Chapter 2 - 1964

that changes. Do you know what it's like to have your safe place turn against you, to have your room become a prison that entraps you night after night, day after day, with nowhere else to turn to as a safety net. I do, and it started after we found the dark room in the basement. It has been six months since we moved into Lighthouse. The season's changed and we welcomed a new year. Nineteen sixty four didn't feel any different than nineteen sixty three, but a new year

often brings new beginnings. I hope that would be the case for us, but that couldn't have been further from the truth. After the first night in Lighthouse, my sister and I lived in constant fear of the man in the hat, though he appeared at my doorway the first night, we often saw him elsewhere. Sometimes it was a quick glance out of the corner of our eye. Others he made himself fully known, his sinister smile making our hair

stand on end as he disappeared around a corner. Despite telling our parents what we had experienced, mother didn't believe us. She blamed the incidents on us acting out, claiming we were not giving our new home a chance and trying to sabotage all that she and our father worked for. She thought we missed our old life, as if moving from hotel to motel every three months could be something someone could actually miss. She forbid us from even speaking

of it. Her father often didn't respond with anything beyond a sullen nod in agreement with her. He looked distant during the conversation and didn't seem to want to contribute to it until one night when I found him in the study. When we moved into Lighthouse, the home was already furnished from days before. Various bits and pieces of furniture littered the house, often hastily covered by a sheet

to keep from getting dusty. Over time, my mother had cleaned up and arranged every room to her liking, except for the study. My father insisted that be left to him. Truth be told, he didn't change much about it. There was a desk and matching chair off to the side of the room, along with another seating area. Hanging on the wall above the couch were various trophies from parent hunting trips from long ago animal heads, including a deer, a lion, and a bear. There were grotesque things that

my mother hated, but my father refused to remove. Just below them was an ancient shotgun, presumably the very same gun that claimed the lives of those animals. Despite all the extravagant decor, the focal point of the room was actually the law large decorative easy chair. It was covered in red velvet and soft to the touch. A fireplace sat before it so one could sit in front of it on cold winter nights. Just above the fireplace was an old painting, one that my father said his mother

had commissioned when he was a child. It shows his parents, his brother, and a younger version of himself. The portrait made them look regal, like royalty, and I was fascinated by it. On the night he finally acknowledged the things in lighthouse. I had just finished getting ready for bed and came downstairs to wish him good night. He was sitting in the easy chair, leaned back, drink in hand.

I wouldn't have considered him a drinker, having only ever seen him touch alcohol once before, but it was obvious that he was already a few in by that point, evident by the half empty bottle beside him. His eyes, slightly glazed, were staring at the portrait intently. He was absent mindedly rubbing his scar. I don't think he even registered in my being there until after I gave him a kiss. I turned to leave when he suddenly grabbed my arm with such force that I yelped in surprise.

My father had never laid a finger on me before, so I was caught off guard. I looked at him, his eyes refocusing on me as his words slurred from his lips. Stay away from the man in the hat. He stared hard at me for a few moments before letting me go, turning back to his drink. Did he know something I didn't? I was so shocked he even

acknowledged it that I did not press him further on it. Instead, I went to bed and slept fitfully with the knowledge of my father, believing our claims our only solace in those early days came from an unlikely source. At first, I thought it was just a dream, a reoccurring one at that one that was hard to separate from reality. In the dream, I was still in my bed. Sometimes I lean was with me, curled up in the dark. Somewhere in the distance, unknown to me, I could hear

a soft melody start to play. Its tune was hauntingly familiar. However, I could not place the sound. It sounded like something that might play out of a jewelry or a music box, with a slight tinniness to it. Instead of searching for its source, its soothing song would begin to lull me back to sleep, toward a dream within a dream, Until one night I realized that it was no dream. The music was real. I quickly got out of bed and listened attentively. At first I thought it was coming from

a car traveling down the main road. Sound traveled funny along the bluff. I stepped out onto my balcony, the cool air coming off the ocean chilling my skin. I looked off to the lighthouse in the not so far distance and strained my ears to hear the melody, but out here was not as prevalent. Stepping back into my room, I closed my eyes to concentrate, doing my best to block out all other sound. I strained my ears to

follow the melody. I moved about the area, playing a makeshift game of hot and cold, trying to find where in the room the music got louder. On the far side of the room, opposite my four poster bed, was where it was the loudest. Was it coming from the walls. On the floor below me was an ornate metal vent that I hadn't paid much attention to before, But now I dropped to all fours and placed my ear close to it. The music grew louder. Who was coming from

somewhere in Lighthouse. I didn't know where yet, but I was going to find out Lighthouse Chapter two. The next morning, my sister came into my room to wake me. The first thing I saw was her smile as she excitedly tried to tell me that she had something for me. However, I was anxious to tell her of my discovery, and I spoke over her. The music isn't a dream I said, it's coming from inside the house. She frowned a bit, as eight year olds with a single minded purpose often

do when their train of thought is derailed. When she didn't respond, I nudged her. It was then and I noticed she was hiding something behind her back. It was a card once she had decorated with flowers and a gigantic smiling son. Confused, I opened it and read in her crayon streaked handwriting what she had written inside. Happy Birthday to the greatest sister in the world. It was a birthday card for me. I had completely forgotten that

it was my twelfth birthday. I wrapped her up in the biggest hug I had ever given anyone, and squealed with the light Thank you, Leney, this is the best birthday card I've ever gotten. What do you want to do today, she asked me. It's your special day. I smiled at her, because the previous night determined exactly what my answer was going to be. We made her way downstairs to the kitchen where my mother was preparing breakfast. She put a plate of bacon and eggs in front

of me, arranged to look like a smiling face. Happy Birthday, birthday girl, she greeted me warmly. I enthusiastically dug into the meal as my response, knowing that I would likely need the energy for the day's mission. I think someone forgot to turn off the radio last night, my mother continued. I heard it in the middle of the night. It wasn't the radio, Mama, my sister said, we don't know

where it's from. No need to make up excuses, my mother replied, just please try to remember to turn it off, okay, sweetie. Leey didn't argue beyond that, but instead asked about my father's whereabouts, causing my mother to frown. He's still sleeping, she told us, with a hint of sadness. He was up late last night in his study, but I'm sure he'll be down soon. I, however, did not wait for that. Instead, with a kiss on my mother's cheek and an assurance to my sister that I would be back soon, I

ran upstairs to get ready for the day. I quickly showered, dressed, and pulled out the flashlight my parents got me in case of a power outage. I had never used it, so I clicked it on a few times to make sure it's still worked. When I was satisfied, I set out to find my sister, who was out playing. The grounds surrounding lighthouse were vast and prime for two young girls to explore, and those early months we covered every inch of the property, finding the nooks and crannies long

lost to time. Though we were not allowed in the lighthouse, Lenie still played near it. Even if we wanted to get inside, we couldn't. The only entry was a door secured with the padlock, one whose key was nowhere to be found, at least according to my father, And after all the talk of how unsafe it was, we were afraid of the floor collapsing beneath us anyway. So there it sat, a reminder of days gone by, a relic of the past. I hadn't seen the light atop the

lighthouse since our first night in the house. I didn't know what caused it, and because of how afraid Lenie already was that evening, I never told her about it. It was for the best. It was here that I found Lenie playing among the flowers growing at the base of the lighthouse. She was glad to see me, knowing I was ready to begin our mission, and followed me

back to the house. Once inside, she ran to her room to grab her own flashlight while I waited a mind to tell her the plan of action I had formulated. She was taking unusually long as I was about to go get her myself, until I stopped dead in my tracks. Coming up from the vent in my bedroom again, I could hear it, the music box melody in the light of day. It was even more beautiful than I remembered it to be from the night before. My breath caught in my throat as I was entranced by it, but

only for a moment. I quickly ran across the hall to Linie's room to tell her, but when I burst through the door, she was already leaning down toward the vent in her own room, attentively listening. It's in the vents, She told me it's coming from downstairs. She grabbed her flashlight from the dresser and followed me to explore the rest of the house. We opted to start on the first floor, as it made sense that the music was traveling up the vents to us, with Linie's starting in

the dining room while I searched in the library. Every time we were near event, we stopped to listen and tried to determine if the music was louder or not. By the time I found myself outside my father's study, I realized he was inside. He must have awakened sometime during our search and was already sitting in his favorite armchair. I usually didn't like to disturb him, but being as

how today was a special occasion, I tiptoed him. Good morning, father, I said, causing him to stir a bit in his chair. He turned to see me and only gave me a polite nod of acknowledgment before turning away. I waited to see if he would say anything, and when he didn't, I pressed further. It's my birthday, I told him. I'm twelve today. He turned again, now using his entire body and not just his head, and looked at me. So it is, he replied, Happy birthday. He raised his glass

to me as I realized he was already drinking. It was not even ten am, and here he was already drowning in liquor. When he turned away again, I left the study upset that I did not receive warmer birthday, wishing I couldn't dwell on that for too long, though, as I still had a job to do. After about an hour or so of searching, my sister and I met in the kitchen. Neither of us had any luck so far, and we're feeling a little deflated. We sat down at the table to have a snack and formulate

our next move. As we both took turns biting into an apple, the music continued to play from somewhere. It was beginning to drive me mad, not being able to figure it out. When we finished our apple, I brought our plate over to the sink to wash it and noticed that the music seemed to be louder. I looked around, trying to find event nearby, but to no avail. Looking to the left of the sink, the house is ancient dumb waiter sat on a whim. I opened its door,

the metal grating from years of disuse. The melody wafted up the shaft into the kitchen. My sister and I looked at each other as we came to the same realization. It was coming from the basement. The entry to the basement was in the pantry just off the kitchen. We hadn't yet explored it since we moved in, but now seemed like the perfect time. The door swung open slowly with a horrific creek. It revealed the basement below us,

darker than pitch lights, which proved to be fruitless. The bulbs likely hadn't been changed in years and were burnt out. Leni stood at the top of the stairs, looking down into the abyss. I could tell by the way she was staring that this might be the end of her journey. I'm scared, she admitted, her eyes never leaving the darkness. The music still wafted up from the shadowy depths below, like a siren song, calling out to us. It's okay,

I told her, I can take it from here. I turned on my flashlight and aimed its beam down the steps. To my relief, everything looked surprisingly normal. However, I couldn't help feeling a bit of apprehension. As I took my first step downward, the wood groaned beneath my feet, and I hoped the wood wasn't rotted. I took the next step, and then another. Soon I was at the bottom of the stairs, my flashlight beam moving back and forth as I looked around. What do you see, Leney called out

to me. Still standing in the doorway, A lot of junk, I replied, my father's family hoarded a lot of their belongings down here, it seemed. While the rest of the house was dusty when we first moved in, it was nothing compared to the basement. I remember my mother telling me that cleaning it out was a product for a rainy day. I moved cautiously in the darkness, not wanting to bump into anything or accidentally break something. The music continued to play, softly, coming from the left side of

the room. The basement ran the length of the entire house, making it seem impossibly large, especially filled with so many things. Old furniture, large portraits, and boxes upon boxes made it a pseudo maze full of family memories. After some careful navigating, I found myself standing in front of a solid wall, or rather a wall with metal shelving lining the length of it. I stopped in my tracks and listened. Music

still played, but it sounded more towards the right. I swung my flashlight in the direction and slowly walked that way, stopping every few steps to listen again. The source of the music was close, but where I looked at the metal shelf against the wall, and confusion taking a brief look around. There didn't seem to be anything of importance on the shelf itself, just a bunch of old junk and small boxes. Perhaps in the house this old the acoustics were playing tricks on me. Was it actually coming

from somewhere else in entirely? I began to make my way back toward my sister when I heard a crash behind me. I quickly turned and directed my beam on the floor. Lying there was a box, one that had fallen near where I was just standing. Did I do that? Did I knock something off balance without realizing it, causing it to fall? Just beyond the box? I spot an old pair of shoes on their own. They wouldn't have caught my eye, but it looked like they were attached

to a pair of pants. I slowly moved my beam up, and those pants turned into a man's overcoat. A feeling of dread formed in my stomach as my brain began to formulate that it wasn't just a random assortment of clothing bunch together in the dark basement, but rather something else entirely, someone else entirely. My flashlight beam continued its slow ascent up the coat as my dread continued to build.

I was inches away from revealing the identity of this stranger in my basement, but in my heart I already knew who it was. A ghastly smile greeted me as my light fell upon it. The man in the hat was there. Lighthouse will return after these messages, and now back to lighthouse, I screamed, but through some sort of miracle, continued to hold my ground. When I exhausted all the air in my lungs, I stood frozen in fear as my eyes locked with those of the man in the hat.

His smile never wavered, nor did his stance. He simply stared at me. With my first clear look at him. He looked to be in his late fifties. The flesh of his skin hung loose, as if he had started to deep compose, giving him an even more distressing appearance. His clothing, though once an immaculate condition, now was in the process of slowly falling apart, as if moths has started to make a meal of it. We were at an impasse, as neither of us moved a muscle for

several moments. I was about to take a step backwards to get away from this horrifying specter. When the man in the hat turned his head toward the wall, his arm long and gaunt, lifted in unison as a single finger pointed toward the shelf I had been looking through earlier. At first, I wasn't sure what he was doing. I hesitated to get closer to him, but my curiosity was beginning to get the better of me. Was there something on the shelf he wanted, something he wanted me to see.

I tried to think of what it could possibly be. When I heard the music once again. It sounded like it was coming from the direction of the shelf, and then it dawned on me the music wasn't coming from something on the shelf, but from behind it. I took a step forward to see what was there. When I felt a tap on my shoulder. I yelped and nearly jumped ten feet in the air. As I turned to see leaning my sister staring back at me. I heard

you scream, she said, I thought you were hurt. Despite her fear of the dark, my sister made the trek through the basement to make sure I was okay. What was it, she asked, reminding me that the man in the hat was behind me. I turned in his direction again, using my light to show her the visitor, but instead he was gone. What are you looking for, she asked me, Nothing, I replied, but I think I found where the music's coming from. I went back to the shelf and pushed

some boxes aside. There hidden behind the metal rack was a small wooden door. If not for the man in the hat, I never would have taken a second look. I considered trying to move the entire shelf, but it was next to impossible with everything still on it. I asked my sister to shine her light at the shelf while I started to remove boxes from it. One by one. I took them away and stacked them neatly near by.

Among the things were artifacts from the days when the lighthouse was still in operation, a container of spark plugs, presumably for the light itself, a box of old clothing including a seaman's cap, and instruction manuals for various controls. There was more than I anticipated, and it took close to twenty minutes for me to finish. With the boxes removed, it was significantly easier to move the shelfing from its place.

It wasn't long before the door was fully revealed. It wasn't until that moment that I realized the pit in my stomach had returned. Just an uncomfortable feeling at first, but it grew steadily creeping over me like an icy chill. My intuition was telling me that whatever was behind this door was something that was not meant for us. My sister, however, her bravery growing by the second, ran up to the door and placed her ear against the wood. She smiled

as she looked at me. It's inside, she exclaimed. Before I could stop where she grabbed the doors handle. My stomach lurched as she did, anticipating the worst. It felt as if the world around us changed. Staring into the gaping blackness of this secret room, I felt a rush of stale air escape it, as if something was trapped

inside for years and hurried out towards freedom. The dread I already felt inside me reached a breaking point, and it felt like an impressive force pressing down on my shoulders, like all the light in the world had gone out in a single instant, leaving us in a world of never ending darkness. Lenny was already inside the room, using her flashlight to search I crouched to enter the room as I was a hair taller than the door frame,

and I felt something brush against my face. I momentarily panic, thinking I had walked into a spiderweb, only to find my hand hit a tiny metal chain. My mind registered it as connection to a lightbulb, and I gave it a gentle tug. The room illuminated in a deep red color, letting us see a little more beyond our flashlights. It wasn't that large of a space, maybe four feet by six, but I had a table with two large trays, along

with another shelf filled with an assortment of things. Jars of some sort of liquid pelled to paper, and various other odds and ends sat on it above our heads. A line of string criss cross just beneath the ceiling, with clothes pins hanging from it. But what drew our attention before anything else was on the table itself, a small music box, the source of the mysterious music that

plagued us for weeks. Its tiny gears turned as the song continued, It's intricate inner workings creating the haunting melody. My sister, entranced by it all, made her way toward it as her fingers brushed against its side. The music suddenly stopped. She pulled back for a second, startled by its sudden end, but then took it. Can I keep it? She asked me curiously. If this trinket locked inside this tiny room made her happy, then so be it. Besides,

no harm could come from it, could it? With most of our curiosity now abated, I turned my attention to the rest of the room. For some reason, it just felt wrong. The red light wasn't helping that feeling, either, so I turned my flashlight back on and began to look over the shelves. On the very bottom were three large jugs with handwritten labels identifying them as developer, stop, bath, and fixer. These words activated a memory deep in my brain.

When I was younger, I had developed an interest in photography, and my father taught me how people developed photos on their own. The jugs, the trays, and the red light all began to make sense. Now this was once someone's photography lab. It was a dark room. On the shelf above the jugs were spare cases of photopaper, along with a small camera. It was too dark to see the make and the model, but it looked to be in

good condition. I slipped it into my pocket. If le he was going to walk away from this adventure with a prize, then why shouldn't I as well. Filling out the rest of the shelves were large volumes of photographs. I took one from its place and glanced through it quickly, not finding anything of interest, just photos of people looking just as disinterested as I was, accompanied by long pages of notes. As I went to return it to its shelf,

something fell out of the back of the album. I saw it was a pair of records, both slightly smaller than forty five. They must have been tucked away, long forgotten by whomever put them there. I didn't recognize either of the artists, one of them being a single of Stay on the Right Side of the Road by Noraje Mayhem's and the Blue Chips, and the other called The Raggedy Man by Aida Jones and Edward Meeker. Unfortunately, the Aida Jones record chattered, but the other one seemed to

be in one piece. For a twelve year old, finding these as treasure in a secret room was not very exciting. I put them back as my eyes scanned the rest of the album spines, all with various states from the early nineteen hundreds up to the late nineteen thirties. At the very top of the shelf was a dusty, old teddy bear. How he made his way into the dark room was beyond me, but he was far out of reach,

so I ignored him. Closer at hand were a handful of loose photos just sitting on a shelf, as if they were meant to be placed in an album, but the person doing so never got around to it. Setting my flashlight down, I took the loose photos and began to look through them, leaning watching over my shoulder. To my surprise, most of them were of lighthouse. On the bottom of each someone had placed a small piece of

tape on which they had written nineteen nine. We could only assume that it was when the photos were taken. Almost were taken from a distance. Some of the latter ones were closer. A few more showed off the property, especially the large tree out front. The one that caught my eye, though, showed the front of the house with a man standing out on the front porch. Who's that, Leanie asked as she leaned in. Those are trying to get a better look. She grabbed her own flashlight and

illuminated the photo. We both gasped when we recognized who it was. It was the man in the hat. Lighthouse were returned after a word from our sponsors, and now lighthouse continues. I felt a sick feeling wash over me. I already knew that the man in the hats appearances were on the supernatural sort, but holding concrete evidence of his former life in my hand was something else entirely well. The quality of this photo was poor. I could almost see his eyes staring directly back at me. His ghastly

smile seemed to grow wider the more I looked. I was only jolted out of this trance by something creaking above our head. We both looked up to see the red lights slow only swaying in an indiscernible breeze. It's light casting dark shadows in every corner of the room. Linie's flashlight began to fail, then it's bright center, blinking once twice three times before cutting out entirely. Mine, still sitting on the shelf nearby, followed suit. My sick feeling got worse, as if all the air in the room

was sucked away in an instant. Suddenly, I felt a presence there with us. We were no longer alone in the dark room. I froze, not wanting it to sense us also, but I feared it was too late. Close your eyes, I whispered, hoping Lenie heard me. I closed mine as well, the darkness of my eyelids blocking out the red tinted darkness of the room. I didn't want to make another sound, but I wanted to help keep Lenie calm. I softly mouthed the words that formed in

my head one, two, three, four five. Whatever was there with us, I felt its hot breath on my neck. I let the photos drop to the floor. Run, I screamed at her. I grabbed her hand, and we took off. We quickly navigated our way back through the basement mazes. We heard something step out of the dark room and hiss behind us. We didn't bother looking back. We were both too afraid, but we could sense it right on

our heels. When we reached the basement steps, we took them two at a time, not wanting that thing to catch us. I stumbled over the last few, but Leany steadied me and helped pull me through the doorway. Once we were back in the pantry. I slammed the basement door shut, sliding the bolt in place with a satisfying click. We both collapsed against the door, breathing heavy but safe for now. We didn't tell our parents about the dark

room nor the thing that chased us. My mother barely believed us about the man in the hat, and after what my father said about him, who knows how mad he would be about this. Instead, we made a pack to watch out for each other and keep it to ourselves. The rest of that day was fairly uneventful. I stayed in my room for most of it, trying to calm myself down from the earlier events and also examining my newly found birthday present to myself, the camera from the

dark room. According to the label on its side, it was a Kodak to a autographic Brownie. It was a foldable camera, meaning that it's lenses came out like an accordion when you wanted to use it, and tucked away neatly when you did. Not. To my surprise, it's still had a few negatives left in it. I wasn't sure if they were still good or not, but I made

it my mission to test it out. Later that evening, my mother made breakfast for dinner in honor of my birthday, and then I was treated to a delicious chocolate cake. My father stayed in his study for the duration of the celebration, except for when I blew out the candles on my cake. Reluctantly, he agreed to let me take a family photo with my new camera, even though he

questioned where I had gotten it from. I only lied a tiny bit, telling him I founded in one of the many rooms of the house, leaving out its exact location. When he pressed further, my mother urged him to drop it, and with a grumble, he did, Being as how there was no time or on it. I had to be content with not actually being in the photo myself, but I was okay. My sister sat in from the birthday

cake as my parents surrounded her on either side. With a single click, the photo was taken, and before I removed the camera from my eyes, my father was already to his study again. The rest of us ate our cake in silence. It wasn't until late that night, as I lay in bed, that I realized that the feeling of the house was shifting. Whether it was the way my father was secluding himself from us what we discovered in the basement, or a combination of both. Things were changing.

From across the hall, I could hear Leaney switch on the music box. It's haunting melody no longer a mystery to us. Instead, it almost gave me a feeling of comfort. Despite that, my thoughts turned to the dark room and what had happened earlier. Someone had to have locked that room away, But for what reason? And who had left the music box there? Why had it begun playing on its own? And that thing we felt? What was it? Was it locked in there? Did we unwittingly set it free?

I tried not to think about it as I began to drift off to sleep. My eyes grew heavy as the music box lulled me off into dreamland. I slept soundly that night, for the first time since we moved into Lighthouse, and I'm glad I did, because after that night everything changed. Lighthouse is a production of I Heart Radio and Bamford Productions. Chapter two featured the voice of Ali Trasher, written and directed by Jeff Himbuck, audio engineering,

an original musical score by Corey Celeste. Production assistance by Alex Gona executive produced by Holly Fry. Questions comments, you can reach us at the Man in the Hat is Watching at gmail dot com. Thank you for listening.