Our First Stop

A Story by 01morepage

After an eerie encounter with a mysterious tour guide, we embark upon a dark and haunted adventure. How did we meet? What does he have to gain from showing me this? How will it ultimately end?

Would you pretend with me for a moment? Yes. Pretend. Surely it’s a word that you have outgrown and thought you would never use again. Nevertheless it is undoubtedly an activity that we all have participated in and still know how to do regardless of our age. Some of us quite well, actually. But for a moment, humor me, let’s pretend we can fly. Yes. Fly. There’s a few places that I’d like to show you.

Visit with me, if you will, a place that is as beautiful as it is horrific. You see it, just there, situated on that island, standing stoic and proud? Why, it’s a lighthouse of course. We are in Maine and there are quite a few, but none quite like this one. Let’s steal a closer look.

Ah, yes, here we are. Shh. We must be quiet. They will hear. Who? The permanent keepers of Seguin Light of course. Let’s see how they’re getting along.

'It is quiet enough for even my thoughts to echo. I have to do something to put my restless mind at ease.’ It was just an excuse to do what she already knew she was going to do. She always does the same thing on nights like this. When he's had too much to drink and has fallen asleep leaving her alone with her thoughts on this island prison she was thrust upon and forced to call home.

‘It’s the silliest thing! Who would ever want to live in a lighthouse of all places?’ She crossed the room on bare feet, her flowing silk nightgown trailing behind her. She slid into place on the cedar bench and shivered against the cold. She let her mind wander for a moment, recalling the lessons with her mother when she was a child; as strict as she was, she loved the time spent with her. She couldn’t be sure, however, if it was reciprocal.

She let her elegant fingers glide across the ivory keys as she began to play, piercing the silence with beautiful music. Soon the soothing sounds of Für Elise filled the air as her thoughts continued to run. It never helps but at least it’s no longer so quiet.

'She's playing that goddamn piano again.’ He thought as he awoke with a resounding headache. Nursing his hangover would be impossible with this 'incessant noise' ringing out into the night. Anger and rage took a stronger hold of him with every keystroke until he could hear them all individually as if they were thieves robbing him of his very sanity. Time slowed and the banging ricocheted inside his skull. He blinked and winced in pain to every note.

'This has to stop.’ He put his hand on the granite block wall to brace himself and stand. Once steady, he began his decent down the winding stairway, a death-grip on the railing. 'The same f*****g song over and over again.’ Once he reached the bottom, he was in the main room, with her. Blinded and mad with rage he staggered past his wife, past the wretched piano that she ‘threw a f*****g fit to have moved here.’ He made his way for the front door, all the while, recalling the arguments that thing had caused. Out to the old maintenance shack.

It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for. With ax in hand, he crossed the dewy lawn once more. 'This will be the last of that goddamn thing.’ He paused upon reaching the door. Here he took the time to contemplate as to whether he would enter loud and boisterous or if he would sneak up behind her and scare the s**t out of her when he smashed the thing. This was a sweet moment for him and the prospect of having being rid of the vile object for good was exciting.

He entered under the cover of song. His slow, calculated footsteps masked by the last time Für Elise will ever plague him. He crept up to her back and she was none the wiser. She played. A little closer. She played. He raised his ax above his head. She played.

He brought it down swift and hard. With so much force that it split her head and part of her torso in two. Her blood sprayed him in the face, filling one of his eyes and getting into his mouth and beard. It sprayed across the top of the piano and spilled out of her flooding the white keys that she was now slumped upon. The ax was still lodged in her. The long wooden handle protruded from her upper back, blood trailing down it and dripping onto the floor behind her stool.

The chaotic symphony of keys being mashed under the weight of her lifeless body echoed for a moment followed shortly by a new, quieter sound. Pit. Pat. Pit. Pat. It quickly formed into a puddle that began to run toward his boots. He looked down at this and took a few steps back. Taking in what he had done.
He kept backing up a couple of steps at a time. One muddy boot behind the other. Shaking his head in disbelief. Back, until he bumped against the wall at the base of the spiral staircase. There he fell on his a*s. During this, he never took his eyes off of her body. He stared at the grisly scene as if he was being forced to look.

A thunderclap shook the foundation and rattled him from his stupor. He bolted up the stairs on rubber legs despite being completely sober at this point. He took in his hand the bottle of cheap whiskey that he had passed out with and drained it into his mouth with two long gulps. Shaking violently, he struggled to light a cigarette. He was striking his third match when he heard it, ringing out downstairs, filling the main room, spilling out into the night once more.

'No! No! This can’t be!' He still had her blood smeared on his face and it was even still warm. He frantically scrambled up another flight of stairs to the balcony above. Upon reaching the railing, he heard the piano stop abruptly. There was a few seconds of silence followed by the tattletale creak of someone climbing the steel staircase. He listened in shock, terrified as it progressed. Closer. Creak. A few seconds. Creak. Louder. He finally managed to get a match to light. Creak. He took one big unsatisfying drag from his cigarette before throwing himself off of the tower to fall to the flagstones that waited below. Silence once again reclaimed the night.

Now, then, I’m sure you’re ready to be on your way. We must leave here anyway. We’ve seen all there is to show you. They do the same thing every night. It’s quite a tedious routine for these two. Do you have time for one more? Of course. The hour is late. Perhaps tomorrow night. Until we meet again. Never stop pretending, my friend.