The Witch, the Light Keeper

Looking through the small window at the base of the lighthouse, Abigail dreamed of a life she could never live. She spent each day watching whatever moved: the comforting rise and crash of waves on the rocks, migrations of birds, or ships on the horizon. Abigail always wondered what life would be like aboard a ship, only when she saw one she knew it would soon be gone.

“Abigail!” screamed the witch. “The light is forever! Get to work now!”

Abigail’s mother was a witch. She controlled the lighthouse. She was obsessed with the lighthouse; she was obsessed with the light. First was the way it filled the lantern room, as if God was present. Then there was its authority. Its control. Its ability to control the path of ships. It decided the fate of each one. Upon seeing the witch’s light, a sailor’s fate was sealed. Not a single soul had ever made it back to land after seeing its mesmerizing glow.

Without a word, Abigail moved to the stationary bicycle. Sitting in the centre of the ground floor, the bicycle was the source of all energy for the lighthouse. Wires strung up to the beacon, making Abigail something of a puppet when she sat on it, pedalling day in, day out. She was the slave, the witch her master. Only now, as Abigail prepared to turn thirteen tomorrow, were things about to change. It had been decided that at thirteen, she would begin operating the beacon.

* * *

The next day Abigail woke with dread. A small slice of cake lay on her bedside table. A note left next to it said: Enjoy a free day. Meet me in the lantern room at nightfall.

It didn’t matter much for Abigail. She ate some bread then took to pedalling. Doing more now just meant doing less later. It was good, she figured, to be on the bike whenever possible.

“Understanding the power of the light is perhaps the most important thing when becoming a light keeper,” explained the witch once Abigail met her at midnight. “Aside from the illusion, of course.” She whispered a spell, then the rocky cliff attached to the lighthouse disappeared. Calmer waters took its place.

In front of the tower, a ship became visible on the horizon. A sailboat, big enough for no more than two people.

“Then, you shine the light,” said the witch. Abigail flicked a switch. The beacon came to life, along with an evil presence.

“Like this?” Abigail ventured timidly.

“Exactly, illuminate the waters for their sweet travels. Show them the way!” The witch cackled.

Abigail swung the light toward the calm looking waters, where the impregnable cliff once sat. The two waited for the ship to pass through. As it approached the lighthouse, the sailor became visible. He was a lone traveller, looking eagerly ahead as he navigated his path. He waved toward the lighthouse, representing his gratitude for revealing a clear path through the rocky region.

Upon entering the light the man’s expression changed. Perhaps the light was a little brighter than it should have been - the man wasn’t sure. Squinting ahead with uncertainty, he questioned the calmness of the water ahead. Then, looking at open waters surrounding himself, the man crashed suddenly into an invisible rock. The small sailboat shattered like glass upon impact with the cliff face.

Now the spell had worn off, the cliffs becoming visible once again. The witch cackled and Abigail’s heart raced. They watched the sailor immersed in aggressive waters, he gasped for breath, the waves thrashing him around relentlessly. Suddenly he was thrown against the cliff face. What fell back was now a corpse. Lifeless. In a matter of seconds it was gone forever. Only parts of the ship remained.

“A flawless execution,” exclaimed the witch. “I’ll never let anyone pass through my territory. You know that right?”

“Yes, Mother,” replied Abigail. “I will never let you down.”

* * *

Over the next few months, Abigail developed her work as a light keeper. She learned all the spells, perfecting the art of illusion. She never challenged the witch’s orders and all ships that appeared on the horizon weren’t ships for long.

Abigail was not okay. She always knew something was wrong, and now she knew what it was. Supporting the witch was one thing, but controlling the light herself was too much. There was an emptiness inside her, and it was getting bigger. Looking out from the top of the lighthouse only increased Abigail’s desire to explore. She dreamed of travelling on a ship, of leaving the lighthouse. With her powers in illusion increasing, she knew this was her key to leaving. Even if only for a brief moment, she decided she’d finally feel what it’s like to be on a ship on the open sea.

Under a full moon, Abigail finally made her escape. A modest looking sailboat appeared on the horizon. She flicked the light, three short, three long, then three short, signalling S.O.S. She casted an illusion on all windows of the lighthouse, covering her tracks in case the witch was watching. Then, she made her escape as the ship made its way toward the light.

Arriving at the bottom of the spiral staircase, she stopped to take a breath of relief. Then, she bolted outside with haste, ran down to the dock, and met them in a rush of distress.

“Miss! What’s wrong? Are you okay?” asked the sailor. He was on his own.

“Please, take me with you,” replied Abigail. “Quickly! I’ll explain on the way.” Her distress created no time for debate and before she knew it, she was on the ship and departing from the docks.

For awhile, neither one said a word. Abigail sat on the deck, watching the lighthouse come into full view as they moved away from it. From afar, its evil demeanour became shockingly apparent.

“You’re the first person to live after seeing the light,” said Abigail, breaking the silence.

“What?” The sailor was confused, immersed in the shining presence of the girl.

“It’s the witch’s territory. The light is an illusion, it lures all the ships then they crash along the rocky cliffs. I’m her daughter.”

The sailor didn’t know how to react, so Abigail proved herself.

“Look over there,” she said, pointing to the side of the ship. “Clear waters?” Then, whispering a spell, she revealed a cliff face. It towered overwhelmingly close to the ship, instantly showing the sailor she wasn’t playing around.

“I’m Abigail,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Winston,” replied the man. “I set sail last month. I’m been attempting to find undiscovered land in the west. I know nobody’s ever done it, and now I think I understand why.”

Throughout the night the two talked endlessly. Abigail learnt of life on the mainland, of work and of play. Winston sensed the magnetism of this girl. She had lived a suppressed life, her intelligence and creativity trapped inside. At sea she was happy, her sense of fulfilment finally rising. Only, she soon became trapped under fear of the witch.

“I need to go back,” broke Abigail, out of nowhere. “I’m not ready to leave. My mother needs my help and she’d be worried when she finds out I’m gone.”

“She’s a witch,” said Winston.

“If she realizes I’m gone, there’s no telling what she’ll do with her powers. She could very well catch us.” This spooked Winston. He felt the gravity of her situation was a terror he could never imagine.

“I see,” he replied. “In that case the very least I could do is leave you with a gift.” Winston entered the ships cabin, coming out a few moments later with a small necklace in his hands. It held a beautiful seashell, a pristine white, symmetrical, and with smooth grooves.

“This necklace was my mother’s before she passed. May it remind you of your adventure. I hope this can become your reality one day.”

Abigail took the necklace then gave Winston a long hug. He set his sail back toward the lighthouse. Few words were exchanged on the way back. Then they had arrived. Casting a spell once again, Abigail disguised herself and the ship as she returned to the island.

“Thank you for everything,” said Abigail. “I wish you the best of luck on your travels.”

“Till we meet again,” said Winston. “Take care.”

* * *

The next morning, Abigail woke tired but ready to work. She got ready then met the witch in the lantern room.

Instead of a greeting, the witch studied Abigail. She moved head to toe. Then, the witch froze, her eyes fixated on Abigail’s neck.

“Where did you get that?” she questioned.

“I, I…” Abigail couldn’t let any words out; it was no use.

“You went outside?” Rage boiled within the witch. “You left the lighthouse!?”

For a moment, a confusion took over. The witch sat in silence, seemingly in a trance. She didn’t know what to do. Then she was screaming. The scream grew louder and louder. Objects flew around the room. It began pouring rain. Thunder crackled in the sky. Now she was rising, levitating ever so slightly. Then, a burst of sound and air. Abigail was alone. She knew the witch had retreated to her quarters. The worst was yet to happen.

Abigail made her mind, cursing herself for ever returning home in the first place. Alone at the top, she fixated herself on the beacon. It had never done any good, its gleam a pure evil.

Without hesitation, Abigail destroyed the light, smashing it with her boots. A darkness took over, comforting in its truth. Running down the spiral staircase took longer than it should have. She worried she’d never reach the bottom. Finally, reaching the bottom, she took a breath of relief.

Abigail bolted outside, running aimlessly. There was nowhere to go. Then she spotted a dinghy on the dock. It was from Winston’s sailboat. Tied neatly and hidden respectfully, in hope the witch would never see it. Abigail hopped in, untied it and began paddling. Her only desire was to be as far away as the menacing lighthouse as possible.

Waves challenged Abigail’s determination. Soon she was soaked from the splashing. She grew fatigued trying to stay afloat. Leaving the lights on the dock, she became enveloped in darkness. All alone, Abigail began to cry, curling up inside the little dinghy, which rocked violently with the waves.

Abigail stopped. She heard silence. The waters had calmed and her boat steadied. She opened her eyes. An aurora of light surrounded the ship as if daytime existed inside it. It was then that she found the source of the light. It was the witch; her mother. Her eyes were a solid white, the light a source inside her, no longer fuelled by the tower’s beacon. The mother’s green skin was no longer green, her hair no longer dark and ratty. It was possible her beauty alone was the source of the light.

“Hello Abigail,” said her mother. She gently floated down, gracefully landing on the deck of the ship. “I’m free,” she cried. “I’m free from the beacon.”

Abigail’s mother watched her with an expression she had never seen before. It was like she had recovered from an injury, a lifetime of suffering. The two saw each other for the first time. There was little need for words. They shared a long hug. Then they set sail.