Did you like this story?
- Yup.
- Nope.
0 voters
For English, this was an assignment. Enjoy.
—Wendy McAlisterMiss CullenPeriod 6 English 10 Honors
Far on the most isolated part of the seaside town of Bar Harbor in Maine, a lighthouse resided, where unspeakable terrors were rumored to take place at. I asked a few locals, and they all responded with a different story of how a monster stole their children, injured their friends and family, or stole the town’s most beloved individuals. I was determined to get to the bottom of this mysterious case, so I rented a room with two well-informed locals, Ana Cooney and her fiancee Darian Huph, and another fellow investigator, named Jim Tulloni. On the first night, Jim and I conversed with Ana and Darian on their observations of the Bar Harbor Lighthouse. Below is a transcript of the conversation, as well as My collegue Mr. Tulloni’s notes:
TRANSCRIPT OF LIGHTHOUSE ANOMALY, TYPED BY WENDY MCALISTER(30 October 2009 at the Seaside in, late evening)
Jim:(places notes and portfolio of the Lighthouse Case)Okay, you two, let’s just get acquainted first, and then we can talk about what we really came here for.
Ana: (agreeing amiably)I’m all for that.(extends hand to me) Hi, I’m Ana. I’m really…well, I guess I can’t say I’m plaesed to be here, but I’m pleased to meet you.
Wendy:(accepts handshake firmly, returns to typing transcript)
Ana: And this is Darian, my fiancee. (gestures towards Darian. He says nothing. As if prompting) Darian? Sweetie? These people need our help to fix this lighthouse problem, and we need them to stop the madness.(almost hysterical) So say hi!
Darian:(mumbling) Hello.
Jim: So, what are all the incidents that have happened here supposedly because of the seaside lighthouse?
Ana:(flustered) First, seven sheep were killed. And that was just the first time! The current number of livestock murdered at the epense of that lighthouse is forty-seven!
Jim: How long have these occurances lasted?
Ana: Three years. But our town officials think the legend began centuries ago, and only now have problems arose.
Wendy: How about other accidents?
Ana: (turns away to gare at Darian, as if expecting hism to speak. He doesn’t.) Ahem…the statue at the center of town was stolen and never returned…eight children broke their arms simulteneously…Honestly, the list goes on and on, and the coincidences are too great to ignore. The town is still wondering what kind of monster could be capable of-
Jim: (irritated) You understand that we called you to help with this case because you are the only ones in this town aware of the fact that this couldn’t be out of superstitious myths surrounding the lighthouse?
Ana:(as peeved as Jim) I understand that. (pauses, leans toward Darian) Please say something!
Wendy: (changing the subject) So describe the latest incident to do with the light house in detail, please.
Ana: (straightening blouse, fixing hair) Well, this one affected us directly, see? I’m still a little jittery remembering it…
Darian:(placing reassuring arm around Ana comfortingly) Don’t worry, I’ll start the story off, alright?
(Ana nods, placated.)
Darian: Our phones had constantly been ringing ever since the election for our town representatives had started…And so I was determined to stop the automated calls once and for all. I stormed over to the phone the next time it rang and picked it up to give the caller a piece of my mind. Except…no one was on the other end…suddenly our house…(pauses) First the phone caught on fire, which is odd enough, them the air around Ana and I became strong with the scent of gasoline and smoke.
Ana:(upset)We evacuated immediately.
Wendy: Any other cases of arson on the street? Any valuables missing?
Darian: No. But everything that didn’t burn was remarkably…intact. As if the house would still be livable with just a roof and if we still had whatever had burned down.
Jim: I think that’s enough for us to form a hypothesis for these occurances for now. Let’s turn in for the night.
Theories of Conversation with Darian Huph and Ana Cooney, October 30th, 2009, regarding the Bar Harbor Lighthouse in Maine, written by Jim Tulloni 8:49pm, inside our suite at the Bar Harbor Ocean View Inn
First impressions of transcript: Ana and Darian seem extremely nervous, as if possibly hiding something? Might have to request to search their house for evidence of accidents associated with the lighthouse.
An approved search of the house yielded nothing. Ana and Darian were appalled that I suspected them. My partner Wendy suggested we try to visit the site to examine up close. While Ana and Darian had never considered the theory and congragulated Wendy immensely, Wendy remained unassuming, and doubtful that the couple were guilty of the calamities tied t the lighthouse. I, however, stand firm and suspect
I suppose we’ll have to trust them for the time being, because they are apparently the only locals that possess unbiased intellect of the case. They also know a way to reach the lighthouse in question. Upon further inquiry, no one else in town has knowledge of a possible route to the lighthouse. We’ll be arriving there tomorrow for inspection.
File of M.I.A. inspectors Wendy McAlister (intern) and Jim Tulloni (investigations specialist):
Last seen: Maine, Bar Harbor. Final documents delivered of investigation from Bar Harbor light house case Monday, November 2nd, 2009. Enclosed document (author: Darian and Ana Huph) explains, vaguely, of their last case.
Whereabouts still unknown, if deceased, we will have lost a great expert and budding intern.
As we reached the lighthouse on a lightweight kayak, Jim and Wendy eagerly stepped out to unearth what they called “logical explanations to rural myths”. The two took notes of some rock formations and quickly found a way inside the building. We followed.
The inside of the lighthouse resembled an average household, only much grayer and drearier. The furniture obviously hadn’t been tended to in years, and many wall were sagging, the wallpaper faded. Unshaken, the inspectors led on.
Occasionally, a shadow resembling an animal’s tail, but much larger, would slither across the gloomy windows, adorned with hazy curtains. The windows were open, leaving a chilly sea air to give us all goosebumps, in case we weren’t already frightened.
Jim ran up the stairs, a bit unprofessionally. He returned moments later with a portrait of a young lady wearing funeral attire, a mess of stringy hair cascading down in front of her face. Her stare was piercing.
It took a while for Wendy to regain her senses to scrutinize the picture, frame and all.
“It stands to reason…” she began, “that the people assume a witch is at fault for the danger. Is she in the room upstairs?”
Jim shook his head. “But I didn’t check the dark room down the hall.”
Wendy led the way up the stairs to the ominous room. Both Wendy and Jim entered the room, but Ana and I stayed put. We watched the curtains wearily for another glimpse of the sillouette of a sea monster-esque tail, but no sign of it.
Suddenly, we heard a scream. Bolting through the door, we found Jim lying facedown on the ground, gasping for air, but Wendy was nowhere to be found. Ana and I searched, but by then we had lost sight of JIm, too.
It might be of little value, but Ana told me later that during the moment we returned to the dark room in the hallway, when Jim was missing as well, she had seen what she describes as a “dark-feathered, bird, dirty and violent, swooping down off the windowsill.” What was unusual about it, she says, is the size. She claims it was big enough to carry a dog in its claws.
Or perhaps kill a person.