Back before I started poetry, for a short time I wrote short stories.
I haven't written a short story in almost ten years, so I thought
I'd give it another shot again, after having this weird dream.
So this story was all an actual dream I had just few days ago.
I woke up one night after having this dream, I thought it was
the weirdest dream yet it intrigued me to write it into a story.
This story is that dream with every detail I remembered from that night.
The Lighthouse Witch
By: Adam M. Snow
The sun was setting on the sea; I was alone wandering for inspiration.
I might've searched days-on-end, but all I found was nothing.
I was just about to give up hope when an old rugged building had
caught my eye. It was an old lighthouse and it appeared to be abandoned.
It was built on a small mile long island, just a few miles off shore.
I had to get a closer look; it had tickled my fancy.
The raging sea feared me not, as I climbed into an old rotten row boat.
I rowed the best I could, against these crashing tides; the smashing
into rocks had caused me to capsize. I held on for dear life, as the
waves guide me to that island shore. I passed-out there for a bit,
just few minutes' tops. I awoke soaking wet, I walked to that lighthouse.
Believing it was empty, I had to take a closer look inside. I walked to
the door, but it was sealed shut. I walked to the wrapped around stairs,
to the first window open. I poked my head in, and saw an old woman there.
She was wearing an old rugged gown; from her waist down and her arms, was
skinny like that of a skeleton, she held a book to her chest. I thought
nothing of it, perhaps she was ill. “Pardon me?” I said, “I'm terribly
sorry, I thought this lighthouse was abandoned.” I wait for a response,
but heard nothing from her. So I left with haste; but I was just few
feet from that lighthouse, when I saw an old Civil War hand cannon lying
before me on the ground. As I went to pick it up, there arose a loud
thundering bang.
I didn't realized, that there were others on this island before me.
As the fog cleared, what I saw was impossible. Their were several
hundreds of people, getting ready to fight, and all of which worn
Civil War uniforms. “Was it not two thousand and twelve?” I thought
to myself. As they waged on and clashed into combat; I watched from
afar, confused and without a thought.
I was surprised when two souls approached me, one a female in red coat
and the other a male in blue. “What is this place?” I asked them.
“Hell.” was their response. “But how?” I said with questions flowing
from my tongue. “T'was the witch of the lighthouse.” they said,
“She holds dear a black bound book; in it, names of souls this island
once called.” I was still confused by all that had happened.
I turned my eyes from them, and looked towards that old lighthouse
once more. It had sparked my curiosity, and I had to see that
witch once more.
I left those two behind, as they did not try to stop me. I walked
up to that lighthouse; again I walked up those wrapped around
stairs, and again I peaked into that window. I saw her standing
there, although it had appeared that she did not move. I lifted
my head and gazed in what I thought to be evil eyes, instead had
found nothing but sad and loneliness. I couldn't help but feel
sorry for her; I tried to hold back those feelings. I reached
for that book which she held dear to her chest; but the even
more impossible had happened.
It had appeared my hand had gone straight through her and the book,
as if either I or she was a ghost. I looked upon her eyes once more,
a thought then struck me. She was not a witch, but a ghost of a
lost soul; she was someone wishing for her love to return, but this
lost soul's love was lost at sea. She was afraid of loneliness and
not knowing that she was trapping souls upon this island. Now that
I know the truth of her, what of my fate is now left unknown.
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