to be an afternoon excursion to free the buoys from the sea growth that threatened to swallow them down into the dark deep.

Four days alone in the lighthouse.

Isabelle was wise beyond her years. She knew the schedules of the Republics watchmen, whose daily rounds ensured all lighthouses were well manned and ready to rescue. This usually involved a simple drive-by at dusk, where the watchmen would look for general activity atop the lighthouse.
She had been alone many times before, and over the last few years took joy in inventing new ways to look like a man from a distance. She had crafted a pair of stilts from driftwood. She had sewn a huge storm jacket – blacker than midnight fog. It took her time to master walking on stilts with a heavy jacket and hood on, but she was probably the best in the world at it. She couldn't think of any other scenario where a person would wear stilts atop a lighthouse in heavy apparel. The thought made her laugh and think, “At least I’m the best at something!”

She had also trained her voice to sound gritty when she would use the CB radio, which was the only technology inside their simple dwelling. The vocal trick was more believable the less sleep she had. Her Papa's absence had made her sound almost as ominous as he did over the cold and lonely airways.

Something enormous came up behind her.

It was Crunch – her dog, best friend, and pillow.

Crunch was huge. Aptly named for anything unfortunate enough to be caught under his paws. He had been with her as long as she could remember. A massive white coat kept Crunch warmer than any fire, and his big blue eyes mirrored that warmth whenever he looked at Isabelle.
As a puppy, she played with him day and night. Crunch especially loved playing a game where he would try to sneak behind her without her knowing. He became so good at it that she often left crackers on the ground to hear his approach. It was then that she thought of a perfect name for him.

Crunch kept the watchmen a good safe distance to, for if she were discovered all alone in the lighthouse they would lose everything to the Republic. If one of her props or tricks went bad, Crunch gave her extra recovery time due to his sheer size. No man wished to approach a dog that stood nearly as tall as they did, and although he was a loving ball of cookie dough to her, he could be quite fierce toward strangers.

Crunch growled and licked the back of her head, causing her hair to twirl up and stick together.
It was time.

Right on cue, Crunch pushed open the front door and raced up the stairs.
He stood atop the skeletal tower, a king protecting his domain. His bark echoed from everywhere at once. The shape of the lighthouse reflected his bark from every corner.
Isabelle leapt to action as well, already half-dressed in men’s clothing, and she powered up the generator and jumped atop her stilts, which rested against the front door.
In one fluid motion, she threw the storm cloak about her and walked outside. There was no hint of effort to the seagulls outside who stiffly stood - watching from the rails. A little girl had suddenly transformed into a tall, dark sailor. She ascended the stairs with ease, her wooden stilts booming beneath her far below. Reaching the top, she triggered the switch...

Suddenly, a glow that would light every child’s darkest dreams leapt from behind the lens. She smiled against its warmth. It always seemed magic despite how often she witnessed it.
The honk behind her was only audible due to it happening between the barks of Crunch and the swirling protest of wind.
She turned and waved, holding a large piece of driftwood she had carved into the shape of a large man’s hand.
The truck flashed its lights, indicating all was well and drove off.
She motioned for Crunch, and together they went back inside.

The radio was buzzing with conversations. She smiled at the sounds. Perhaps they had finally found Papa.

They had not.
Her heart sunk.
At midnight it would be five days.

Glancing at the clock, she watched a full minute pass without blinking. The rhythmic ticking slowly drowned out all sounds, creating a dirge to accompany the slide show playing behind her eyes. The clock became blurry - she began to cry.
Crunch licked her tears away, the smell of ocean on his breath. She buried her face deep inside his fur and soon fell into a saddened sleep.

She awoke shortly afterwards to a terrible breaking noise.
Immediately she knew what it was.
The conch shell her mother had given her lay shattered on the icy deck.
“Could this day get any worse?”

She leaned against the frosted window, staring at the broken memory for some time - feeling only cold and alone until Crunch’s warm presence beside her brought her back.

She had seen many sorts of fog, but none as thick as the one this evening held in front of her. The snow’s reflection from the lighthouse’s spotlight made her squint. Light came from everywhere despite the hour. Stranger still was the wind. Winds this strong should normally push the fog clear. It had snowed over three feet during the day, and the snowdrift had only added to the fog's unnatural luminance, ostracizing the shadows that wished to join the night.

She went about her evening rituals, attempting to push the worry from her mind.

She loaded some stale croutons into her pockets and grabbed her homemade slingshot.
Exiting the lighthouse, she stood next to Crunch, feeding the few seagulls that were slowly gathering for an easy dinner. As she shot the croutons into the air, Crunch would bark with each release. From the time he was a puppy, he did this. She thought Crunch was jealous of the birds free meal.
“They deserve it,” she mumbled to herself, “for being able to fly in this swirling soup.”
She was almost finished feeding the seagulls when she heard her Papa’s voice, distant and full of static, as if from a muffled dream.

Bolting from her position at the edge of the railing, she jumped over Crunch, which was no small feat. Within seconds she was at the CB radio, frantically adjusting the dials for clearer reception.

Hope filled her every movement.

It was Papa! Her eyes swelled instantly with tears of happiness.
“Glowbug are you tzsssttttt…apa is OK…..I need el…pssszzzz”

The signal died.
She quickly jotted down the frequency number and ran to the larger dispatch controls.
After sending out an SOS for her Papa's coordinates, she clung to the receiver, knuckles white with worry as Crunch lay next to her. The wind outside was growing so fierce it began to scare even Crunch – something she had never before witnessed.

She missed her Papa most during times like these. For all the adventure of being a sailor's tomboy daughter, she often wished for a normal existence, especially now.
A massive shattering noise shocked them both upright in an instant.

The Fresnel lens had shattered.

She quickly found a flashlight, and upon investigating the noise, realized that the weathervane had been blown into the lens. It was now twisted beside the prismatic remains which stuck to the ice and snow in nasty row of glass teeth.
Snow was now drifting sideways in what had to be more than eighty mile an hour winds.

The wind and fog played tricks on the eye, seeming to move much faster than it should - creating a nauseous layer of illusion.

Crunch instinctively stood between her and the storm, shielding his master as best he could. She dragged the huge iron ornament into the lighthouse, the weight scarring the wood floor beneath. With the help of Crunch, she pushed the storm out and closed the cold metal door.

It was VERY dark now.

She was sure a storm this bad would prevent any visits from the Republic’s watchmen. She was probably the only human for thirty miles.
Inside the lighthouse – fierce winds allowed for no candles or lantern's flame. Whistling winds pushed through their poor insulation as she made a quick meal of crackers and slightly moldy cheese. Cutting out the mold she tossed it to Crunch who snapped it out of midair with a loud clap. Gathering all the blankets in the house, she made a nest for the both of them.

When she heard the horn honk, she bolted upright. Her legs had fallen asleep and now protested against her sudden movements, which caused her to fall hard to the cold floor. Crunch’s weight had deadened her legs' nerves. Using her fists, she frantically punched her limbs to life - trying to drive away the tickling sensation. After what seemed like hours, her legs finally agreed to support her as she mounted the stilts and donned the midnight-black coat, all the while still holding the flashlight.

It had been a costly delay.

The high beams of the Republic’s vehicle silhouetted a dark figure approaching the lighthouse.
The watchman was close. Too close, she thought.
She held the driftwood hand up and waved, forgetting protocol.
The watchman continued towards her, gesturing to the extinguished tower that should be ablaze with light at this late hour.
Full of adrenaline and at a loss for ideas, she knelt down to Crunch and said, “Sick 'em!”
Crunch wasted no time, sounding more like a polarbear than a dog as he bolted past her in an avalanche of white fur.

The response was immediate. The watchman halted, hands out and up in surrender as the dog’s massive form held him in fear.

Isabelle’s mind was an auction that grew louder with each pulse of her quickening heart. Perhaps he could help. Perhaps he would understand.
But she knew better, The Republic's regulations and red tape would end up taking everything away from them.

After what seemed like days, the watchman returned to his truck and flashed the vehicle’s lights.

She understood and went inside, tuning the CB to the appropriate channel.

“You need a leash, Mister.” the voice said.
She mustered her deepest and most gravely voice, the voice of her Papa:
“Tell me about it! Damn dog can chew through chains!” She liked this part of role-playing.“Lens shattered.”
“Not that it’ll matter. There's a bad storm due. We're making sure everyone’s informed.”
“ROGER,” she said. “We're ready for 'er’”
“Good. You need assistance - use channel 48.”
“Will do,” Isabelle said, her voice scratching with effort.
“Good luck.”

Peeking over the window’s edge, her heart slowed as the truck disappeared into the growing thunderstorm.

After her attempt at tomato soup had burnt her tongue, she turned her mind towards her Papa.
Focus drifted from dreams to memory - a swirling transition that held no rules of time. Visions of her family flag emerged - which now sat atop the S.S. Glowbug -the family ship Papa was hopefully still sailing. She had made the flag out of denim jeans and an old yellow scarf that was her mother's. Papa never took it down. She blushed every time the symbol was hoisted into the harbor’s view, ashamed of its primitive look.

“SSTTZZZ…S…bug…”

IT WAS PAPA!

Somehow she was already at the CB radio.
Somehow she had already calculated his position.
Somehow she still had a chance to save him.

“….tsss…sceee..the ower…glowbug…TSSSS!!!”

She lunged at the southern-most window, straining her eyes to cut through the fog for any sign of a light atop the dark waters.
Crunch stood beside his young master…awaiting orders.

A moment passed before her eyes in that winter fog. A moment that would both haunt and calm her forever.

Against the storm black sky, a strike of lightning illuminated a familiar yellow banner.

The S.S. Glowbug!!!

Lightning continued to strike. The ship was too close to the rocky shore.

Instinctively she knew of the danger. Her hope was quickly traded for dread. If Papa were still alright, he’d need at least four men aboard just to navigate the Glowbug out of the rock-daggered waters in a storm like this. But he was all alone. He might not even be aboard…
She shook the image away as quickly as she thought it.

Suddenly she was outside on the rocks, Crunch beside her.
She didn’t remember how she had gotten there. She had simply acted.
It was FREEZING. The skies filled with lightning in jarring intervals that illuminated her worst fears.

Lightning revealed the nightmare in pictures, frozen into the back of her eyes.
Only fifty yards out, the Glowbug was sinking.

“NO!” She screamed until her voice and lungs failed her.

Frustration overwhelmed her. If the rocks did not kill her, the waters would - long before she could reach Papa. Nothing could be worse than this, a helpless spectator at a loved one's farewell bow…helplessly watching her Papa’s life-light slowly extinguish.

She doubled over in agony, screaming into the bleak, deaf darkness. Instinctively she reached for Crunch, seeking something, anything to help her through this rage.

Crunch was gone.

She wiped the arctic snow from her face and eyes, searching blindly into the void that would soon claim her Papa, if it already hadn’t.
Another burst of lightning, easily the biggest, cast a phosphorescent glow on the scene before her.

Crunch was in the water, swimming towards the Glowbug.

She gasped in horror, knowing the polar waters would soon claim everything she loved.

Endless hours seemed to pass before the next lightning strike.
She was frozen, by both cold and emotions.

When the lightning finally did strike, she was startled to see the figure that stood before her.
Enormous warmth closed about her, as did a voice that matched the rolling thunders resonance, “My little glowbug."

Isabelle awoke the next morning by a teakettle screaming from the kitchen. For a grim moment, she thought she had imagined her father's return. Just then he stepped into view, looking just as strong and sailor-worn as she remembered.
They embraced once again, holding for long moments - thankful for a second chance at a life together.
Suddenly she bolted from their hug, startling her father.
“CRUNCH!”
“Easy now.” Her father’s voice calmed her. “He saved me last night, but I could not save him.”

She rushed outside, the morning sun holding no warmth for her as she came upon the scene.

Crunch lay collapsed on the beach.

The sandy shoreline partially buried his white coat.
She rushed to him, pulling his massive head from the frosty wet sand and laying it on her lap.
Her eyes pieced together what had happened.
An enormous rope was clenched in his ice-covered teeth. The rope ended atop the Glowbug’s hull, now resting half sunk only twenty feet offshore.
She knew it was impossible, but somehow Crunch had pulled the ship ashore.

It had cost him his life.

She knelt down, kissing the sandy fur atop his nose - her tears mixing with the salty ocean water. There she sat for hours, until her father finally took her in his arms, and walked her back to the lighthouse.

They buried Crunch atop the cove that their lighthouse stood watch over, renaming the region “Crunch’s Cove.”

During heavy lightning storms, Isabelle still leaves crackers on her floor, hoping to find them crunched when she wakes.

The End.