The Lightkeeper

The tempestuous ocean lets loose a cascading roar as a rogue wave collides with the porous beachrock cliffs. The thunderous impact sends a blanket of ice-cold seawater flying through the air, descending as a lovely eye-stinging mist. Shielding my face and ignoring the sensation, I continue forward up the ever-steady incline, the sprays will lessen the further I get from shore.

Besides the whistling wind and churning waters, the only sound purveying these desolate cliffs is the consistent crunch of half-fossilized seashells underfoot. It was a good idea to bring my heavy-duty boots, these shattered shards of calcium could cut flesh like glass... By the time I can walk with my vision untarnished, I've found my gaze wandering skyward.

The day is overcast, gray clouds billowing overtop one another in some ever-shifting dismal blanket. The forecast said it was supposed to be sunny today- but in hindsight that prediction likely doesn't apply to islands this far off the mainland... do sailors have their own weather app? Well- dreariness doesn't matter much when I'm here for work anyway; and, unlike most jobs, this time I have a deadline.

After four years of trauma cleaning, this is my first 'first' in awhile. We're hired by law enforcement fairly often- but for some reason I figured there would be some protocol in place for lighthouses. Given the... unique work environment here, I was given a good bit of supplies courtesy of Uncle Sam, hell they even covered the fare needed to get me here.

I had also thought that nowadays most lighthouses were automated? But apparently some places still run them the old-fashioned way. In this case, the locals see it as a matter of sovereignty as this island's ownership is 'disputed'. I suppose its a valid reason as they come, maybe that's why I got hired to come out here, seeing as I'm not a federal employee.

Regardless, I have two days before the boat comes back around to pick me up, but if this creepy-ass picture is anything to go by, I might only need an afternoon. When I (and I imagine most people) imagine a lighthouse, I think of a majestic spire of polished stone, towering above the land around, casting unseen light off into the listless horizon. This particular structure was not graced with such height, it honestly looks to be maybe two stories high. I suppose when you're already on a cliff you don't really need to build tall.

My arduous hike ends in around an hour, reaching the peak of this dark island's desolate landscape. At least the ashen shores had patches of beachgrass and the occasional crab-occupied tidepool; but up here the only life besides me is the occasional resting seabird, lazing about with one eye trained on me.

The lighthouse stands in diminutive contrast to my monotone surroundings, its paint long-since weathered and faded. It has a few windows on the far-side, I may not be able to see them but I can certainly hear them clattering about in the open air. Obviously it wasn't the investigator's job to tidy up when they left, but they could at least have closed everything before leaving...

Before I even open the door a rather pungent odor invades my nostrils- not the sickly-sweet scent of rot that I'm all too familiar with, no this is something... different. After practically dragging the heavyset door open, it hits me. Ash and soot soddened by collecting pools of seaspray and rainwater, a murky aroma that leaves a bitter, salty flavor lingering on the back of my tongue- no worry of dust, at least...

I quickly slip into my equipment, the familiarity of biohazard-grade nylon against my skin eases my weary mind. Still not wanting to take any chances, I don my goggles and dust mask, clicking my respirators into place. Before long, the ambient sensations of the ominous chamber are replaced by the overly sterilized atmosphere of practiced professionalism- its just another job, don't forget that...

The first thing I do is latch the damn windows, taking note of the singular room's condition. In all fairness, this place is leagues away from the worst scene I've had to clean- there's no blood, no decomposition fluid, not even an stained outline of where a body once was. The entire cabin was clearly the victim of an intense inferno, sporting flames so hot they charred even the limestone walls and brick-laid ceiling. I've cleaned plenty of self-immolation cases before, and there is not a doubt in my mind that a powerful accelerant was used here.

Although I'm the last step in the process, I was given a few details about the incident- albeit rather vague ones. 'Suicide', 'body not recovered', 'possible hazardous conditions', all but one of those were quite common to hear, but now standing here, all three made sense. There was no body found because whatever remained of the previous lighthouse-keeper is currently staining the very floor and walls I've been tasked with cleaning.

Most would find such a realization gut-churning; I, however, just find it noteworthy. Its not much different than clearing away flecks of gore from your average crime scene. I don't know their motivations- and I certainly wouldn't agree with them, but I could not deny the efficiency of 'military-grade cremation' as a way out. Maybe they were terminally ill and didn't want their insurance to find out? Certainly no way of telling now.

When it comes to a conflagration of this degree, cleaning a human body isn't all to different from cleaning any other charcoal stain. Luckily for me I don't have to bother with the housewife steps of baking soda and water, I can get straight to the enzymatic detergents and cleaning-grade alcohol. But before that, I go about the laborious task of literally sweeping out the stagnant puddles of brackish gray water collecting on the floor. And yes, its every bit as mind-numbing as you imagine.

I do have to say, knowing I'll be sleeping here is a very good motivator to continue working. I've had a few overnight jobs, but I usually sleep out in a nearby hotel or the like. Though my speed doesn't outweigh my ever-present caution, which is good, as I nearly stepped on a coal-blemished kitchen knife. When I knelt to pick it up, I had to literally peel the melted plastic handle off the ground, just what the hell do people use to fuel these lanterns anyway?

By what I assume is day's end (the sky has only become moderately darker), I've just about finished with the floor and walls. Now, I've begun gathering debris from the floor, seeing what usable stuff I can't restore- some metal utensils would be really nice. Most of it is pretty mundane; screwdrivers, wrenches, rags, bottles, cans- only a few objects have been worth note.

The first, more broad discovery I made almost immediately upon entry is that nearly all the furniture is still standing. I expected the tables and chairs to crumble when I moved them- but nope, I suppose they must have had a fire-retardant coating? Though, if they had any cushions they are long-gone, so a sleeping bag on a bed-frame is gonna be my setup for the next two days.

Unsurprisingly, it seems most of the things beneath the incombustible furniture fared rather well in the flames. I've found a few cans of unopened spam, hardtack, a fishing rod with a pretty fancy set of tackle, and some kind of flute? Not any instrument I'm familiar with. Inside the 'kitchen' area (marked by a lone stove) I found a metal box with metal cutlery and dishware, along with what I think is a guide book to the local flora and fauna, though its not in English.

In all honesty, when you add the pretty nice view ocean, its pretty cozy. I wouldn't mind spending a few months out here, it'd definitely give time for writing. Though, I did hear manual lighthouse upkeep can be back-breaking, so maybe not. Regardless, I'll hold onto that idyllic fantasy while I work.

I found something quite interesting, if not a bit cliche... So- I neglected to mention that there's been a constant drip from the stygian ceiling above me. At first I just thought a leak had sprung, but as I was mopping away at the area (an act that looks just as ridiculous as you think), I found the cause to be a partially-open hatch. The main reason I find this weird is the fact that there's no ladder, which I imagined would be metal in this day and age.

But the oddities didn't end there, as I was trying to hook the latch to pull it all the way closed I misjudged my aim and accidentally jabbed at the rafters. The subsequent rain of coal dust made me quite glad I had kept my mask on- but the trickle of particulate was rather suddenly interrupted with the shuffling flap of falling paper, as I apparently dislodged an entire damn book from its intended hiding place.

I would wager it probably got missed in the investigation- the unlit ceiling is so stained that it looks somewhat uniform in its shape. I- honestly didn't even know the ceiling had rafters until now. -While I'm on the subject, the design of this building is really fucking weird. The floor and walls are limestone, real fancy and pristine, like it was carved out of the cliff itself. The whole chamber is built around this central 'pillar' which I assume is part of the lighthouse above me. But both the pillar and ceiling are made from these generic masonry bricks. Its not necessarily unpleasant to look at, but it feels like I walked into a cabin halfway into a refurbishment.

Sidetracks aside, the book is absolutely blackened beyond readability- it must have been open up there because every single page is dark as pitch. Though, at this point I'm done with the work for tonight and I don't mind a little side-project. Hell if it ends up being pertinent to the incident I might get a bonus or something. Before you say anything I did consider just leaving it as-is, but stains only get harder to remove with time, so I'd be doing the suits upstairs a favor.

My strategy is pretty simple, but also not something I've tried before. I soaked some paper towels, then laid them out overtop the stove, drying them almost all the way out. While I waited for them to stop dripping I put a good bit of talcum powder between each of the book's pages, followed up by the paper towel strips. Lastly, I grabbed the biggest rock I could find outside, made sure it was dry, and put it on top of the book to weigh it down.

I'm really not sure if this is gonna work- but either way I'll have to wait for tomorrow morning to see any results.

In the time I spent working on my book restoration attempt, either the sun has set or a storm has rolled in. Point being it is pitch-black outside and raining something fierce- but no leaks, so that's good. While the fire is very nice and I have plenty of fuel (it runs on coal, ironically) it has occurred to me I'm gonna need to wake up periodically to keep it lit- otherwise my midnight pisses are gonna be both frigid and terrifying...

I just noticed, I can actually see the lighthouse's beams! I wasn't really looking before, I half-thought it would just be broken down by now, but whatever keeps it running hasn't faltered over the past month. Its weird seeing light that bright not illuminating any of the land around you, just a rotating pillar of absolute radiance that only serves to clarify the all-consuming darkness surrounding me.

The starless eiderdown of night descends overtop the desolate cliffside. Nestled upon this coquinian crag's seaside zenith is but one lonely soul, her mind as disquiet as the ever-churning sea below. Avarice has ferried her far from house and home,

Not half-bad if I do say so myself... though, maybe a tad verbose... I don't know where I was going with it, but it sounded like it could go somewhere, y'know? I'll finish cleaning tomorrow, I'm sure I can use this place for inspiration on... something. It really is beautiful out here.