Chapter 7 - 1993

from the family's history. Thinking back, my father had never spoken about her. Even the painting in his former study excluded her from the family portrait. She was the secret shame whitewashed away in an effort to forget. But she wouldn't be forgotten. Consumed by the darkness both in life and in death, she had returned with the other entities of the house. Lini's imaginary friend, Abigail was one and

the same as Madeleine. The darkness that lived in Lighthouse had corrupted her, and now she had latched onto Leani for who knows what purpose. Hearing all this, it was too much to bear. While I stood there captivated, fingers digging into my palms when it was playing. Once the recording had run its course, I ran from the dark room. I bounded up the stairs, through the pantry and the rest of the house, straight outside, leaning against the ancient

red oak tree. I was sick to my stomach. I hadn't eaten all day, so nothing came up with bile, and it burned my throat, as if my body was trying to expel what I had just learned. I looked back to the house. I saw the man in the hat standing in the window on the third floor, in the same place I had first seen him all those years ago. He smiled, knowing that he had helped expose me to a secret that the family had tried to forget.

I couldn't stand it anymore. Lighthouse was a stain on the soul of the world, and I had to get away. I had to keep my family away, to keep them safe. I would move to the ends of the earth if I had to, and keep moving to stay ahead of the man in the hat and whoever else the house sent for me. I ran. I ran back to my car, and when it didn't start because it was still overheated, I kept running. I ran until I eventually found my way back home days later, and hucked my son until

Chris had to pry me off. I was never going back to Lighthouse again. But that's not how it works, does it. On that day in it was thirteen years since my father died, thirteen years since Lighthouse had claimed another soul, and it was hungry again. But the house was patient. It bided its time until the moment was right. It reached its tendrils into its next victim, continuing to claw its way inside until finally I snapped. On a

cold winter's day in, I came back to Lighthouse. Seven years had passed, and though I swore never to return, something tragic happened that caused me to break myself imposed exile. Leaney was dead. Lighthouse, Chapter seven. Lighthouse never left my mind. During those years away. I stayed in contact with my sister, more so than I had previously. I had gone dark for a few months, but called the house late one night check on her. Thankfully it was her that picked

up the phone and not my mother. I wasn't sure I would be able to face her after I left without saying goodbye, but Leni was always thrilled to hear from me. Since my mother was somehow intercepting her mail, we decided on an alternate route. I would establish a PO box in Leni's name in town, away from my mother's overbearing eyes, where I would be able to send

her letters. Lenie had already established a habit of long walks, disappearing from the house for hours at a time, so mother was never suspicious of the days she visited the post office to receive our secret communications. Most times her letters were a childlike the way I had come to know her. But other times it was as if my sister had an air of clarity about her, like the fog in her mind cleared and she was herself. She seemed normal, normal for her age. I mean, those letters

were more coherent focused. It was incredible. But unfortunately, these moments came and went quickly, and she always reverted back to the way I remember her being. So it went for years. We traded letters secretly back and forth. I spoke of my family in the outside world, while she wrote innocently of her long days spent within the house. Of color she had painted her bedroom, how the flowers were growing in the garden, how the ocean was rough

that day. She never complained, but there was always a hint of sadness in her letters, maybe even regret, regret for not leaving Lighthouse and regret for me not being in her life. More from her letters, I could tell my mother was demanding much of her and often treated her as a child. It was as if they were both stuck in a perpetual state of when Leni was

still a young girl. This point was driven home, even more so by the drawings she sometimes included, similar to that birthday card she gave me all those years ago. I often begged her in my letters to come visit, to get away from Lighthouse and from our mother, but she always ignored these requests. Those last few months, her letters grew shorter. There was less about her comings and goings, and more about how happy she was that I was having a good life. These were worrying, of course, as

she seemed to be drawing inward. I tried to follow up each of these with a phone call, but most of the time they went unanswered. All this was concerning, to say the least, and I doubled my efforts to invite Leny to visit us, or at the very least, start seeing someone. I sent a letter detailing my concern, asking her to spend Christmas with us, a letter which went unreturned. This was sometimes common, as getting to town and away from mother did not happen as much as

she would have liked. But when the next letter, and then when after that went with no response, I grew more worried. I spent many sleepless nights thinking of her, often waking from a nightmare that would not let me fall back to sleep. In it, I saw the lighthouse, the dim glow atop it, steadily growing brighter and brighter again, until I could see nothing but the blinding brilliance emanating from it. I received the call a few days before Christmas.

It was from an old friend from high school, when I kept in contact with sporadically over the years, who was offering her condolences. I was confused at first, thinking that she perhaps had dialed the wrong person, but she soon realized that I was not yet informed and broke down telling me the news. Lenny had gone missing a few days before. She had left lighthouse to go grocery shopping alone. Since the weather was inclement, it wasn't until two days later that my mother, coming out of a

drunken stupor, realized that she had never returned home. The police searched the town and surrounding areas for her, but to no avail. There was no trace of her, no, no, nothing, until her body had washed up on shore a few days later. Eventually, the police found her jacket in the lighthouse. The prevailing theory was that she climbed to the top and jumped over the edge of the bluff to her death, down to the ocean below. As I listened to my friend tell me the story, I was in a state

of shock. I gripped the phone in my hand until my knuckles turned white and my teeth ground against each other. When she ended the connection, I stood there, my mind trying to process all that she said, until it all weighed down on me and I could not hold it together any longer. I collapsed. I lost all track of time. Chris found me there much later, furious at me from missing several phone calls and for not picking up Kevin from school. And when the initial shock of her death

finally wore off, the anchor set in. I was furious with my mother for not letting me know Leni was dead, let alone missing. I was furious at Leni for not reaching out for help during the time that she so desperately needed it, But most of all, I was furious at myself for not being there for her, for not making a better effort, and for letting this happen to begin with. I tried calling my mother for further details on arrangements, but like usual, the phone just rang and rang.

I eventually mustered up the guts to call the funeral home in town and got the details from them. The service was happening the next day, so I quickly packed the bag and once again I found myself back on the road to Lighthouse. Chris wanted to join me to provide the emotional support that I so desperately needed, but I refused. I wanted to keep both him and Kevin as far away from there as possible. The snow was

coming down heavily by the time I made it to town. Thankfully, I did not miss the viewing, as there wasn't one. Apparently the result of her jump was too grisly for one. But I drove as quickly as I could to make it in time for the service. The roads were slippery, making my progress slow, but I pulled into the cemetery just as Leney was being loaded out of the hearse and toward her grave site. Bracing myself against the cold, I pulled my coat tight or on me and climbed

out of the car. The wind was bitter, assaulting my face and making my eyes tear immediately. My shoes were not made for these conditions, but I trecked a few inches of snow on the ground as the minister's voice drifted towards me. He began his eulogy to an empty audience. My mother sat solemnly in her wheelchair, the only soul in attendance. I walked up beside her, placing my hand on her shoulder, but she didn't react. Instead, her eyes

were focused on her daughter's final resting place. The minister spoke of Leni as if he hadn't really known her at all. He said she was a happy woman, living of fulfilling and rewarding life that went through a rough patch, but now it was in a better place. I could have laughed, if not for how sad I was. My own thoughts drowned him out. As I continued to blame myself for what had happened. I couldn't help but feel like it was my fault that Leanie was dead because

I didn't do enough to help her. The tears began to flow as I considered how I could have taken her away from this place ages ago, given her a better life, one that was not marred by lighthouse and are past. Would that even have been possible? Was she so far gone by then that it wouldn't have mattered anyway. It wasn't until my mother began to wheel away that I realized they were lowering the coffin. She grabbed a

handful of dirt and tossed it on the casket. She rolled away toward a limousine waiting for her, and I watched her go without saying a word to me. I thanked the priest for his kind, if untrue words, and dropped my own handful of dirt into Lini's grave. With my mother gone and me on my way back to my car, they didn't waste any time in starting to fill in her plot. Each shovelful of dirt striking the casket was like a knife through my heart. A period

accentuating the end of her chapter. I got in my car and watched them as they worked. It was grueling, especially in this weather, but they looked like a well oiled machine working together to get it done, with the snow swirling around, giving everything in the area a natural white coat. I didn't notice the little girl standing beyond them at first. She was wearing a short white dress that made her blend into the scene. Her pigtails were the only splash of color aside from her eyes, which

were focused on Leni's grave site. I was concerned at first because she wasn't wearing a coat, which in this weather it could be the death of anyone. But then I saw she was holding onto a teddy bear, one that looked very familiar. There was no question about who it was. It was Abigail paying her last respects to Lenie. I drove away before she finished Lighthouse will return after

these messages and now back to Lighthouse. Since my mother did not acknowledge me at the funeral, I was ready to drive back home to Chris and to Kevin, to the life I had made away from this wretched place. But despite her cold shoulder, I knew my mother was hurting, especially now that she was alone I made my way back to Lighthouse. The falling snow made it seem less menacing, but the familiar feeling of dread reared its ugly head

as soon as it came into view. My plan was to pay my respects to my mother, see if I could set her up with any help, and get out of there as soon as possible. The limousine that had taken her from the cemetery was leaving the gates as I pulled up to them. I envied the person behind the wheel as they were leaving Lighthouse behind a speck in their rear view mirror. I parked avoiding a gla said the third story window, afraid that the apparition of

the man in the hat would be there to greet me. Instead, I focus solely on the front door, and I went inside to get out of the unpleasant weather. At least it was warmer here, the only thing going for it. With the door shut behind me, the silence of the house was striking. If it wasn't for the limousine I saw dropping my mother off, I could have sworn no one was home. I didn't bother to call out for my mother as she rolled into the main hall, bottle

of scotch in hand. She continued on past me, content to ignore my presence until I called out to her. When I did, she stopped, but didn't bother to turn around to face me. Instead, she merely tilted her head back in my direction. What do you want? She said. I didn't know what to say. I came here to comfort her, to help her through a difficult time, and she was treating me this way. I came to say goodbye to Leni, I started before she cut me off,

and you did. Now what do you want? She still wouldn't look at me, and it was clear that I was keeping her from her busy schedule of getting so drunk she forgot how sad she was. I don't want anything, I told her, I just want to be there for you. She turned her wheelchair around so she could finally look me in the eyes. Why now, you weren't there for me, and you weren't there for her, so why bother? Now? Go home? Tara. You made it clear you didn't want anything to do with us, and now I don't want

anything to do with you. She turned again, wheeling herself out of the room before stopping once more. I left some things for you upstairs in your room, she called over her shoulder. Take them, leave them. I don't care, but after that, I want you gone. I was speechless, standing there, all alone in a house I hated, with a mother who hated me. The tears began to form, but I held them back. I didn't want to give

her the satisfaction. Instead, I made my way upstairs, anxious to see what she left so I could get out of there as soon as possible. I stood in the doorway of my old room, my eyes searching every corner before entering, just to make sure there was nothing lurking in there. My eyes fell upon the bed, where a cardboard box was waiting for me. My name was scrawled across the side hastily with a black marker, and when I opened it, I could tell she haphazardly threw things

inside to rid herself of them. There were a few things from my childhood and there, including my old camera, the one I had found in the dark room all those years ago. Sitting on top of it was the very first photograph I ever took with it, the one from my twelfth birthday, where my parents and Leany sat around the table eating cake. I took it out studying it, and while I remembered my father wandering off to the study shortly after it was taken, I also remembered being

happy in those few moments. It was the last true memory I had of all of us together as a family that I enjoyed. That moment was marred, though, by the appearance of a dark shadow crossing my father's face in the photo. Whether a flaw of the camera or a harbinger of things yet to come, it cast him in a darkness that reflected what was invading his soul.

Placing the photo aside, I reached deeper inside the box and felt something soft, pulling it out, I saw it was a teddy bear Abigails, the one Leonie had grown so attached to, despite my aversion to it all those years. It was the only real piece of Leanie. I had. The bear, and Abigail had meant the world to her, and now here it was discarded. I pulled the bear close to my chest and sat on the bed. I could fight the tears no longer, so they flowed freely.

I cried and cried until I tired myself out so much that I fell asleep. I awoke hours later, my room as dark as the night outside. I jolted out of bed, unsure of how long I had slept and wanting to get out of there immediately. I grabbed the box of things and ran down the stairs. The house was dark and quiet still. The only sound drifting through the air was my mother's gentle snoring. I opened the front door and was immediately battered by the cold winter

night air. It had gotten worse than the time I was out. My car was covered, and I did my best to clear its windshield so I could see. It. Took a few minutes to actually open the driver's side door, but once I was able to, I threw the box inside and followed suit, wasting no time. I turned it on, thankful for the blast of hot air that was to follow shortly, and shifted into drive, pressing lightly on the gas pedal. The car didn't move fine, I thought, it

just needs a little more gas. I applied more pressure to it, but still nothing. The car tried to lunch forward, but the snow was piled too high, not giving way. I cursed loudly, hitting my hands against my steering wheel and anger before trying again. Still the car did not move. My eyes looked ahead traveling down the driveway, and I realized it was rootless. The storm had blocked me in for the night. I was stuck. I cursed again, hating that I was going to be forced to stay the night,

and placed my head in my hands. I leaned against the steering wheel, frustrated and wondering what I was going to do despite the night, my car was suddenly filled with light. I looked up, hopeful that it was a snow plow making a path for me to leave this dreadful place. Instead, the light was coming not from the driveway, but from off to the side, closer to the ocean, from the lighthouse. The glow from the top, the one

that haunted my dreams. It was there, beckoning me. It was brighter than I had ever seen before, so much so that I had to use my hand to shield myself from it. And as it grew so bright reflecting up the snow that I felt it was going to blind me, started to fade away until it was nothing at all. The dark of the night returned, leaving me terrified. It was getting cold and I needed to get back inside before I froze of death. Out there, I opened the car door, ready to make a run for the

front door. When the light returned, it grew brighter and brighter again, illuminating everything it touched, making me want to scream and terror. But as I watched it go bright, I understood what was happening. There wasn't a mysterious light atop the lighthouse. It was a lighthouse itself, despite sitting in neglect for over seventy five years, it was somehow operational. Confused, I stood transfixed, watching the light go round and round again,

calling out to the night. I wanted to run back to the house, wanted to hide somewhere under the covers and wait for the first light so I could call for a plow so I could get back home. But I knew deep inside that wouldn't happen. I knew that the things in the house would not let me be and would come after me, assaulting my senses all night

long until I did something. I bundled my jacket up tighter and made for the lighthouse, It's light illuminating my path, my only hindrance being the mounds of snow that I trudged through. Though it was not too far from the house itself. The weather made my journey long and arduous, and by the time I reached the clearing where it stood, sweat dripped off me. Despite the cold. Long ago we would play here in the shadow of the lighthouse and

never once paid at any mind. We were forbidden to go inside, and with the door padlock shut, we didn't bother to try. But now the door was wide open. A flickering light invited me to step inside. I was eventually going to have to anyway. It was also freezing outside, and I wouldn't last much longer in the cold. I stepped in and instantly felt a wave of heat, despite the weather outside. I shrugged my coat off a bit and looked around. This bottom floor of the lighthouse was

mostly barren. On the hard concretes at a few old wooden boxes rotting from the inside out. A melting candle sat on one. A large, frayed length of heavy duty rope, the kind of big ship might use to tie itself to a dock, sat on the floor. The end looked like it was hacked off to whatever it was originally attached to. A spiral metal staircase was attached to the wall, winding its way up to the very top of the lighthouse. There was a vague hint of a heavy, intoxicating smell

as well, gasoline. Perhaps. I looked up, hoping to catch a glimpse of what awaited me up there, but there was not much to see. The stairs continued upward into the darkness, but ended a few stories up when they disappeared into another concrete level. The wind howled outside, battering against the walls, but beneath that sound was something else,

something unearthly, something whispering. Much like the voice I once heard coming from the vents, I could hear someone calling out to me from the upper level of the lighthouse, It's words mixing in with the wind. I didn't want to obey, but I found myself doing so anyway, perhaps out of a morbid curiosity. This place had been closed off to me my entire life, and after all this time, I deserved to know what secrets it held. I took the candle from the box, thinking it was left for me,

and began to climb the stairs. I went slow at first, my strength still weak from the trek through the snow, But as it returned to me and I felt more confident that the stairs were sturdy enough not to collapse under my weight. I went faster, much like the light itself. Round and round I went, circling the cylinder shape of the building to the top. The higher I climbed, the

louder the whispered voices became. Their words became less distinguishable and more cacophony of sound, and such a chill through me. But still I continued. There are a few times I passed small windows along the stairs, looking out to the outside world. At first they showed me actually what I expected. The beacon from above lit up the massive grounds of lighthouse, filled with snow as it continued to fall from the sky and droves. But as I got further up, looking

out the window revealed a different scene altogether. The winter weather seemed to melt away. Before I reached the next floor. I took a quick glance out the window and was surprised by what I saw. There was no more snow, no more winter. Instead, it resembled a cool summer's night. But I had no time to ponder that. Now I was at the top. Another candle flickered above me, joining my own. As I took the final step off the staircase, I found myself in a small room just below the

very top of the lighthouse. Though the room was dark, the other candles sat on a table pushed against the far wall. I thought I was alone at first, but then a shadow shifted near the table, and I realized someone was sitting there. His face was heard by the darkness of the room, but he turned to face my direction. Who are you, I asked, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he stood I asked who he were, an edge in my voice, but still he remained quiet. Instead, he took

a step towards me, and then another. On his third his face came out of the darkness and into the light of my candle. It was the man in the hat. Lighthouse were returned after a word from our sponsors, and now lighthouse continues. The man in the hat came for me, his long strides crossing the room in no time at all. He was upon me, ready to strike, and then he didn't. Instead, he walked right past me toward a cabinet attached to the wall. He opened it, pulled out a bottle, and

walked back to the table. I called out to him again, trying to figure out what I was doing here, what he was doing For that matter, but instead he ignored me. I walked over to the table, where I watched him sit and cork the bottle before taking a swig of whatever it was. I went to grab his shoulder to make him face me, but instead my hand went right through him. Confused, I moved closer and waved my hand in front of his face instead of acknowledging it. He

continued to drink. For some reason, he couldn't see me, and now that I thought about it, he was walking. I had never seen the man in the hat walk before, but here in the lighthouse he was more human than I had ever seen him. The walking and not being able to see me, the winter weather, no longer being out the window, I had a sinking feeling that I

was no longer where I came from. As crazy as it sounded, I was seeing something else, perhaps a memory of the past, an impression of an event that came before. I watched as the man in the Hat, in his human form, continued to drink right up until he drowned every last drop of the bottle. I saw a pain in his eyes, one I had never seen before, and all those other times he had appeared to me, it nearly broke my heart, if not for the fact that this was a man who had terrified me throughout my

entire life. He abruptly stood again, walking back to the other end of the room. He stood before what I had earlier thought was a chest, but was actually a small bed. I got up to join him, looking at what he was seeing. Sleeping in the bed soundly was a beautiful woman. The man in the hat looked at her, his right hand, finding his left spinning a ring that was there a wedding ring. The woman in the bed

was his wife. He looked at her longingly and leaned over to gently brush some hair away from her face. After he did, he kissed her forehead, and she smiled in her sleep. Despite the darkness of the room, I could see a tear fall from his eye. Still leaning over her, the man in the hat took one of the pillows from beside his wife's head and forcibly put it over her face. She didn't struggle at first, then she did. She tried to get up, but he held

her down, held the pillow in place. She kicked and clawed, her screams muffled by the pillow he held against her. As the man in the hat continued to cry. My brain wanted me to do something, but my heart knew it would be useless. This was in the past, it had already happened, and even if I wanted to do something, I couldn't. The ordeal went on for far too long, and I grew more uncomfortable watching it play out before me.

But I could not look away. My eyes were fixated on his actions, his remorse, and her struggle to break free. Soon her movements subsided, and then she went limp. He held the pillow there as if to make sure that it was over, and when he realized it was, he let go. He sank to the floor, his head in his hands, and he sobbed loudly. The man in the hat he killed his wife. But why he didn't look like he was consumed by the darkness like my father was. Why did he do this despite the fact that he

had just murdered his wife. I wanted to console him and was about to when he stood again. He went to another cabinet and took out a rope from inside, one that looked very similar to the one I saw downstairs. The man in the hat wounded around his wrists, tugging testing its strength. Satisfied, he tied a noose with it. He strode past me towards the staircase, and I followed. I expected him to walk all the way to the bottom, but instead he stopped a few steps below the ceiling.

It was here that he reached out over the edge of the railing toward a hook attached there. It was originally intended to help hoist large, heavy objects up to the small apartment above us, but now he seemed to have a more sinister purpose for it. He wound the rope around the hook, tying it tight. He left a length of it out, giving it a bit of slack, before taking the noose and wrapping it around his own neck.

The tears falling from his eyes, I gasped as I watched him take a step over the railing, and then another. He stood facing the hook, his back toward me, and held on. His sobs echoed, bouncing off the bottom floor and back up toward us, along with something else, whispers much like the ones that lured me up there, but somehow more sinister in their intent. I thought it was my imagination at first, until my eyes looked down to

the entrance to the lighthouse. The shadowy thing was there, coming up the stairs, making straight for the men in the hat. It lunged in and out of the walls, stretching them into unnatural shapes and sizes in a desperate attempt to get to us. The man in the hat saw it coming for him and readied himself. I could do nothing but listen as I heard him speak only two words, forgive me. With that he let go, his body falling from the railing, plummeting down to the floor below.

I watched it slow motion as the shadowy thing leapt out straight into the screaming open mouth of the man in the hat. It forced its way inside him. As he fell, his skin pushed and pulled in every direction, much like my father's had. The rope ran out its length, and when it pulled taut, I heard a sickening snap. His neck had broken, and while for most that would have put an end to it, but for him it

only made it worse. I hurried down the steps to get close to him, as if my mere proximity would help comfort him in some way, but it did nothing but a nerve me. His body convulsed as a rope pulled tighter his lungs no longer receiving oxygen. He struggled for air, but none came, and his black is consumed by the darkness, bulged out of his head. His neck bent at such an angle that I could almost see bone.

I wanted to reach out, just to let him know he was not alone in those final moments, but I couldn't. Soon he stopped struggling, and I watched as the life left his eyes. The man in the hat was dead. I ran from the lighthouse down the stairs, faster and faster, as the world outside the window turned from a clear summer night to a winter wonderland all over again, the sun rising over the Atlantic Ocean. When I reached the bottom, I looked up, I found that the body was gone.

I hurried back toward the house, my mind racing why was I meant to see that? What did it mean? And who was showing it to me? A pain in his eyes, the way he tried to complete his task before the shadowy thing arrived told me everything I needed to know. Killing his wife had been a mercy, saving her from being consumed by the darkness of the house, and his own death was a lastic effort to escape it as well, but the darkness had taken him in

his final moments, claiming it another life. With the lighthouse no longer showing me a vision of the past, the glow from the top was gone, thankfully, the sun coming over the horizon lit my way. When I arrived back to my car, I saw that at some point during my journey to the past, the road had been plowed. Who knew how long I was stuck in that vision, but who cared? I was free, free to leave this place again. I didn't bother to say goodbye to my mother.

What could would that do? I wasted no time in leaving lighthouse that day. As I drove away, I glanced in my rear view mirror, watching the house receipt there. I nearly drove off the road when I saw what was on my porch. I could see Leny standing there on our left was a little girl, Abacail. They both smiled me as someone stepped out of the darkness behind them.

It was the man in the hat, not the one I had seen earlier that evening in the lighthouse, but the one that had stopped me in my entire life, the one consumed by the darkness. He smiled as he took Cleany's hand in his own. His message was clear. She belonged to the darkness Now. Lighthouse is a production of I Heart Radio and Bamford Productions. Chapter seven featured the voice of Ali Trasher, written and directed by Jeff Himbuck audio engineer, ring 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. M