The Angry Benevolent Face in the Skies

Benton Cross graduated Summa cum laude with a degree in Maritime History from Old Dominion University. Soon after, he sought a publishing house or the financing to self-publish a book titled The Graveyard of the Atlantic. For almost a year, Benton mailed query letters and submitted his premise for a book highlighting shipwrecks and the supernatural in and around the eastern sea coast of North Carolina. For weeks, the postal service delivered multiple rejection letters. Finally, a small Mom and Pop publishing company headquartered in the Ozark Mountains expressed interest and pledged to publish the book, promote it and provide five hundred hardback copies for $5,000 upfront. For a recent college graduate, this amount was out of the question. The book, "Shipwrecks, Survivors, and the Spectral," would remain a dream as he focused on research.

For generations, residents of the Barrier Islands of North Carolina insisted a lighthouse keeper's diary existed and documented personal eyewitness accounts of passengers rescued at sea. Individual excerpts touted blinding lights, mournful wails and even a floating face in the angry clouds prior to the boats splintering and sinking. After a considerable amount of digging, Benton identified a family living in Cape Hatteras, long thought to be the current guardians of the diary.

The Monroe clan served at the Chicamacomico Lifesaving Station and the family line had performed numerous sea rescues over the past century. Every time a ship broke up or issued a mayday, the Monroe's launched boats and pulled survivors from the ocean, arriving on scene long before the Coast Guard. The family religiously jotted down eyewitness accounts from those saved. The historical ledger, passed down from one generation to the next, was considered priceless. After making initial contact, Benton received an invitation to the Cape and was welcomed to examine the contents of the diary. On a warm Spring day, Benton rented a convertible, and with top down, drove half-a-day to visit the family and review the priceless artifact.

Leroy Monroe greeted Benton with a warm handshake. "Welcome to the Chicamacomico!" he said, heartily.

Benton smiled. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate the opportunity."

"How 'bout a tour?"

Benton nodded enthusiastically.

Leroy pointed out photographs of survivors huddled around a bonfire. One display showed pictures of debris washed up on shore. One black and white photo of a child's shoe, memorialized the owner lost at sea. Benson swallowed back emotion as Leroy shared story after tragic story. "Now, enough with the tour...how can I help you Benson?"

"I'd like to examine the lighthouse diary."

"Ah yes, the diary," Leroy smiled. He crossed the floor and sat down at a large oak desk. He pulled a tiny key from his pocket and turned the lock on the bottom drawer. He reached in and extracted the worn leather journal and handed it to his visitor. Benson settled into an armchair and carefully opened to the first page. A date appeared at the top of each entry, starting in 1871. Every date coincided with a ship running ashore or sinking in the barrier islands. Some entries shared multiple quotes from survivors; others shared nothing but a date and the name of the ship, signifying all lost at sea.

The entry from August 8, 1918 intrigued him. The passenger ship Proteus collided with a Standard Oil tanker named Cushing in the dead of night. The only survivor, a crew member, recorded these poetic thoughts:

Beneath the waves and frothy foam,

Rests mighty ship, Proteus,

Before she sank, an angry face,

The fear of death now seized us.

A light flashed bright, the Captain cried,

"Abandon ship and swim."

If lost at sea, my hope, my plea,

Is Life you'll enter in.

Benton paused. An angry face, he thought. Could this be the legendary Spectral? Benton skimmed the book, noting several entries referencing a menacing face in the stormy skies prior to disaster. Benton paused and looked at the lighthouse keeper. "Leroy, have you ever seen the face?"

Leroy swiveled in his chair to view the ocean from his desk. "The most recent ships to sink out there were intentional. Those boats are being used as artificial reefs and habitats." He spun slowly to look at his guest. "But my grandfather saw the face...on several occasions. In fact, when he saw the face, he ordered the lifeboats to get ready, expecting a distress call at any moment. The face in the sky scared the passengers onboard, but that face actually helped save countless lives."

"Can you explain it?" Benton asked.

Leroy tamped tobacco into his pipe and struck a match. "Not exactly," he said, puffing a ring of smoke. "Some believed it was a demon of the sea; others, the face of God warning about sailing too close to the rocks...either way, it saved lives. And to me...well...saving lives is an act of benevolence. I doubt if the devil is much in to charity. I wish you luck on your book."

Benton photocopied select entries and thanked his host for his time. Leroy encouraged Benton to take a stroll on the beach before heading home. Benton wound down a rocky and worn path blazed by countless heroes before him. On the beach, Benton studied the shore and the rocks responsible for the sinking of hundreds of ships. In the West, he noticed a storm brewing; thunder rolled in the distance. The billowing clouds painted temporary pictures of horses, dogs, and dinosaurs. A ship appeared briefly on the horizon sailing safely clear of the rocks and shoreline. Then, the form of a face materialized. Benson stared in awe as the face locked eyes with his own. Benton stood transfixed. The phone buzzed in his pocket.

"Benton Cross."

A cheerful voice greeted, "Hello, Mr. Cross. My name is Jan Cordova with Greenlight Publishing."

Benson's heart raced. "Yes...hello," he stammered.

"I'm interested in your book..."

Benson heard little else as he stared at the face in the clouds and smiled. He thought to himself, "Maybe it is the face of benevolence after all."