Chapter 5 - 1986

My mother thankfully survived her fall from the second story. However, she struck her spine in such a way that she was confined to a wheelchair. She hadn't lost all mobility of her legs, but enough of it where she could no longer walk on her own. My sister suffered injuries from the shot gum blasts, but was still able to walk, albeit with a limp. But the emotional torment of taking our father's life, especially in such a brutal way, had

taken its toll on her. In many ways. She had reverted to a more childlike state, a ten year old stuck in a late twentysomething's body. I stayed with my mother and Leni for as long as I could poss please stand it. At first, I tried to convince my mother to leave, to sell lighthouse and get as far away as humanly possible, but she refused for some reason. She was determined to make it work and keep the house that she yearned so desperately for. However, for me,

staying in the house became too much. Seeing them every day reminded me of that night, of the terror I felt, of how sure I was that my life was going to end. The ghosts roaming the halls were quiet for some time, the darkness is hunger sated, but it wasn't long before they returned. I left as soon as I was able to. A part of me felt like I was a horrible person, abandoning my family during a time

that they needed me the most. But staying around lighthouse wallowing and misery as the world just passed by it was not how I wanted to spend the rest of my life. Hiding out from the leering gaze of ghosts and shadow creatures was not something I wanted my world to solely consist of. By the time the first anniversary of my father's death came around, I had packed up and gone. At first, I still came to visit, to see and care for my mother and my sister to

make sure they were okay. But soon my visits became less and less frequent, until they stopped altogether. Instead, the telephone was my only connection left to Lighthouse, and even then I rushed off the phone as soon as I possibly could. Even just listening to them depressed me and brought back too many bad memories. Thirteen years passed since my father tried to kill us, but it was almost ten since I had laid eyes on my mother, or my sister, or even my old home. I thought that

this was finally it. I had severed my connection to that place of madness once and for all, and I would finally be free of its curse. I was naive to think I would never set foot in Lighthouse again. Lighthouse, Chapter five. For almost ten years, my life was normal, blissfully so as a life of boring mediocrity was exactly

what I wanted. After those first stressful years of my life, I decided that I needed to move as far away from Lighthouse as possible, away from the ocean at the time, and with the money I had that translated into Newark, Maryland. It wasn't the most wonderful place in the world, but it was not Lighthouse, and that was good enough for me. I got a job as a secretary for a construction company and made enough to live comfortably on my own.

I made a few friends, creating some lasting relationships, and for the first time in a long time, I was happy. About a year after I moved there, I met Chris. He had just moved into town and recently got a job as a driver for the same company I worked for. We talked, flirted, even endlessly for months, until finally he worked up the there of to ask me how We were married a year later. It was a small ceremony at the courthouse with just a few close friends and

his family and attendance. I invited my mother and my sister, but it wasn't a surprise when they didn't show up. In truth, I was relieved I had kept my past and my family a secret from my new friends, so that saved me from having to explain the hardships I've been through. Life with Chris was great. Like all relationships, there were ups and downs, but Chris remained by my

side and I by his through all of them. We had a modest apartment together that eventually turned into a nice condo, and then into our own home, a home that was nothing like Lighthouse. Soon that home was haunted by an entity other than us, a baby boy named Kevin. His laughter echoed through our halls, just as his cries echoed through the night. He was our pride and joy,

and we loved him with everything we had. Chris wanted to name him after my side of the family, but I was not going to be reminded of what I left behind, and so we settled on the name of his great grandfather. Things were good. I was happy, We were happy, and then the nightmares started. The details of them varied from night to night, but the subject matter

was always the same Lighthouse. Sometimes I was a child again, running through the halls, playing with my sister, before coming across the residence of the house I tried so hard to forget. Sometimes I was being chased by the shadowy thing, gaining on my heels as it jumped in and out of the walls to get to me. Sometimes it was of the lighthouse on the bluff, the dim glow from the top shining down on me until it became so bright that I went blind. It got bad enough that

Chris suggested I go see a therapist. Jan was her name. At first I was unsure about her. I had seen enough doctors during my youth that I had grown skeptical of them, But over time I began to open up to her. In fact, I found that I had bottled up so much of my past for so long that it was a relief to get it off my chest. She was interested in my medical records from when I was a child, but at last I did not have copies of them, and I was hesitant to reach out

to my mother for them. Who knew if she even had them any longer, I filled in the blanks as best I could. I saw things, and my parents were concerned. I got brave enough with her that I even told told her of the things in the house. I was afraid she would laugh, that she would not believe me, but she just listened intently and gave her advice. Afterward, Jan was wonderful and truly believed the nightmares were manifestations of my not completely dealing with the past. Also, to

be fair, she wasn't wrong. I had not really dealt with the ramifications of that night with my father, nor everything that came before. As for the ghostly dwellers in Lighthouse. She did have a purely scientific theory about their existence, especially based on my medical issues as a child. Considering how my family unit had deteriorated over time, she felt that both my sister and I had a sort of shared delusion that sounds much worse than it actually is.

But in short, we created a scenario to help us better cope with the conditions of our home life. Instead of our father beating our mother, we believed that a dark entity in our home was causing him to do so. Psycho analytical assumptions aside, it did make sense, especially given that I had a history of such In fact, I even believed that explanation myself for a while, but in my heart I knew that was not true. I was cured when I was a child, so there was none

of that left in me. Instead, the things living in the dark of Lighthouse were real. They had to be. Around the time we entered the nineties, my nightmares stopped being nightmares and stepped into the real world in one of the most frightening ways possible. Chris was at work and I had the day off, so I decided to take Keaven for a walk to the park. He had a lot of energy that morning, and I thought it would be best for him to expel it there. He was four at the time, the prime age for running

around and playing with other children on the playground. It was dreary that day, the sun not quite burning through the clouds yet, but the park was crowded. Nonetheless, by the time we made it to the playground, I had early said the words be careful before Kevin took off to be with his friends. I sat down on a bench nearby, watching him weave in and out of you

as I sipped on my coffee. Some of the other mothers I was friendly with came and went, sharing a few scattered conversations before they moved on to say hello to the others. My eyes kept watching the playground as the sea of children movements sometimes made it difficult to see Kevin, sending momentary waves of panic through me, but

he always reappeared A few seconds later. I was in the middle of speaking to another mom about a sale a local grocer was having on apples, a typically mundane thing to be talking about, when something caught my eye at the far end of the playground, through the jungle gym area, and beyond the swings stood a man. He was hard to make out, as the children swinging back and forth on the swings made it somewhat difficult to

get a good look at him. But the more I stared in his direction, the more I realized he was looking down at something or someone. Rather. This man gave me a bad feeling, so my eyes darted around the playground looking for Kevin, just to make sure he was safe. But I didn't see him, not running around, not coming down the slide, not even playing ball in the field. I stood up, my eyes continued to search on the

verge of panic. When I looked back to the man, he still stood there, looking down, nodding his head at a child, and I realized that child was Kevin, my son, talking to this stranger. I started to walk that direction, weaving in and out of running children, to get my son away from this strange man. As I did, the man looked up and locked eyes with me, stopping me cold in my tracks. It was then that I realized he was wearing an Edwardian coat with a bowler hat

atop his head. He smiled at me and chilled me. It had been so long since I had seen him that. It caught me off guard. As soon as my mind registered who it was. It was the man in the hat, hundreds of miles from lighthouse here with my son, My entire world went blank and I saw nothing but him. What was he doing here? How did he get here? What did he want? I broke into a run, swerving around kids, even knocking one out of my way, to get to him. It took me longer than I hoped.

As I ran, my eyes locked on them. As I looked, the man in the hat simply disappeared into thin air. By the time I reached Kevin, I was terrified. I grabbed him and asked him what happened. He just looked at me with white eyes, Confused. I asked him about the man in the hat, but he didn't know what I was talking about. He had no recollection of seeing him, and instead was angry that I was keeping him from playing. He tried to squirm out of my grip, but we

needed to go. There was no chance I was going to stay there after what I had seen. I dragged Kevin home, almost kicking and screaming, and tried to put it out of my mind. When Chris came home that night. I told him I wasn't feeling well and went to bed. When sleep finally did come, it was restless. I awoke in the middle of the night from a nightmare when that involved lighthouse again. Unfortunately, I could not get back to sleep. Not wanting to wake Chris, I went into

the living room to try to pass the time. I made myself some tea and was about to settle down to watch some television when something compelled me to take a look out the window. I went over to it, almost as if under some kind of spell, and lifted the curtain back to see into the night. My eyes weren't quite adjusted yet, so it was just a blank canvas before me. But soon the black blobs of the evening took shape and I looked around. Was normal at

first glance, until I looked up the street. They're standing under a street light was the man in the hat. I gasped and nearly dropped my tea. He stared in my direction as I tried to remain calm and did the only thing I could do I think I hadn't done in some time. I closed my eyes and I counted to five, one, two, three, four five, I opened my eyes and he was still there, tipping his hat as he smiled. I quickly moved back from the window,

replacing the curtain again. I didn't want to see him anymore, nor did I want him to see me. But over the coming days it didn't matter. Anytime I closed my eyes, I saw him standing there smile at me, a byproduct of my imagination. But it wasn't long before he sprung from my mind and started to appear in my everyday life in the aisles of the grocery store, the hallways, at work, outside Kevin's school on the street corner as I drove by, the man in the hat was back,

and he wanted me to notice him. After a few days of this, I couldn't stand it anymore. I called Jan and asked if we could move my appointment up. Jan listened and did her best to try to comfort me about it, but for some reason it didn't help. His reappearance back in my life shook me to my core, and my usual coping mechanisms were not helping. So Jan suggested something unorthodox. Perhaps you're seeing him is your mind's unconscious way of letting you know you need closure. She

told me closure for what I asked her. Your father's death, your repressed childhood, your guilt over leaving your family behind in your new life life. She said, perhaps it's time you went back home to confront your fears so you can put them behind you once and for all. Maybe if you looked hard enough, you might find some answers to the questions you seek. Questions I asked about the house, it's history, your family. You said your father didn't talk

much about his family before you moved into Lighthouse. Maybe if you learned more about them, these things won't bother you as much. Maybe if you learn about this man in the hat who he is, maybe he will go away. I rejected the thought the moment she said it, But as I left my session and saw the man in the hat waiting to tip his hat toward me on

my way to the parking lot, I reconsidered. That night, I debated it the pros and the cons to try to come up with another solution, but none came to mind, and the thought of seeing him every day for the rest of my life, ruining the piece I had created for myself was too much to bear. For the sake of my family, my Chris and my little Kevin. I knew what I had to do. It was time to go back to Lighthouse. Lighthouse will return after these messages,

and now back to Lighthouse. The road back to Lighthouse was not an easy one. Though only a few hundred miles from my new home, the drive was long and arduous. My car, usually reliable in all conditions, broke down along the turnpike on my journey there. The repairs were going to take a few days, so I left it with a mechanic and took a loaner for the rest of the route. The loner was not nearly as reliable as

my car and was prone to overheating. I had to refill the water and let it cooled down every few hours. The stopping and starting was grating on my nerves. I was anxious to just get there, already to be done with my visit, but vehicles were not making it any easier on me, nor was my family. I called my mother before I left, letting her know that I was coming for a visit. She was cold over the phone, uninterested in hearing from her eldest daughter, but agreeing to

let me stop by. She hung up before I had the chance to tell her when I would get there. I guess it was going to be a surprise. By the time I pulled into the driveway, the car was on its last legs. Smoke was billowing from beneath the hood, and rather than attempting to make it the last half mile to the house, I just pulled over and left it there, lighthouse looming in the not so far distance, I walked toward it slowly, apprehension taking hold of me.

Ten years had passed since I had last seen the house, but from the way things looked, it may as well have been fifty. The grounds of the house were in disarray, the great lawn filled with tall weaves and neglect. The red oak tree out front, though still a massive presence, was dying, its withered branches twisting downward. A lighthouse still stood on the bluff, a dark shape against the gray sky. The house itself was no better, with peeling paint at

every corner and loose shutters hanging off their hinges. If I hadn't known any better, I would have thought it to be abandoned. The house finely reflected what I had always thought of it, rotten and neglected. When I reached the porch. The steps creaked underneath me, and I held my breath. I wasn't ready to face my family or whatever waited for me in lighthouse. I had no choice. I was already there. I knocked on the door before

I lost more of my nerve and waited. It was an unusually long time of no one answering before I knocked again. I was a bit nervous that something was wrong, that something had happened to my mother or to Leini. But the second knock did the trick. Beyond the door, I heard some muffled cursing as someone struggled to unlock it. When the door screeched open, I was surprised to find an older woman in a wheelchair that I did not

recognize answering it. It wasn't until she spoke that I realized that this was in a stranger But my mother aged as much as the house itself. I was taken aback and couldn't respond to her first inquiry, having missed it completely, But her second, more forceful and angrier, brought me back to reality. What do you want, she growled, ready to close the door in my face. Mom, it's me, It's Tara. She gave me a lingering once over, but instead of responding, she just rolled backward away from the

door and into the bowels of the house. I took that as my unspoken invitation to come in. I pushed the door open, standing on the threshold between my old life and my new I hesitated before stepping in, realizing that I still had a choice. But the second I went in, the choice was made. Instantly, my body tensed, and I felt that dread long since forgotten wash over me again. I imagined the man in the hat behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders, says a welcome home gesture.

I shivered. Close the goddamn door. You're letting the air in. Came my mother's voice from the other room. I did as she commanded and slowly walked after her. Being back in Lighthouse was worse than I had imagined. Every negative emotion I had toward it was amplified, and every voice in my head rang out, begging me to leave. But I was back, and it's uninviting embrace, and I got the sense it was all too happy to see me.

Following my mother's voice through the house, I walked past my father's study, the door was shut, and what part of me wanted to look inside, the other part demanded I stay far away. I was struck by the lack of lighting fixtures being used. Instead, candles lined the hallways, both on the floor and furniture. They're melted wax, making it look like one big altar. The rooms I passed looked like more of the same. Perhaps the electric bill was too high to keep the room slight. Eventually I

found her in the library. She had rolled into the center of the room, cigarette in hand, sending puffs of smoke into the air. She stared hard at me, but wouldn't break the silence on her own. It's good to see you, I told her, trying to be friendly. She was my mother, after all, and though it had been some time since we had seen each other, let alone spoken, I still loved her. Her icy demeanor chilled the room, sending a shiver through me, which was a welcome countermeasure

to the sweat I had broken out into. Why are you here, tera, she asked me, her eyes never leaving me. I was unsure how to respond to her, as what I really wanted to say would not be something she wanted to hear. Thanks Lee A voice from above saved me. She's family, Mother, said, my sister, who was sitting on the spiral staircase previously unnoticed. She missed us. Leni stood, looking down at me with a warm smile. Hello, Leny, it's so good to see you, I told her, and

I actually meant it. I hadn't seen my sister in far too long, and I was so glad. She was happy I was here. She limped down the stairs and ran as best as she could across the room to hug me. I'm so glad you're home, she exclaimed, I've missed you. She was wearing a nightgown, I noticed, even though it was close to too in the afternoon. But it was Saturday, so who was I to judge her for having a lazy day. However, more concerning was that clutched in her hand. Was Abigail still around after all

these years? Mother? Don't you want to give Tara a hug? She said? My mother merely grunted in response, but Leni pushed me toward her anyway. I embraced her, though it is very one sided. Her fingers barely grace my back, more an act of courtesy than one of love. In that close proximity to her, I realized she wreaked of alcohol. Oh we will have so much fun, LEONEI continued. We can play games and have a tea party and do

all sorts of things again now that you're home. I smiled weakly in response, realizing how badly she had regretted since the incident with my father, I was certain she did not have much of a life beyond the walls of Lighthouse. She continued on, I will make up your old bed and we can go out to the garden to see I'm not staying, Leonie, I interrupted her. I'm just here for a quick visit. My mother grunted in response. Ten years you abandon us. I should expect nothing less. Mother,

Leanie said, I'm sorry, Tara. She doesn't mean it. We're just happy for whatever time you spend with us. She smiled, but I could see the hurt behind it. I don't want to be any bother, I told them, I will just I came to see something. I will be out of your hair soon. My mother flicked her cigarette into a nearby ashtray and rolled her way out of the room.

Mary a look in my direction. I heard the mechanical whir of the chair lift a moment later, something that we had installed shortly after my mother was confined to the chair so she could still go up and down the stairs. Don't mind her, LENI told me, come sit with me. What did you come to see? Abigail said, she miss you too. Leni grabbed my arms and pulled me down onto the couch next to her, like a

teenage girl waiting for the latest gossip. I ignored her Abigail comment, avoiding the bear's dead eye gaze as it made me uncomfortable. Lenie, I began, have you I trailed off there because a grown woman asking another grown woman if she still sees ghosts seemed ridiculous to me. I waited a moment to collect my thoughts and started again, Do you still, mhm see things? She tilted her head to the side as if confused by my question. The things that live in the house. I mean like Abigail,

she said, smiling again. Abigail is my best friend. I mean more like other things. I said, like the man in the hat. Oh, she replied, her smile turning into a frown. We don't like him. I saw him, I told her. At home, My my home, with my son at the park and then a few other places as well. You have a son, she interrupted me, I have a nephew. I sent you a letter about it with some photos. Oh, she said, her eyes cast downward. Mother doesn't let me

read much mail. I was about to say something else, to apologize even and question just what my mother thought she was doing keeping things from my sister, but Lenny had other ideas. Do you want to see something, she her face lighting up again. Come with me. She grabbed my arm again and pulled me out of the room. She dragged me through the dining room and into the kitchen. She guided me toward the pantry, and I realized where we were going. I tried to pull back to stop

our progress, but Lenny was unnaturally strong. There was no stopping her, no question where she was taking me. We were going down to the basement, and inevitably to the dark room. Lighthouse were returned after a word from our sponsors, and now Lighthouse continues like a prisoner being led to his execution. I followed my sister, using a candle to guide her path down into the depths of the basement, through the maze of discarded junk, toward the dark room.

I stopped short just before the doorway. As Leni crouched to get inside, I froze and thought of the last time I set foot inside. So dark, my imagination filled in the gaps, forming a dark brown stain in the dirt where my father took his final breath. Lenie pulled the chain and the darkness was eliminated by the red light. Looking inside, nothing had changed. It was still as small as ever, more so now that I was older. The shelf was still filled with old chemicals and photo albums.

The work bench was still there, standing guard. But I also noticed a few more things discarded, food containers, books, a flashlight, and a blanket and a pillow. Despite everything that had happened, Lenie was still coming down here. This room, with its horrific memories and oppressed feelings, was still her safe haven. In a way, it made sense. My mother, as she became more and were bitter as the years went on, could not make her way down the stairs

in her wheelchair. LENI was safe from her here. I didn't want to go in, but Lenie waved me inside hesitantly. I crouched down and stepped through the doorway. It was cramped with both of us in there, but she didn't seem to mind. She placed Abigail on her candle on the workbench before disappearing. Underneath here, too were puddles of melted wax covering those surfaces, the work bench, the shelf, and even the ground. I heard her rustling around, as

if looking for something. My heart dropped for a moment, thinking that perhaps the knife, the one that had killed my father, was still hidden under there. That was silly, of course, because the police had taken that as evidence long ago. Still the idea persisted, and I took a cautionary step back as Leni crawled out from beneath it. In her hands was an old cardboard box. She placed it on the work bench before blowing off a cloud of dust. She presented it to me with a flourish giggling,

like a child proud of her work. I was unsure of what it was, and told her as much. She seemed almost disappointed that I didn't know, so she opened the box and pulled out something from inside, a reel to reel tape recorder. It was ancient, looking, like something out of the nineteen thirties. I would have been surprised if it even worked, but Leney, still giggling, placed it on the bench and searched through the box again. This

time she pulled out some metal canisters. She handed one over to me, and I read the label August and September ninety. I opened it and found a real spooled up inside. What are these, I asked her, and she smiled, history, she replied, of the house Abigail found them, Ignoring her, Abigail comment, I studied the real in my hand and my mind racing about its contents. This was exactly what Jan was talking about. This could help me find out more about my father's family. What did they reveal? What

revelations did they contain? Have you listened? I asked her. A few, she replied, I got bored, but some of them didn't work too Scratchy couldn't make out the recordings, but this one, she pointed to, the one in my hands. I didn't listen to it yet, Abigail said I should wait for you. I was scared, scared of what the tape contained, scared of listening to it in the dark room, and scared as to why Abigail wanted Leni to wait

for me. I felt on the verge of going mad, and I wanted to suggest that we take the player, or the tapes and the whole house and just burn it to the ground. But then Leni took my hand and smiled. I nodded and handed the reel back to her as she delicately removed it from the canister and loaded it into the player. It's screeched to life. It's antique, motorized, insides groaning after so many years of disuse. The tape scratched, and for an instant I was sure it wouldn't play.

But then a voice sprung forth from it, startling us both there in the dim red glow of the dark room. We listened intently as he revealed a secret that Lighthouse had kept for many, many years. This is Dr Albright. The data is August the time christ I don't even know what time it is. These are my final notes for Patient three two, File zero three to one. When I became a doctor, I took an oath, one that

made me swear to help those in need. And I can't help but feel like I failed here, that that we we did something wrong, that this will be a stain on my soul for the rest of my life. Every time I closed my eyes, I can I can see her, I can hear or screams or or please for help. Did we make the right decision? I thought so at first, but now I don't know. She was she was so young. Lighthouse is a production of I

Heart Radio in Bamford produc Auctions. Chapter five 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.