Friday Flash Fiction: BEACON

          The lighthouse keeper and his granddaughter often sat staring out at the sea, wondering if a ship would lose its way, wondering if those in peril on the sea would need their help.

          “We shall bring them ashore if they need us, Emily. We shall do whatever it takes to draw them forth from the angry waves.”

          The girl smiled and dimpled as her grandfather reached out to touch her golden hair.

          “You are Emily the fair and the dearest thing in the world to me!”

          She smiled  for she loved her grandfather.

          She loved, too the quiet life of the lighthouse. Yet though it was quiet, there was enough to do, for there were so many jobs. Her granddad did most of them but she helped. She lit the lamp at sunset and put it out at sunrise and filled it with kerosene each day.

She tidied the place too sweeping and cleaning the tower and the stairs and all around besides.

Her grandfather had enough to do, not only maintaining the lighthouse but seeing to it that there were candles and blankets for those in need.

Sometimes they were too late or ineffectual and they’d find drowned men, scattered on their island shore like so much flotsam. They hated that for it was such a waste of humanity.

At times like those they’d shake their heads and hope to be more successful in the future. They could only hope.

Then on a particular day, shortly after dusk they knew they were in for something major. They heard how the winds picked up for now great violent gales were causing the windows to rattle noisily in their wooden frames.

 “A great storm is brewing, Grandfather!”

          He knew it too, for he could hear the thundering noise bounding up all around them. It sounded as though the place would be brought down upon their heads.

          The lighthouse shook and the fire in the grate soon died, for the gusts blew down the chimney to blow it out.

          He lit another for it was best to be prepared. “No telling who might be here ‘afore much longer, Em!”

          She nodded and smiled and soon settled back to see what the night brought.

They were conversing quietly; he was reading poetry to her or trying to for he could see she was distracted by the noise of the wind and intermittent whine of wood. The lighthouse groaned for 400 years and was likely to groan for another 400.

          “I shall put the light on—come child we shall see if there are any ships about!”

          They climbed the winding stairs and though they tried to brace themselves they still gasped as the cold air hit them. It was something they could never get used to.

          They saw it almost immediately. There was one, small fishing boat, pitching up sharply with each giant wave. It looked so precarious being thrown about as though it were a toy.

          “Look there do you see?”

          She nodded. “They are done for. I shall go out with the lantern!”

          She hurried down the stairs and onto the shore waving the lantern over her head. “Over here, make your way here, to our lighthouse beacon! It is the only way!”

          They both watched then; Grandfather from his tower and Emily from the shore.

          It was hard to see, for it was deep night and the sky was moonless. But then a wondrous thing happened. The ship began firing flares, great red flares that burst almost gaily overhead. How they crackled and exploded. 

          “They’re coming Grandfather!”

A lifeboat was headed straight toward them. But it hit one of the rocks and was split asunder as its cargo was tossed ashore.

There were ten men at least, lying about, trying to crawl, calling out for help, begging and pleading to be saved.

          When they saw they were saved, they wept.

          “Bless you thank you, thank you!”

          “There now, you shall share our food and rest before our fire. You are safe now.”

          Some of the men laughed with the joy of relief, others were stony silent, seeming to disbelieve they had come to safety.

          They were given dry clothes and blankets, and something hot to drink. They seemed taken with young Emily, calling her an angel.

          “Aye you are that Miss!

          How grandfather beamed.

          “Sleep now, and be at peace, a watery grave shall not be your home!”

          Grandfather and Emily left the men to sleep in the parlor and tip toed to the pantry.

          “We shall think of the joy we have now, of the relief and solution to our great worry!”

          “Yes, Grandfather,” Emily replied. “We shall keep them alive so that we may enjoy their blood and flesh and eat to our fill."

          Grandfather sighed. “Yes, we have been here so long, my child, we fear leaving the island, though it could be the cause of our destruction by starvation! What weak-willed creatures of the night we are.”

          Emily smiled, for she was already licking her lips and thinking of that which she would soon be consuming, not only the rich ruby blood but great quantities of living flesh.

          “I wished for a good bounty and it has come, I am grateful as well as happy! But I must tell you I cannot wait long, for it has been too long a wait as it is!”

Grandfather nodded. “Be calm, for I shall get the chains and the long knives now, they are always kept at the ready, go and set the table for our feast!”

               

     

©  Carole Gill 2011

926 words