Marcus vomited over the port side of the small lobstering boat.
"Jesus boyo, we're only fifty yards from shore!" cried Captain Merle.
Marcus didn't know that when he took a rookie position in Stoneport, it meant that he was tasked with joining Captain Merle on his monthly expeditions to monitor the buoys, traps, and jagged rocks of the town's Atlantic shoreline. They'd have to untangle old fishing line whenever it was wrapped up on a trap, or cut a fish or two out of those plastic canned six-pack binders, maybe yell at some teens stealing from lobster traps. Today was different though; it wasn't one of the normal monthly trips. Today they were headed out to Stone's Light, a lighthouse of indeterminable years on this earth.
"Sorry Captain, I'm still not used to it. Don't have my sea legs yet, I guess."
"No bother apologizin'. It's not tremendously far off. Just keep aiming that flood dead ahead."
Marcus held in his hand a strong floodlight, used in attempt to cut the thick fog which densely occupied the cold coastal grey-green waters. Merle was better on these waters than even the police dive team (which in reality was just one officer who had passed his SCUBA certification over in Beverly). Nobody else could manage the maneuvers it took to avoid the massive stones that jutted from the ocean. Many a ship had gone down; no loss of life in years, thanks to Captain Merle, but many dollars worth of ships had been lost off that coast. There was even an area where the navigator needed to avoid a sunken ship's mast, as the tip came to just about three feet below the surface. If you didn’t know where it was, you were likely fresh out of luck.
The fog was oppressive. It clung to each and every thing that attempted to pass through it. It was a great gray beast spinning a clouded web, and anything that became ensnared in it was in danger of being lost to the sea. Marcus kept on, holding the flood light as low as he could to get underneath the fog instead of simply illuminating it, making it harder to maneuver. He would falter in his light-holding only when he choked on dry heaves that came at random. The sea wasn't particularly choppy, but it was rough enough to have Marcus already exhausted from all the coffee he had promptly thrown up before it would take effect.
Marcus heaved particularly hard as the Captain turned the boat quickly to avoid the underwater mast, as it was barely visible until the last possible moment. Captain Merle saluted the unseen wrecked ship as his own passed around it safely.
Marcus asked "How much further you think?" as he dry heaved painfully on he last word.
Merle chuckled, "Not far, buddy. They really didn't tell ya as a rookie this type-ah thing is on your docket?"
Marcus shook his head from side to side while his eyes burned with an annoyed glint that made Merle laugh. Marcus smiled slightly, knowing his place, and he took in a deep breath through his nose, letting out an exasperated sigh. He had only taken this job because he lived here for a couple years as a child. He was only ten or eleven at the time and his parents had moved here because they wanted a quiet place which they could easily commute to their jobs in Boston, about 30 minutes away. When they yearned for a less sleepy town, his parents decided to move a little closer to the city and Marcus never went back to Stonesport. He often thought however, of its rocky coastlines and warm summer nights as a child. When he was fresh out of the academy, Stonesport PD had an opening, so he leapt at the chance to come back to his childhood stomping grounds. The fog these days seemed more prevalent than he remembered, but he couldn't rely on rose-tinted childhood memories. Fog was likely there when Marcus was young too, he just had no reason to really notice it. Almost nothing had changed over the years, both for good and bad; the town was still beautiful and still sleepy.
"Alright hold the light as still as you can, won't be long now," said Captain Merle
Stone's Light sat atop a small island off the coast of town, more a large grassy rock, really. It was one of the few still left that had a keeper living there. There were quarters at the base of the lighthouse for a keeper and family to live, but this keeper had lived alone for years.
Now, the reasoning behind this early morning expedition into the fog wasn't an everyday one; the light had gone out around midnight the previous evening and two boats had already radioed in saying they'd been involved in near-misses with rocks since. Since Captain Merle was best on the seas, and rookie Marcus went with him on the monthly coast checks anyway, they were both tasked with this mission.
Captain Merle navigated the jagged coast of the island with the deft precision of a man half his age. Marcus was always impressed with the captain's skills, and it was one of the few aspects of their trips Marcus never had to stress over. The thick fog was even denser out here; they weren't too far from shore, and yet could not see the beach. All they could see was a faint orange glow from the sodium vapor streetlamps that lined the main coastal road. Marcus noted silently that it was a mysterious thing to see the lighthouse without its light aglow; it was a fixture of the community despite nobody ever going there or learning much about it. Merle's wife ran the local historical society and knick-knack shop (consolidated to a single building) across from the main beach, and the lighthouse was on each and every postcard she had ever sold.
They adjoined the small dock and stepped off, both laying anchor and tying the boat securely to the dock because as the captain said: "Never know with days like these."
Marcus radioed into shore to let the mainland know they had just arrived and docked. He then let training take over as he surveyed the surroundings. He could barely see ten feet out into the ocean all around the island, which was about the size of a football field. It was dark this morning, in large part due to the fog, so they both popped on their flashlights. Marcus zipped up his uniform jacket, and simultaneously Captain Merle wrapped his scarf around his neck another time and adjusted his knit cap. They looked at one another, silently nodded in agreement, and began walking toward Stone's Light itself.
The lighthouse was aptly named, as it was entirely of intricate stonework. On a sunnier day, one would be astounded by the brilliant craftsmanship and attention to detail it had taken to erect such a breathtaking and old structure. As today was merely dreary and sad, the structure seemed quite ominous to Marcus. He could just barely see the tip of the lighthouse as it faded into the sea mist when he looked up. Marcus was getting his equilibrium back to normal the more he walked. He sucked in deep breaths of the ocean air, although he noted that the surrounding atmosphere felt a little off to him, almost as if the air itself had gone stale. He chalked this thought up to his early morning haze and the fact that he was likely now quite dehydrated from throwing up his breakfast back on the boat. Although his rational mind currently took precedent, Marcus couldn't shake the slight unease he felt since footfall on the island of Stone's Light.
Captain Merle, however, was a cool summer breeze. He casually walked alongside the stiff police officer with a calm stride, even lighting up an American Spirit, although with some difficulty due to the damp wind. The captain had been here more than most people, but still not much. It took a lot to shake the captain; he'd seen men tossed overboard by rogue waves, hands sliced damn near clean off by netting ropes, and even once a man fell to his death from a crow's nest on a ship he had been first mate on, years ago. Captain Merle took long puffs of his cigarette, keeping it cornered in his mouth, deep in thought. Marcus didn’t notice, but Merle was beginning to feel shades of unease creep forward from the dark recesses of his mind as well. Of course, he showed no signs of this apprehension; after all, you don’t survive all those years at sea by showing all your cards.
They neared the lighthouse in complete silence, as the fog seemed to dull all noises around them. They approached the reddish metal door which was surrounded by ornate stonework. Marcus was about to knock on the door when Captain Merle let out a small and inquisitive "Hhmph".
"What is it?" asked Marcus.
"Don't remember all this," replied the captain as he ran his hands across the beautiful masonry that was the door frame.
The stones were carved with beautiful curving lines and reliefs in odd shapes. Some of the markings looked like a language, some of it looked a bit more scenic, like strange landscapes. Marcus too, ran his fingers across the stone, admiring the craft of the work. Captain Merle was skeptical, however.
"Been coming to this light damn near 40 years now, and granted I never was really paying much attention to it, and was shithouse drunk for much of my time here, but I swear on my boat I've never seen this before. This carving. Like Egypt or something; stuff you find on cave walls."
Marcus continued to examine the carvings, running his fingers through the stone divots and tracing them by touch. They looked almost machine-made in their precision; each line was purposeful and perfectly etched. Marcus focused on the images and tried to decipher their possible meaning, and why there were seemingly new additions to the wildly old structure. Marcus felt his eyes go blurry for a moment when the captain called out to him.
Marcus shuddered himself back to reality. "Yeah. Yes, I'm alright. What's up?"
"Thought we lost ya," Merle said, chuckling. "Looked like a 16 year old, just smoked his first doobie for a minute there."
Marcus gave a soft chuckle back but was taken off guard by his unintentional daydream; he couldn't even remember what he had been thinking about.
"Well, do we go in?" Merle asked, finishing his cigarette with one final, amber pull.
"Yeah, let's try knocking," replied Marcus. "Can you aim your light over here please? Right on the door."
Captain Merle did as he was instructed. On the seas he was in charge, but on land he knew best to let Marcus do his thing. The light bounced off the rust colored door, illuminating Marcus in a shade of red. Marcus pounded three times, loudly with the butt of his fist.
"Hello!? Anyone there!?" Marcus inquired. He followed quickly by asking the captain what the keeper's name was.
"Shit, it's uh... Phil! Phillip Dagmar."
"Mister Dagmar are you okay in there?" asked Marcus. There was no response for a good five silent seconds. "Okay Mister Dagmar, we're coming in."
Marcus pushed, then shouldered the door, neither attempt opening it even an inch.
"Well alright, then. I have a small sledge back in the boat if you wanna wait a minute I can go get it." Merle replied.
"Yeah that sounds like a plan. I'll wait here and keep knocking. Maybe he's just passed out or something." Marcus hoped.
Merle gave Marcus a skeptical glance before turning around and disappearing into the fog. He could only see about ten feet in any direction now, it was getting quite claustrophobic. That is, it might feel claustrophobic if that were a fear of Captain Merle's. Thankfully it wasn't, and Merle pressed on with confidence down toward the rocky island's shore and small dock where he boat was secured.
Merle nearly slipped on the damp wood of the dock, but his sure-footedness was still in its prime, even if his age would tell otherwise. He hopped into the boat with the grace of a much younger fellow. Merle opened the toolbox near the control panel, moving some bandages, batteries, and a flare gun out of the way to get the mini sledgehammer at the bottom of the box. After picking up the sledge, he scoffed and placed it back in the toolbox, locked it, and picked up the whole thing. Merle thought this situation may take a bit of time if Dagmar was drunk or passed out. In fog like this, the extra batteries would likely come in handy.
Merle stepped back onto the dock with toolbox in hand. He continued up the natural staircase to the island's grassy surface when he heard something that whirled him back around. What he had heard, was the heavy thud of a footfall on the deck of his boat, where he had just stood. When he turned quickly to see, he saw a splash and the boat rocking slightly, as if someone had just jumped off. Merle glanced around, sweeping his flashlight across the water. All was quiet, and Merle was finally a little unnerved.
Just some trick of the fog. And this damned storm coming in. Another Nor’easter, just wonderful! Merle began is ascent back toward Marcus and the lighthouse.
When Captain Merle had disappeared into the mist, Marcus had only tried knocking once more before deciding to walk around the base of Stones Light itself. As Marcus circled the lighthouse, he became more uncomfortable. There was something deeply wrong-feeling about walking through fog this thick. Every nerve in his body was on edge and he worried they may begin to fray soon. He truly didn't want to deal with a dead body today, and additionally did not know how they would fix the lighthouse if Dagmar was dead anyway...
Why would he be dead? What business to I have jumping to such an extreme scenario? Merle knows what he’s doing. I know what I’m doing. No big deal. The dude is probably just drunk as shit, I’d probably pick up drinking again if I worked this gig too. His flashlight barely cutting the fog at all, Marcus finished his circumnavigation of the structure just as Captain Merle approached the door.
Marcus shrugged and shook his head, "Nothing really. No movement, no noises, no nothing. You get the hammer?"
"Aye," said Merle as he placed the toolbox down and opened it, retrieving the small, heavy mallet. "The fish are jumping today too."
"The fish are jumping right outta the water this morning. I heard one jump in my boat. Damndest thing."
"Saw somethin'," Merle replied. "Somethin' jumped in and outta my boat. Fish'll do that, though"
Merle sounded unsure for the first time of the day, and Marcus noticed. After a silent moment, Merle closed the toolbox and knocked once more on the door. "Hey Phil! It's Merle O'Hare! We're coming in! Gonna break the door, buddy! We’ve gotta check on ya, make sure things haven’t gone all sideways, now!"
Merle began hammering after waiting a few more seconds, starting from the bottom hinge. He alternated prying from the top, and pounding from the bottom to get the pins out. It was harder work than he had assumed, due to years of ocean-borne rust in addition to the door being solid metal. Merle was sweating from his brow as the first pin neared its exit. After one final pound, Merle pried it out with a grunt.
A great, fearsome, almost metallic creak seemed to emanate from the lighthouse. Merle bolted upright and gripped his hammer with white knuckles. He and Marcus pivoted where they stood, searching around them for where the air-shaking creak came from. The deafening sound only lasted four seconds, but it silenced the two men for at least thirty.
"Strange time for the lighthouse to be settling, don't you think?" asked Merle, trying to sound jovial.
"Is that what you think it was?" Marcus replied.
"No idea. Coulda been the building settling. Coulda been a whale."
"Whales creak like that?"
"Well, not ‘creak’ exactly but their songs can be less melodic than you'd think. Nothin' spookier than being out on the drink in the pitch dark and hear one of 'em wailing away. Coulda been that. Maybe," said Merle, shrugging.
Merle pounded out the next hinge pin while Marcus braced the door from falling. They got it off its frame with some difficulty, leaning it against the outer wall and found themselves staring into the lighthouse's main room.
There was nobody there. The room was an entire home all crammed into one continuous space: the living area with a television, phone, and couch bled into the kitchen and bedroom indiscernibly. The only separate area was a bathroom which housed just a toilet and standing shower. After shining their flashlights around from outside the entrance, Marcus and Captain Merle stepped inside.
They moved slowly and carefully, for no reason other than that they were nervous. Merle went over to the bedroom area to look through the blankets and make sure Dagmar’s corpse wasn’t pickling to the mattress. Marcus walked toward the kitchen area, looking out a window where he saw only fog.
Merle picked up the cordless telephone and looked at the call history. "Hasn't made a phone call in almost a week."
Marcus nodded in silence and opened the refrigerator. Inside, there was a half-full gallon of spoiled milk, some yogurts, and an assortment of old-looking vegetables. The freezer held just an ice cube tray and a small partially full bottle of vodka. Marcus closed the fridge and made his way toward the stovetop and sink.
“Hey,” said Marcus, gesturing toward the bottle and raising his eyebrows.
Merle grunted as if to say “Yeah, maybe,” and flung the sheets from the bed and peered underneath, half expecting to see Phil Dagmar under there, dead or passed out. Instead, he saw strange indentations on the stone floor, and an unlit candle that was nearing the end its lifespan. He poked his flashlight underneath the bed, illuminating it. The indentations proved to be more carvings like the ones on the door frame. These ones were new and unweathered by the winds and sea mist. He ran his fingers over them and collected fresh rock dust on his palms.
Marcus went to the sink and looked out the window above it, looking toward where the boat was docked. It was slightly darker outside now and not simply foggy, due to the impending storm. Marcus hoped to get off the island before the storm hit; if his stomach was that bad on calm seas, he could only imagine how he'd feel on rough ones. As he pondered this, Marcus glanced away from the window and down at the sink, absentmindedly.
A crazed, bloodshot eye peered back at him through the drain. Marcus screamed out and flung himself backwards, knocking into the table and toppling two chairs.
Merle stood up from where he was laid next to the bed and ran toward Marcus, not knowing what had happened. Marcus was frantically reaching for his weapon in a panic but Merle grabbed him by the shoulders and stared into his eyes, calming him.
"Hey! Hey! What happened? What's going on?" Merle inquired.
"Someone is under there!"
"Where? What are you talking about?"
Marcus pointed at the sink. "I saw something looking at me trough the drain! There was an eye looking up at me! There’s a fucking eye in there!" Marcus stood up, shook himself off, and unholstered his weapon.
Merle slowly walked toward the cabinet under the sink, Marcus had his flashlight and weapon trained at it. Merle approached slowly, inching silently forward, creeping toward whatever was in the sink. He extended his hands toward the handles of the cabinet beneath the sink. Merle grabbed them and flung the cabinet open. Their flashlights illuminated none other than Phil Dagmar, who screamed in their faces. He looked haggard, his wild eyes betraying his unhinged mind.
Merle and Marcus took a deep breath of relief and pulled the shuddering Dagmar from under the sink. He smelled awful and was vibrating from head to toe. Marcus holstered his gun, but kept the clasp unbuttoned, just in case. He then righted the two overturned chairs, having Phil Dagmar sit down in one of them. Merle retrieved a blanket from the bed and wrapped Phil in it as he sat.
"I'll put a kettle on," said Merle, as Marcus sat across from Phil, still somewhat shocked at the situation.
Merle walked over to the sink to fill the teapot before he realized his mistake. He looked underneath, where Dagmar had been hiding. The pipes and fittings were all taken apart, presumably so Dagmar could fit himself inside. Merle stood back up and walked to the bathroom, filling the kettle from the shower head before placing it on the stove to boil.
"Philip Dagmar?" confirmed Marcus.
Dagmar was still shaking and hyperventilating as he jerked his head to look at Marcus.
"Mr. Dagmar are you okay? What's happened? What were you doing under there?"
Dagmar only shook in silence, before beginning to cry.
Merle and Marcus shared a silent look at one another before Marcus continued: "Mr. Dagmar do you know that the light is out upstairs?"
This stopped Dagmar from shaking and crying, and he looked up again in disbelief.
"I... thought it was a dream..." he said softly.
"What do you mean Mr. Dagmar?" Marcus asked.
"I had a dream... last night, I think. Fever dream.... Needed to hide..." he trailed off.
Marcus looked again at Merle, confused and already tired of this charade; this wasn't to be a quick check-up mission any more.
"Mr. Dagmar I need to talk to the captain over here for a moment is that okay?" asked Marcus, sighing. He wouldn’t get through to Dagmar.
I’m not a goddamn shrink. He’s gone loony as all hell.
Dagmar just sat and shook and mumbled to himself.
Marcus stood up and motioned for Merle to come with him close to the now permanently open door, which they now bookended.
"Well he's clearly off is damn rocker," commented Merle in a hushed tone. "What's the next move? We bring him back? Ask him about fixing the light, or what?"
"I think I should radio in. Tell them we have Dagmar, and that he's suffering some sort of... mental episode. We can see if the coast guard can sent a technician or something maybe, I dunno. Anyone else in town ever work out here on the light?"
Merle shook his head, "Nah, only Jeddy Walker but he's up at Willow Hills in a wheelchair taking pills with applesauce these days."
"Shit, okay I'll just radio in and see what they say. I want to get back to shore before this storm really hits."
Merle nodded in agreement and he walked back to the table and took a seat next to Dagmar, keeping a keen eye. Marcus walked outside to make the call.
Marcus stepped back out into the fog and noticed he couldn't even see the orange glow of the street lamps on shore any longer.
"Base this is Marcus and Merle calling from Stone's Light. I have a situation to report and get feedback on, over."
He waited with his hand on the receiver for a response. It did not immediately come.
"Repeating, this is Marcus and Captain Merle calling from Stone's Light. We've located the keeper, Mr. Dagmar and he's in a strange condition. I don't think he'll be able to fix the light himself. I need to speak to someone for some feedback on my situation, over."
Marcus turned around in exasperation when he still didn't receive an answer. Something bothered him deeply about this situation, he just couldn't put his finger on it exactly. He then noticed something on the door they had removed from the lighthouse. The side now facing Marcus was the one which would have faced inward, to the living area when the door was properly installed. Etched into the metal, was a bizarre sigil: a series of triangles, circles and intersecting lines. There also seemed to be that same odd language etched into the stonework laid out within it. It looked like a twisted family crest.
Marcus' radio suddenly crackled to life: "This is base, come in. We have a disturbance in town, I was just fielding phone calls. My bad,” said the radio.
"That's fine," Marcus replied. "Is this Officer Michaels?"
"Yes, Michaels here," the voice replied. "I didn't catch all of your transmission, can you repeat? The phone was just going off the damn hook."
"Yes we found the lighthouse keeper Phil Dagmar, but he's in an unstable mental state. We're gonna need other people to come out here and fix this light. I don't think he's up to it."
"Damn, hold on, phone again," said the man on the radio. There were thirty seconds of silence before he came back on. "I think you guys should probably come back to shore."
"Okay but what about this lighthouse? It's very dangerous, with the fog you can barely see the island ten feet away. We're gonna have a wreck on our hands sooner than later if we don't fix this."
There was thirty more seconds of radio silence before Officer Michaels came back. "Sorry anther phone call. You need to come back, there are... disturbances being reported in town and all available officers have already been dispatched, except me."
Marcus stopped pacing back and forth and asked: "What do you mean by that? 'Disturbances'?"
"First call was from the nursing home, some patient there's been going nuts I guess. Wrecking stuff, spitting on orderlies. They called us when he ripped out another patient's IV. They couldn't get him to calm down, even with some drugs. First car sent there radioed in for backup, so now two cars there. That just leaves you and the sheriff and me on duty. I gotta stay here at the radio so you two best wrangle Dagmar and come on back."
"Jesus... Fine," Marcus sighed. "We can try. He's in a state."
"I really don't know what else to tell you, man," the radio crackled. "The phone is starting to ring off the goddamn hook over here so I've got to go. Come back on the radio if you need anything else, otherwise just collect the keeper and come back here. Over and out."
Marcus sighed heavily and wiped a small amount of stressed sweat from his face, rubbing his temples afterward. He turned after taking in a deep breath, and reentered the lighthouse, glancing at the carved inner door once more as he did so. Stepping over the threshold he looked toward the table and saw Dagmar now weeping, and Captain Merle looking perplexed and concerned.
"It was a dream... She said... But it was a dream... They won't come... She just told me to..." Dagmar mumbled between sobs.
"What's the plan, Marcus?" asked Merle, sick of this shit.
"Shore says to collect Dagmar and come back. That's it."
"So we aren't gonna fix this?" said Merle, gesturing upward toward the spiral stairs. "Some boat is going to get smashed on the rocks if we don't, mark my words."
"I know, I know. I don't agree but it's orders, Merle. We have to do it. Something strange is happening on shore, I think. There's only one officer at the precinct and everyone else is on calls, apparently. Busy morning, we should get back." Marcus said, halfway happy that the plan now was just to get back to shore.
Merle looked at Marcus for another moment, and then shrugged. "Alright, I guess that's the plan."
Captain Merle walked toward the table and Dagmar, before sitting down, taking a deep breath, and adopting a sincere tone, as if speaking to an ill child.
"Okay Phil, Phil can you hear me? Phil please look at me," he said calmly. Phil Dagmar looked up from the floor which he had been staring and mumbling at, and stared into Merle's eyes.
"Phil we're going to go to shore okay? The light isn't working, and you seem a little under the weather so we can get you fixed up on shore, and then get the light fixed up out here, okay?"
"No, I shouldn't leave here. I can't leave... Need to stay..." Dagmar trailed off.
Marcus looked at Merle, who gave back an exasperated glance; both men on the same page. Merle sighed again and calmly replied: "Dagmar we should really get going, there is a storm coming and the door is off, and we need-"
Phil Dagmar snapped his head toward the door suddenly, stood up and screamed, falling backwards over his chair and writhing on the ground like a panicking dog. Dagmar scrambled away from the open doorway, shrieking. Merle and Marcus dropped to the floor alongside him in attempt to contain Dagmar's outburst, grabbing at his arms and uttering calming words as he shrieked. Dagmar was stronger than his slight frame let on, and even the full strength of both men wasn't enough to contain his flailing arms.
"What happened to the door!? Oh Lord, no! WHY!? WHAT HAPPENED!?" His last word was an extended cry that seemed to carry on the breeze coming in through the open doorway.
The two sane men were utterly perplexed as to what had just happened to make Dagmar act in such a rash and violent manner so suddenly. Marcus then thought of the sigil he saw on the door, how strange and ancient it looked, and then thought of how it now simply sat outside, leaned against the lighthouse, doing nothing. Marcus stood up suddenly in realization and ran to the doorway, bumping the table yet again and feeling his radio break off from his belt and clatter to the stone floor.
Marcus slipped and fell hard on the slick grass right outside, in a rush. He struggled briefly to regain his footing, and then grabbed the heavy metal door and picked it up with great effort. Captain Merle screamed for him from inside but Marcus was determined. He stepped one foot inside, dragging the heavy door with him, and propped it up against the doorframe, creating a makeshift barrier. He smiled and turned to the now silent Merle and Dagmar.
"See? That's better, isn’t it!"
Dagmar held Marcus' gun in his hand, sobbing quietly.
Merle stood there with his arms out in the way of "everybody stay calm". Marcus' right hand drifted toward his holster, remembering he had left it unclasped in case of emergency. The gun was gone, and this was the emergency.
That wasn’t my radio that fell off, it was my fucking gun.
"It won't work!" said Phil Dagmar, gesturing toward the propped up door. He was crying and snot dangled from his nose, falling into his mouth grotesquely. “Nothing will work! I’ve done it. I GONE AND DID IT! But it was just a dream... Just a dream... This is all... just...a...”
Dagmar placed the gun in his mouth, pulled the trigger, and spat crimson all over the stone wall behind him.
Marcus and Merle both yelled and then rushed to Dagmar. A small wisp of smoke slowly rose from Dagmar's mouth as blood poured from his nose and the immense wound on the back of his skull. Merle and Marcus looked at each other yet again, in silence. Marcus stood up and clicked his radio, still on his belt.
"Shore come in! Shore come in! We have an emergency. There's been an accident."
The radio remained silent.
"Shore come in! We need assistance! Dagmar has... shot himself,” Marcus choked a sob. “We need an evac out here immediately!"
"What now?" asked Captain Merle.
Marcus' eyes were tearing up and he felt bile creep up into the back of his throat. Captain Merle came over and placed his hands on Marcus' shoulders.
"Listen, boy. This is a hell of a fuck up. But it's not your fuck up. Dagmar was losing it. We both tried, boy. I don't know or understand what is happening on shore but out here, we know we've done our best. We came out when nobody else did, and just stepped into a helluva mess. Now, take a minute to get it together. Go puke outside, take some sea air in, and we'll try your radio again. Got it, boy?"
A couple tears silently moved down Marcus' cheeks and he wiped them away, nodding at the fatherly captain, who patted his shoulders assuringly. The captain was a good man, and Marcus was glad to have him there today. A creak and thump from far upstairs shattered the silence. Both of them looked up sharply, dread falling over them like a cold shower. They silently moved together toward the spiral staircase.
The two confused men stared straight upward, looking all the way up the staircase which led to the light itself. They were sure nobody else was on the island. They were also sure they had just heard a noise from up there.
"Just gulls?" Marcus hoped.
"I'm going up there," said Captain Merle with defiance, taking a step.
"Whoa, whoa," halted Marcus, placing a hand on Merle's shoulder. "Our orders still stand. We were told to go back to shore."
"Sorry kid," Merle remarked. He motioned toward Dagmar's corpse. "Circumstances have clearly changed. Now it's also my duty to see if there is anything I can do to fix this light, or we're gonna have a lot more bodies like Phil's here only they'll be at the bottom of the bay! I wasn't crazy about leaving before going up to check the light in the first place, and now that a man has already died today, I'm not letting it happen again. Get your goddamn pistol off the floor and come with me. Or don't. I'm not letting the ocean take anyone today. If someone is up there, and they did this, they’ll catch the sole of my boot in their shit-ass teeth!"
As if Marcus wasn't already taken off guard by each and every event which happened to him so far today, Merle had never been cross with him before, and it made him feel like a scolded child. Being a man with morals however, Marcus knew Merle was right; they had to at least check, especially now. Marcus took his gun from the ground, now one bullet lighter, and joined Merle as they slowly ascended the metal staircase up toward the unlit light.
The stairs creaked and groaned as the two men delicately climbed them, for some reason both thinking they had to stay quiet even now. As they walked the rusted stairs, they could only see a small amount of what was above them, now all they could see was a small part of the light's cap and the grey skies above it. The only sounds they heard were their footfalls on the stairwell, echoing a little as they neared the top. Captain Merle reached the top first and grasped the chain link railing which connected the stairs to the circular platform above. He hoisted himself upward with a grunt and Marcus followed. Both men stood in silence as they observed the broken light.
"Well, that's that, then," remarked Merle, sighing.
The massive light was destroyed. A fire axe hung out of its side, balancing its long wooden handle on the jagged glass, and knocking the side of the light's metal base when the wind blew strong, making a thud, the same thud they had just heard. Merle circled the light, his steps making sparkly crunching sounds as his tough boots crushed the shattered glass on the floor. Marcus was just as perplexed. To him, the evidence dictated that a person, presumably Dagmar had seemingly broken the light with purpose, although that purpose was yet undetermined. Yes, the person who had done it, was more than likely lying still and dead on the ground floor.
"So, Phil Dagmar finally goes nuts out here on his own, breaks this light, kills himself in front of us? Think that was the plan the whole time?" asked Marcus with healthy skepticism.
"I'm not sure that man had any plan at all," replied Captain Merle. "I'll tell ya one thing though, he did a number on this. Look here, there's deep gouges on this side too, he tried hitting it plenty of times before he broke the glass, looks like. We can't fix this. It’ll need full replacement, no doubt."
"Well, he definitely wanted this thing broken. Any reason you can think of why he'd do this?"
"Didn't really know him all that well. Played cards with him a few times, but never a one-on-one type thing. Jeddy Walker, the keeper before Dagmar went a little nuts couple decades ago, that's why Dagmar took over. But Jeddy Walker never did anything like this, he was just a bit of a kook after a while. His wife passed too, like Dagmar's. No kids."
Marcus turned and looked at toward the shore. The fog was thicker, but strangely he could swear that the orange glow of the streetlights was much stronger now, as if they had been on a dimmer setting before. This thought left his mind quickly however as he saw a shadowed shape on Captain Merle's boat below.
"Merle. Merle! Look," he pointed.
Captain Merle saw exactly what Marcus did. The men sped down the spiral stairs, almost tripping more than once. They made it to the bottom and sped their way across the living area toward the doorway. As they approached the threshold, the door which Marcus had leaned up against the threshold suddenly flew off and away outside with blazing speed and force. Marcus and Merle stopped in their tracks. It was as if the door had been tied to a pickup truck, and then torn off like criminals breaking into a safe. The men stood shocked and motionless, staring into the gray expanse outside, from which they heard the metal door slam down on the island's rocks, somewhere off to the right.
Marcus hadn't felt this type of terror in years, decades even. There was a summer in particular at age 12 when his stepfather must have had some really great cocaine. He would come home, red-faced and sweaty and throw things at his mother. It came to a head when one of the things he threw was a knife, which embedded itself into a wall two inches deep, about a foot away from Marcus' favorite chair. His stepfather straightened up after a brief stint in jail.
Marcus and Captain Merle listened for any sign of what had taken the door off, but only wind and waves touched their ears. Merle looked down and around the room hurriedly.
"Marcus!" he whispered quickly. "Where's Dagmar?"
Marcus' eyes flashed white with panic as he whirled around and realized Dagmar was gone. There was still a massive pool of blood which was slowly becoming tacky, and was filling the room with an air of copper.
"I don't know. It's time to leave." Merle grabbed Marcus by the back of his jacket and they walked quickly to the exit. Marcus didn't question this notion, or the fact that in doing so, Merle was undermining his authority as a police officer. Merle was guiding Marcus by from behind, like a parent dragging their child into their great aunt's den for a too-tight hug.
As they swiftly closed in on the outside, Marcus heard a small sound behind them that Merle did not. He turned his head as he was forced forward by Merle, and for a brief glance, saw the bloody legs of Dagmar's corpse, slowly walking up the spiral stairs behind them, and paying the two men no mind whatsoever. Just as he realized what he was looking at, Merle whisked him through the threshold before he could even utter a sound.
When they set foot outside, they realized it was much colder now than it was, almost freezing. Merle nearly tripped over his toolbox and knocked it over, still there from earlier. Taking the door off seemed so long ago. The contents spilled and Merle hastily tossed them back in, missing a few batteries and leaving them for dead behind them. He kept the hammer in his right hand. If the orange streetlights on the shore weren't brighter moments ago, they certainly were now. The fog was a thick burning pumpkin color as the shore illuminated it. The confused men walked briskly and toward the dock when yet another curiosity caught their attention.
Looking down the rock staircase toward the dock, they saw Merle's boat. On it, were two dark figures. The same figures they had seen from the top of Stone’s Light. They were about human size and shape, but completely black. The things appeared as though they were actively absorbing light from around them. The figures seemed to be made up of scribbles, like a child's black crayon, writhing and jerking back and forth in almost imperceptibly small movements. Writhing masses of jagged lines, trembling like television static. They vibrated where they stood. The two human men were stopped, just observing the beings with morbid curiosity.
"Hello!?" Merle yelled. He could tell they were watching Marcus and himself, but he couldn't understand how he knew that. They had no eyes, no faces, no detail whatsoever. So pitch black they looked like they were made of night.
Merle realized now that Marcus wasn't fully aware of his surroundings. He had a blank stare, mouth agape, just looking at these beings. Some police officer, the poor kid is scared out of his damn mind, Merle thought. He couldn't really blame him after today's events, though. The captain had quite enough of this situation and raised the hammer high above his head in his right hand and shouted something guttural. This somehow did seem to startle the creatures who then jumped into the water, disappearing with an eerie grace, the boat barely rocking and just a small splash for each of them. The situation seemed oddly familiar to Merle.
They made their way down the stone steps and onto the slippery dock, Captain Merle still guiding Marcus by the shoulders to the boat.
"Did you s-see him?" asked Marcus in a scared whisper.
Merle was placing the toolbox back down under the main console, but left the hammer out, laying it behind the wheel. "See who, Marcus? Those shaky bastards?"
"Dagmar. Did you see him?"
Merle sighed heavily. "Yes of course I saw him, Marcus. What the shit are you talking about? I can’t be losing you too, boy. Get it together." Merle was running out of his saintly patience. The situation was becoming more and more bizarre by the minute.
"I mean just now, as we left. Did you see him?"
"No, Marcus. I don't know where he went. Especially since he only had half a damn head when we last saw him. I don't know what's going on but just let me get us back to shore and we can figure it out with the chief. Maybe we can ask Jeddy Walker up at Willow Hills if he has any clue. If he's even talking these days..."
"That's the nursing home, right?" Marcus asked, almost remembering something that escaped him with anxious immediacy.
Merle nodded but didn't say a word as he started the engine and began disembarking from the island of Stone's Light. He had been through a great many challenging endeavors in his days on the sea, some quite bizarre, but today had a different and new feeling. Something green and ill in the pit of his intestines, coupled with something pitch and mean in the back of his mind.
Marcus huddled in the boat, clutching a flashlight and scanning the waters with restless eyes. His grasp on his own mind seemed to be weakening with every wave they passed over on the way back to shore. His first and only trip to Stone's Light would assuredly be one he never forgot, however much he wanted to. Marcus tried to see a bright side to this horrific day, in attempt to calm his frantic brain.
Wait 'til the boys at the station hear about this one. Maybe I won't have to do this terrible detail with Captain Merle all the time now.
Marcus would more than likely leave out the vomiting parts, and maybe embellish that Dagmar, in his insanity, ripped his gun from Marcus' belt with shocking strength, as opposed to revealing that he had simply slipped it out of the unfastened holster. Fucking rookie mistake... Thinking about Dagmar snapped Marcus' mind suddenly back to a shadowy place, however. That shadow seemed ever growing.
"Marcus!" said Captain Merle in a shout-whisper. "There he is!"
Merle was looking behind them, back toward the island lighthouse. Above the fog, at the top of the tower, Dagmar was standing against the railing, staring out at them. Blood still trickled out of his mouth, floating upward and into the sky and dissolving, unimpeded by something as earthly as gravity. Dagmar's face was screwed up into a grimace which laid somewhere in between sadness and malice as he loomed above and away from Merle and Marcus like a ruler over his kingdom.
A few splashes made both men whip their heads forward once again. In front of them, standing on the bow of the boat was another all-black figure. It simply stood, making no noise and no movements, other than the odd constant vibration. Both men were startled enough to yelp and Merle fell over onto his backside, knocking the tool box over. The figure took a step toward them as Merle felt around for his hammer. Marcus was frozen in place, utterly useless and nearly insane with fear. The figure took another step forward.
"Shoot it Marcus!" demanded Captain Merle.
Marcus didn't even twitch, entirely transfixed by what he was seeing. He did not move a single muscle. Merle saw his hammer, it was still on the front dash of the boat, too close to the being to obtain safely. He shifted his weight backward and found his hand touching the contents of the tool box: batteries, flashlight, some screws, nails... and the flare gun. Merle gripped the rubberized handle of the gun and confidently swung his arm forward, bringing the figure into his sights. He took aim with the confidence of a Captain, and pulled the trigger.
The flare shot out with a thudding pop and flew directly at its intended target, striking it high on the chest, near what could be considered the thing’s neck. The flare was blinding for a couple seconds, and then dimmed quickly. What was once illuminating the entire boat and the water around it, was now merely a candle light flickering in the thing’s darkness. The blackened being seemed to envelop and absorb the light. The flare did not shed light on any detail on the thing. The being remained completely made of pure dark, like a living black hole. Merle was aghast and out of ideas. The dark figure then suddenly pivoted and jumped back into the ocean. It felt to Merle that they had been simply surveyed, examined even.
Merle turned around to see Marcus standing up again, looking with a shocking intent in the direction of shore. Marcus squinted to focus on the distant sand through the thick fog, and took in a sharp breath.
"What, Marcus?" asked Merle.
"Something has happened. I think we did something."
"How do you mean? Why's that? What could we have done, boy?"
Soon enough, Merle had his answer.
As they neared the beach, the fog became less dense, and they could now see the orange shoreline. Now, however it was lit not by the streetlamps, but a large bonfire on the beach. The men could see from the corners of their eyes more creatures walking out of the ocean and onto the shore, as if there were stairs built especially for them. They would calmly exit the water, and then take off with immense speed in a seemingly random direction, as if compelled. Whenever Marcus or Merle attempted to look directly at this firelit event, they couldn't quite see the figures directly. When their eyes tried to focus on them in the firelight, the figures would disappear. In their peripheral vision however, they observed hundreds exiting the bay, in mere minutes. An invasion. The Normandy of the End.
Merle ignored the main dock and instead approached a smaller one, closer to where the bonfire was located on the sand. He looked at Marcus who still stared wide-eyed at the chaotic and ethereal happenings on the beach. Merle turned his gaze toward the street beyond the beach and noticed two crashed cars, one into a stop sign and the other halfway inside the post office, over the sidewalk and through the front window. They heard a scream, seemingly female coming from deep within the town somewhere. They'd never find where it came from. The fog was clearing, but it was only replaced by the smoke of the enormous bonfire.
Merle pulled up alongside the dock, jumping off with haste and tying the boat down. Marcus was still standing on deck, transfixed by what he was seeing. Merle couldn't believe it either, but his years at sea taught him that awestruck panic only led down dangerous paths. Merle jumped back into the boat and grabbed Marcus by his shoulders as was almost customary at this point, nearly nose-to-nose with him, shaking him violently.
"Marcus! Snap the hell to attention boy!" Merle bellowed into his face, his storm gray eyes boring deep into Marcus'. "You are a police officer. Something insane is happening and people need your help. I need your help, Marcus! Right now! COME ON!"
It worked to a degree, Marcus’ eyes looked alive again, but terrified beyond comprehension.
"But what do we do!? How can we help anyone!? We have no clue what's happening! Have you seen anything like this!? Ever!?" replied Marcus, finally coming to grips a bit.
"No, Marcus I don't think anyone has ever seen anything like this," Merle said. "But we have to try. We have to. My wife is still somewhere in town, and we need to get you back to the police station. There is a lot going on that I don't understand right now but we can't just give in. Haven't yet after all this time and I don't plan to now. We’re better than that."
Merle let go of Marcus' shoulders and turned around, grabbing his hammer, the flare gun, and the single extra flare, putting it in the pocket of his slicker. Marcus was crouched down taking deep breaths, only standing after regaining some composure and balance. They climbed out of the boat and stood on the dock, turning toward the shore to observe the event. Dark figures were still emerging from the black waters and sprinting off in random directions, the fire still blazing away, casting the orange glow which once came from only the streetlights.
It was magical. Hypnotizing, even. Merle had felt this way once before, when he was on the offensive during the war. Under cover of night, his squad leader had silently tossed a torch into the camp of their sleeping enemy, burning some alive. They had shot the others as they tried to escape. There was something inhumanly attractive and disgustingly invigorating being a witness to real, stark violence like that. Merle had honestly thought he'd never feel that way again. He had hoped, at least. Merle felt his mind drifting as he stared at the beachfront invasion. His vaporous thoughts moved to the dark corners of his mind where he sent bad dreams and rotting memories to stay like misbehaved children. His mind had just now let everyone out of punishment. A swirling enigmatic mass of those thoughts, angry from years of ignorance, burst into the forefront of Merle's mind and he could no longer see anything.
He was so alone. Alone in a void of hatred and anonymity. Merle seemed to float into the abyss...
Marcus was yelling and moving quickly toward Merle, who was on the ground, and bleeding a little. Marcus took aim and shot twice more at one of the beings who had snuck behind Merle, touching its hand to his back, poisoning his mind. A burst of black scribbles exploded out of the being with each connecting bullet and it shrieked at Marcus aggressively before jumping back into the ocean, presumably to heal in retreat. Marcus had now recovered from his brief journey into near-catatonia, and when he saw Merle fall down with a vacant stare and the thing touching his back, he knew the same thing must have been happening to him earlier on the island. A sort of nauseous and dark trance. He had noticed the dark figure approaching Merle from behind, with one bony, black finger extended and vibrating. Maybe it was his policeman's training, or maybe it was that he had grown to enjoy Merle's company as a father figure in this small and lonely town, but something had made Marcus reflexively unholster his pistol and open fire at the figure. Almost immediately after the bullets struck their target, the hypnosis-like effect on Merle had lifted. Marcus could see a slight murky blue-green cloudiness leave Merle's eyes as he sat up on the ground, wiping away some blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. The men looked at each other yet again; today had been rife with concerned glances.
Marcus helped Merle to his feet, which for the first time today he seemed unsteady on. There they were: two men, standing confused amidst what seemed like the apocalypse. Marcus still held his pistol at the ready, watching the creatures. None dared approach them again yet, and were still darting this way and that, spreading like a virus through town.
Marcus noticed a strange looking man, holding an impossibly black umbrella walking down Main Street, seemingly uninhibited by the surrounding chaos, almost refreshed by it. Merle saw the figure with a vague recognition, but then recognized someone else, closer, who was approaching them out from behind the humongous bonfire. It wasn't long before they had both forgotten the umbrella-holding man, who spun and tiptoed out of their view and down a side street shortly thereafter.
The man who Merle recognized was wildly old-looking, like a wizard or a Greek philosopher out of a painting. Even as he slowly and defiantly walked toward Merle and Marcus, this man exuded a bizarre wisdom they both somehow felt in their chests. He exuded something else too, something seemingly repellant to the dark beings still racing out of the waves. The things would emerge from the sea and upon nearing this man, recoil in annoyed pain, some of them growling or swiping their black scribbled claws at him, before running in a different direction. He paid them no mind as he walked. Marcus trained his weapon on the man suspiciously, looking at Merle from the corner of his eye, noticing he was deep in thought. The random old man's presence made the already mind-numbing scene even more incomprehensible. Who was this person, walking amongst the chaos, unbothered? As the old man neared, Merle noticed his face was screwed up and scrunched full of rage. Merle connected a few dots of recognition in his mind and uttered:
"Jeddy? Jeddy Walker? Is that you?"
Marcus lowered his gun as the old man approached. The old man had rage in his eyes. Marcus was confused, and then remembered. Merle had mentioned him as the previous lighthouse keeper, years ago. Jeddy Walker.
The beings were still blasting forth out of the swells, which were becoming larger as the storm rolled closer to shore. The trio knew the real storm was already here, though. None of the darklings approached the three men now, though, they only continued their frantic sprints off toward some unknown destination, destruction on their minds.
Jeddy stared holes though Merle and Marcus. His wizened eyes were kind but angry, like when a parent is upset. The men were silent, only the noises of the storm and the bonfire swirled around them. It was oddly quiet considering all that was happening. The dark skies glowed orange by way of the fog and bonfire. More of these light orange spots, were popping up around town, further inland. Their glows punctuated by the thin streams of acrid black smoke which soon rose from them into the sky. Fires, probably a dozen or so throughout town. Suddenly the silence was broken with a statement from Jeddy that both explained everything and nothing. Jeddy took a deep, haggard old man's breath, held it for a moment, looked at the mentally battered Merle and Marcus, and then:
"Which one of you damned fools put out the light?"
