June 2, 2020 • 35 mins
The darkness feeds...but also reveals a secret.
Light House is a production of iHeartRadio and Bamfer Productions.
Chapter 7 features the voice of Aly Trasher
It was written and directed by Jeff Heimbuch, audio engineered and scored by Kori Celeste, assistant engineered by Alex Gona, and executive produced by Holly Frey
Questions? Comments? Email us at [email protected]
Learn more about your ad-choices at https://www.iheartpodcastnetwork.com
See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
Lighthouse is a production of I Heart Radio and Bamford Productions.
Lighthouse revealed a secret to us that warm summer's day
in nineteen eighty six, one that began to make the
pieces clicked together. When that recording ran out and the
real to real player was left spinning an empty spool,
my mind reeled from the revelation. My father had a sister,
(00:24):
a sister that had died in the very same room
he was. In a way, it was almost poetic, if
not horrifying. But this sister, Madeline, also was a race
from the family's history. Thinking back, my father had never
spoken about her. Even the painting in his former study
excluded her from the family portrait. She was the secret
(00:44):
shame whitewashed away in an effort to forget. But she
wouldn't be forgotten. Consumed by the darkness both in life
and in death, she had returned with the other entities
of the house. Lini's imaginary friend, Abigail was one and
the same as Madeleine. The darkness that lived in Lighthouse
had corrupted her, and now she had latched onto Leani
(01:06):
for who knows what purpose. Hearing all this, it was
too much to bear. While I stood there captivated, fingers
digging into my palms when it was playing. Once the
recording had run its course, I ran from the dark room.
I bounded up the stairs, through the pantry and the
rest of the house, straight outside, leaning against the ancient
red oak tree. I was sick to my stomach. I
(01:29):
hadn't eaten all day, so nothing came up with bile,
and it burned my throat, as if my body was
trying to expel what I had just learned. I looked
back to the house. I saw the man in the
hat standing in the window on the third floor, in
the same place I had first seen him all those
years ago. He smiled, knowing that he had helped expose
(01:49):
me to a secret that the family had tried to forget.
I couldn't stand it anymore. Lighthouse was a stain on
the soul of the world, and I had to get away.
I had to keep my family away, to keep them safe.
I would move to the ends of the earth if
I had to, and keep moving to stay ahead of
the man in the hat and whoever else the house
sent for me. I ran. I ran back to my car,
(02:12):
and when it didn't start because it was still overheated,
I kept running. I ran until I eventually found my
way back home days later, and hucked my son until
Chris had to pry me off. I was never going
back to Lighthouse again. But that's not how it works,
does it. On that day in it was thirteen years
(02:33):
since my father died, thirteen years since Lighthouse had claimed
another soul, and it was hungry again. But the house
was patient. It bided its time until the moment was right.
It reached its tendrils into its next victim, continuing to
claw its way inside until finally I snapped. On a
(02:54):
cold winter's day in, I came back to Lighthouse. Seven
years had passed, and though I swore never to return,
something tragic happened that caused me to break myself imposed exile.
Leaney was dead. Lighthouse, Chapter seven. Lighthouse never left my mind.
(03:51):
During those years away. I stayed in contact with my sister,
more so than I had previously. I had gone dark
for a few months, but called the house late one
night check on her. Thankfully it was her that picked
up the phone and not my mother. I wasn't sure
I would be able to face her after I left
without saying goodbye, but Leni was always thrilled to hear
from me. Since my mother was somehow intercepting her mail,
(04:14):
we decided on an alternate route. I would establish a
PO box in Leni's name in town, away from my
mother's overbearing eyes, where I would be able to send
her letters. Lenie had already established a habit of long walks,
disappearing from the house for hours at a time, so
mother was never suspicious of the days she visited the
post office to receive our secret communications. Most times her
(04:37):
letters were a childlike the way I had come to
know her. But other times it was as if my
sister had an air of clarity about her, like the
fog in her mind cleared and she was herself. She
seemed normal, normal for her age. I mean, those letters
were more coherent focused. It was incredible. But unfortunately, these
(04:58):
moments came and went quickly, and she always reverted back
to the way I remember her being. So it went
for years. We traded letters secretly back and forth. I
spoke of my family in the outside world, while she
wrote innocently of her long days spent within the house.
Of color she had painted her bedroom, how the flowers
were growing in the garden, how the ocean was rough
(05:19):
that day. She never complained, but there was always a
hint of sadness in her letters, maybe even regret, regret
for not leaving Lighthouse and regret for me not being
in her life. More from her letters, I could tell
my mother was demanding much of her and often treated
her as a child. It was as if they were
both stuck in a perpetual state of when Leni was
(05:41):
still a young girl. This point was driven home, even
more so by the drawings she sometimes included, similar to
that birthday card she gave me all those years ago.
I often begged her in my letters to come visit,
to get away from Lighthouse and from our mother, but
she always ignored these requests. Those last few months, her
(06:01):
letters grew shorter. There was less about her comings and goings,
and more about how happy she was that I was
having a good life. These were worrying, of course, as
she seemed to be drawing inward. I tried to follow
up each of these with a phone call, but most
of the time they went unanswered. All this was concerning,
to say the least, and I doubled my efforts to
(06:23):
invite Leny to visit us, or at the very least,
start seeing someone. I sent a letter detailing my concern,
asking her to spend Christmas with us, a letter which
went unreturned. This was sometimes common, as getting to town
and away from mother did not happen as much as
she would have liked. But when the next letter, and
(06:43):
then when after that went with no response, I grew
more worried. I spent many sleepless nights thinking of her,
often waking from a nightmare that would not let me
fall back to sleep. In it, I saw the lighthouse,
the dim glow atop it, steadily growing brighter and brighter again,
until I could see nothing but the blinding brilliance emanating
from it. I received the call a few days before Christmas.
(07:06):
It was from an old friend from high school, when
I kept in contact with sporadically over the years, who
was offering her condolences. I was confused at first, thinking
that she perhaps had dialed the wrong person, but she
soon realized that I was not yet informed and broke
down telling me the news. Lenny had gone missing a
few days before. She had left lighthouse to go grocery
(07:30):
shopping alone. Since the weather was inclement, it wasn't until
two days later that my mother, coming out of a
drunken stupor, realized that she had never returned home. The
police searched the town and surrounding areas for her, but
to no avail. There was no trace of her, no, no, nothing,
until her body had washed up on shore a few
(07:51):
days later. Eventually, the police found her jacket in the lighthouse.
The prevailing theory was that she climbed to the top
and jumped over the edge of the bluff to her death,
down to the ocean below. As I listened to my
friend tell me the story, I was in a state
of shock. I gripped the phone in my hand until
my knuckles turned white and my teeth ground against each other.
(08:14):
When she ended the connection, I stood there, my mind
trying to process all that she said, until it all
weighed down on me and I could not hold it
together any longer. I collapsed. I lost all track of time.
Chris found me there much later, furious at me from
missing several phone calls and for not picking up Kevin
from school. And when the initial shock of her death
(08:37):
finally wore off, the anchor set in. I was furious
with my mother for not letting me know Leni was dead,
let alone missing. I was furious at Leni for not
reaching out for help during the time that she so
desperately needed it, But most of all, I was furious
at myself for not being there for her, for not
(08:58):
making a better effort, and for letting this happen to
begin with. I tried calling my mother for further details
on arrangements, but like usual, the phone just rang and rang.
I eventually mustered up the guts to call the funeral
home in town and got the details from them. The
service was happening the next day, so I quickly packed
the bag and once again I found myself back on
(09:18):
the road to Lighthouse. Chris wanted to join me to
provide the emotional support that I so desperately needed, but
I refused. I wanted to keep both him and Kevin
as far away from there as possible. The snow was
coming down heavily by the time I made it to town. Thankfully,
I did not miss the viewing, as there wasn't one.
(09:39):
Apparently the result of her jump was too grisly for one.
But I drove as quickly as I could to make
it in time for the service. The roads were slippery,
making my progress slow, but I pulled into the cemetery
just as Leney was being loaded out of the hearse
and toward her grave site. Bracing myself against the cold,
I pulled my coat tight or on me and climbed
(10:00):
out of the car. The wind was bitter, assaulting my
face and making my eyes tear immediately. My shoes were
not made for these conditions, but I trecked a few
inches of snow on the ground as the minister's voice
drifted towards me. He began his eulogy to an empty audience.
My mother sat solemnly in her wheelchair, the only soul
(10:23):
in attendance. I walked up beside her, placing my hand
on her shoulder, but she didn't react. Instead, her eyes
were focused on her daughter's final resting place. The minister
spoke of Leni as if he hadn't really known her
at all. He said she was a happy woman, living
of fulfilling and rewarding life that went through a rough patch,
but now it was in a better place. I could
(10:45):
have laughed, if not for how sad I was. My
own thoughts drowned him out. As I continued to blame
myself for what had happened. I couldn't help but feel
like it was my fault that Leanie was dead because
I didn't do enough to help her. The tears began
to flow as I considered how I could have taken
her away from this place ages ago, given her a
(11:06):
better life, one that was not marred by lighthouse and
are past. Would that even have been possible? Was she
so far gone by then that it wouldn't have mattered anyway.
It wasn't until my mother began to wheel away that
I realized they were lowering the coffin. She grabbed a
handful of dirt and tossed it on the casket. She
(11:26):
rolled away toward a limousine waiting for her, and I
watched her go without saying a word to me. I
thanked the priest for his kind, if untrue words, and
dropped my own handful of dirt into Lini's grave. With
my mother gone and me on my way back to
my car, they didn't waste any time in starting to
fill in her plot. Each shovelful of dirt striking the
(11:48):
casket was like a knife through my heart. A period
accentuating the end of her chapter. I got in my
car and watched them as they worked. It was grueling,
especially in this weather, but they looked like a well
oiled machine working together to get it done, with the
snow swirling around, giving everything in the area a natural
white coat. I didn't notice the little girl standing beyond
(12:10):
them at first. She was wearing a short white dress
that made her blend into the scene. Her pigtails were
the only splash of color aside from her eyes, which
were focused on Leni's grave site. I was concerned at
first because she wasn't wearing a coat, which in this
weather it could be the death of anyone. But then
I saw she was holding onto a teddy bear, one
(12:31):
that looked very familiar. There was no question about who
it was. It was Abigail paying her last respects to Lenie.
I drove away before she finished Lighthouse will return after
(12:57):
these messages and now back to Lighthouse. Since my mother
did not acknowledge me at the funeral, I was ready
to drive back home to Chris and to Kevin, to
(13:19):
the life I had made away from this wretched place.
But despite her cold shoulder, I knew my mother was hurting,
especially now that she was alone I made my way
back to Lighthouse. The falling snow made it seem less menacing,
but the familiar feeling of dread reared its ugly head
as soon as it came into view. My plan was
(13:39):
to pay my respects to my mother, see if I
could set her up with any help, and get out
of there as soon as possible. The limousine that had
taken her from the cemetery was leaving the gates as
I pulled up to them. I envied the person behind
the wheel as they were leaving Lighthouse behind a speck
in their rear view mirror. I parked avoiding a gla
(14:00):
said the third story window, afraid that the apparition of
the man in the hat would be there to greet me. Instead,
I focus solely on the front door, and I went
inside to get out of the unpleasant weather. At least
it was warmer here, the only thing going for it.
With the door shut behind me, the silence of the
house was striking. If it wasn't for the limousine I
(14:21):
saw dropping my mother off, I could have sworn no
one was home. I didn't bother to call out for
my mother as she rolled into the main hall, bottle
of scotch in hand. She continued on past me, content
to ignore my presence until I called out to her.
When I did, she stopped, but didn't bother to turn
around to face me. Instead, she merely tilted her head
(14:42):
back in my direction. What do you want? She said.
I didn't know what to say. I came here to
comfort her, to help her through a difficult time, and
she was treating me this way. I came to say
goodbye to Leni, I started before she cut me off,
and you did. Now what do you want? She still
(15:03):
wouldn't look at me, and it was clear that I
was keeping her from her busy schedule of getting so
drunk she forgot how sad she was. I don't want anything,
I told her, I just want to be there for you.
She turned her wheelchair around so she could finally look
me in the eyes. Why now, you weren't there for me,
and you weren't there for her, so why bother? Now?
(15:25):
Go home? Tara. You made it clear you didn't want
anything to do with us, and now I don't want
anything to do with you. She turned again, wheeling herself
out of the room before stopping once more. I left
some things for you upstairs in your room, she called
over her shoulder. Take them, leave them. I don't care,
but after that, I want you gone. I was speechless,
(15:47):
standing there, all alone in a house I hated, with
a mother who hated me. The tears began to form,
but I held them back. I didn't want to give
her the satisfaction. Instead, I made my way upstairs, anxious
to see what she left so I could get out
of there as soon as possible. I stood in the
doorway of my old room, my eyes searching every corner
(16:07):
before entering, just to make sure there was nothing lurking
in there. My eyes fell upon the bed, where a
cardboard box was waiting for me. My name was scrawled
across the side hastily with a black marker, and when
I opened it, I could tell she haphazardly threw things
inside to rid herself of them. There were a few
things from my childhood and there, including my old camera,
(16:29):
the one I had found in the dark room all
those years ago. Sitting on top of it was the
very first photograph I ever took with it, the one
from my twelfth birthday, where my parents and Leany sat
around the table eating cake. I took it out studying it,
and while I remembered my father wandering off to the
study shortly after it was taken, I also remembered being
(16:50):
happy in those few moments. It was the last true
memory I had of all of us together as a
family that I enjoyed. That moment was marred, though, by
the appearance of a dark shadow crossing my father's face
in the photo. Whether a flaw of the camera or
a harbinger of things yet to come, it cast him
in a darkness that reflected what was invading his soul.
(17:12):
Placing the photo aside, I reached deeper inside the box
and felt something soft, pulling it out, I saw it
was a teddy bear Abigails, the one Leonie had grown
so attached to, despite my aversion to it all those years.
It was the only real piece of Leanie. I had.
The bear, and Abigail had meant the world to her,
(17:33):
and now here it was discarded. I pulled the bear
close to my chest and sat on the bed. I
could fight the tears no longer, so they flowed freely.
I cried and cried until I tired myself out so
much that I fell asleep. I awoke hours later, my
room as dark as the night outside. I jolted out
of bed, unsure of how long I had slept and
(17:55):
wanting to get out of there immediately. I grabbed the
box of things and ran down the stairs. The house
was dark and quiet still. The only sound drifting through
the air was my mother's gentle snoring. I opened the
front door and was immediately battered by the cold winter
night air. It had gotten worse than the time I
was out. My car was covered, and I did my
(18:15):
best to clear its windshield so I could see. It.
Took a few minutes to actually open the driver's side door,
but once I was able to, I threw the box
inside and followed suit, wasting no time. I turned it on,
thankful for the blast of hot air that was to
follow shortly, and shifted into drive, pressing lightly on the
gas pedal. The car didn't move fine, I thought, it
(18:37):
just needs a little more gas. I applied more pressure
to it, but still nothing. The car tried to lunch forward,
but the snow was piled too high, not giving way.
I cursed loudly, hitting my hands against my steering wheel
and anger before trying again. Still the car did not move.
My eyes looked ahead traveling down the driveway, and I
(18:58):
realized it was rootless. The storm had blocked me in
for the night. I was stuck. I cursed again, hating
that I was going to be forced to stay the night,
and placed my head in my hands. I leaned against
the steering wheel, frustrated and wondering what I was going
to do despite the night, my car was suddenly filled
with light. I looked up, hopeful that it was a
(19:20):
snow plow making a path for me to leave this
dreadful place. Instead, the light was coming not from the driveway,
but from off to the side, closer to the ocean,
from the lighthouse. The glow from the top, the one
that haunted my dreams. It was there, beckoning me. It
was brighter than I had ever seen before, so much
(19:42):
so that I had to use my hand to shield
myself from it. And as it grew so bright reflecting
up the snow that I felt it was going to
blind me, started to fade away until it was nothing
at all. The dark of the night returned, leaving me terrified.
It was getting cold and I needed to get back
inside before I froze of death. Out there, I opened
the car door, ready to make a run for the
(20:03):
front door. When the light returned, it grew brighter and
brighter again, illuminating everything it touched, making me want to
scream and terror. But as I watched it go bright,
I understood what was happening. There wasn't a mysterious light
atop the lighthouse. It was a lighthouse itself, despite sitting
in neglect for over seventy five years, it was somehow operational. Confused,
(20:25):
I stood transfixed, watching the light go round and round again,
calling out to the night. I wanted to run back
to the house, wanted to hide somewhere under the covers
and wait for the first light so I could call
for a plow so I could get back home. But
I knew deep inside that wouldn't happen. I knew that
the things in the house would not let me be
and would come after me, assaulting my senses all night
(20:48):
long until I did something. I bundled my jacket up
tighter and made for the lighthouse, It's light illuminating my path,
my only hindrance being the mounds of snow that I
trudged through. Though it was not too far from the
house itself. The weather made my journey long and arduous,
and by the time I reached the clearing where it stood,
sweat dripped off me. Despite the cold. Long ago we
(21:10):
would play here in the shadow of the lighthouse and
never once paid at any mind. We were forbidden to
go inside, and with the door padlock shut, we didn't
bother to try. But now the door was wide open.
A flickering light invited me to step inside. I was
eventually going to have to anyway. It was also freezing outside,
and I wouldn't last much longer in the cold. I
(21:33):
stepped in and instantly felt a wave of heat, despite
the weather outside. I shrugged my coat off a bit
and looked around. This bottom floor of the lighthouse was
mostly barren. On the hard concretes at a few old
wooden boxes rotting from the inside out. A melting candle
sat on one. A large, frayed length of heavy duty rope,
(21:54):
the kind of big ship might use to tie itself
to a dock, sat on the floor. The end looked
like it was hacked off to whatever it was originally
attached to. A spiral metal staircase was attached to the wall,
winding its way up to the very top of the lighthouse.
There was a vague hint of a heavy, intoxicating smell
(22:15):
as well, gasoline. Perhaps. I looked up, hoping to catch
a glimpse of what awaited me up there, but there
was not much to see. The stairs continued upward into
the darkness, but ended a few stories up when they
disappeared into another concrete level. The wind howled outside, battering
against the walls, but beneath that sound was something else,
(22:39):
something unearthly, something whispering. Much like the voice I once
heard coming from the vents, I could hear someone calling
out to me from the upper level of the lighthouse,
It's words mixing in with the wind. I didn't want
(23:03):
to obey, but I found myself doing so anyway, perhaps
out of a morbid curiosity. This place had been closed
off to me my entire life, and after all this time,
I deserved to know what secrets it held. I took
the candle from the box, thinking it was left for me,
and began to climb the stairs. I went slow at first,
my strength still weak from the trek through the snow,
(23:26):
But as it returned to me and I felt more
confident that the stairs were sturdy enough not to collapse
under my weight. I went faster, much like the light itself.
Round and round I went, circling the cylinder shape of
the building to the top. The higher I climbed, the
louder the whispered voices became. Their words became less distinguishable
(23:46):
and more cacophony of sound, and such a chill through me.
But still I continued. There are a few times I
passed small windows along the stairs, looking out to the
outside world. At first they showed me actually what I expected.
The beacon from above lit up the massive grounds of lighthouse,
filled with snow as it continued to fall from the
(24:07):
sky and droves. But as I got further up, looking
out the window revealed a different scene altogether. The winter
weather seemed to melt away. Before I reached the next floor.
I took a quick glance out the window and was
surprised by what I saw. There was no more snow,
no more winter. Instead, it resembled a cool summer's night.
(24:30):
But I had no time to ponder that. Now I
was at the top. Another candle flickered above me, joining
my own. As I took the final step off the staircase,
I found myself in a small room just below the
very top of the lighthouse. Though the room was dark,
the other candles sat on a table pushed against the
far wall. I thought I was alone at first, but
(24:53):
then a shadow shifted near the table, and I realized
someone was sitting there. His face was heard by the
darkness of the room, but he turned to face my direction.
Who are you, I asked, but he didn't say anything. Instead,
he stood I asked who he were, an edge in
(25:14):
my voice, but still he remained quiet. Instead, he took
a step towards me, and then another. On his third
his face came out of the darkness and into the
light of my candle. It was the man in the hat.
(25:37):
Lighthouse were returned after a word from our sponsors, and
now lighthouse continues. The man in the hat came for me,
his long strides crossing the room in no time at all.
(25:57):
He was upon me, ready to strike, and then he didn't. Instead,
he walked right past me toward a cabinet attached to
the wall. He opened it, pulled out a bottle, and
walked back to the table. I called out to him again,
trying to figure out what I was doing here, what
he was doing For that matter, but instead he ignored me.
(26:20):
I walked over to the table, where I watched him
sit and cork the bottle before taking a swig of
whatever it was. I went to grab his shoulder to
make him face me, but instead my hand went right
through him. Confused, I moved closer and waved my hand
in front of his face instead of acknowledging it. He
continued to drink. For some reason, he couldn't see me,
(26:42):
and now that I thought about it, he was walking.
I had never seen the man in the hat walk before,
but here in the lighthouse he was more human than
I had ever seen him. The walking and not being
able to see me, the winter weather, no longer being
out the window, I had a sinking feeling that I
was no longer where I came from. As crazy as
(27:03):
it sounded, I was seeing something else, perhaps a memory
of the past, an impression of an event that came before.
I watched as the man in the Hat, in his
human form, continued to drink right up until he drowned
every last drop of the bottle. I saw a pain
in his eyes, one I had never seen before, and
all those other times he had appeared to me, it
(27:26):
nearly broke my heart, if not for the fact that
this was a man who had terrified me throughout my
entire life. He abruptly stood again, walking back to the
other end of the room. He stood before what I
had earlier thought was a chest, but was actually a
small bed. I got up to join him, looking at
what he was seeing. Sleeping in the bed soundly was
(27:48):
a beautiful woman. The man in the hat looked at her,
his right hand, finding his left spinning a ring that
was there a wedding ring. The woman in the bed
was his wife. He looked at her longingly and leaned
over to gently brush some hair away from her face.
After he did, he kissed her forehead, and she smiled
in her sleep. Despite the darkness of the room, I
(28:11):
could see a tear fall from his eye. Still leaning
over her, the man in the hat took one of
the pillows from beside his wife's head and forcibly put
it over her face. She didn't struggle at first, then
she did. She tried to get up, but he held
her down, held the pillow in place. She kicked and clawed,
her screams muffled by the pillow he held against her.
(28:33):
As the man in the hat continued to cry. My
brain wanted me to do something, but my heart knew
it would be useless. This was in the past, it
had already happened, and even if I wanted to do something,
I couldn't. The ordeal went on for far too long,
and I grew more uncomfortable watching it play out before me.
But I could not look away. My eyes were fixated
(28:55):
on his actions, his remorse, and her struggle to break free.
Soon her movements subsided, and then she went limp. He
held the pillow there as if to make sure that
it was over, and when he realized it was, he
let go. He sank to the floor, his head in
(29:15):
his hands, and he sobbed loudly. The man in the
hat he killed his wife. But why he didn't look
like he was consumed by the darkness like my father was.
Why did he do this despite the fact that he
had just murdered his wife. I wanted to console him
and was about to when he stood again. He went
(29:35):
to another cabinet and took out a rope from inside,
one that looked very similar to the one I saw downstairs.
The man in the hat wounded around his wrists, tugging
testing its strength. Satisfied, he tied a noose with it.
He strode past me towards the staircase, and I followed.
I expected him to walk all the way to the bottom,
(29:56):
but instead he stopped a few steps below the ceiling.
It was here that he reached out over the edge
of the railing toward a hook attached there. It was
originally intended to help hoist large, heavy objects up to
the small apartment above us, but now he seemed to
have a more sinister purpose for it. He wound the
rope around the hook, tying it tight. He left a
(30:18):
length of it out, giving it a bit of slack,
before taking the noose and wrapping it around his own neck.
The tears falling from his eyes, I gasped as I
watched him take a step over the railing, and then another.
He stood facing the hook, his back toward me, and
held on. His sobs echoed, bouncing off the bottom floor
and back up toward us, along with something else, whispers
(30:44):
much like the ones that lured me up there, but
somehow more sinister in their intent. I thought it was
my imagination at first, until my eyes looked down to
the entrance to the lighthouse. The shadowy thing was there,
coming up the stairs, making straight for the men in
the hat. It lunged in and out of the walls,
stretching them into unnatural shapes and sizes in a desperate
(31:04):
attempt to get to us. The man in the hat
saw it coming for him and readied himself. I could
do nothing but listen as I heard him speak only
two words, forgive me. With that he let go, his
body falling from the railing, plummeting down to the floor below.
I watched it slow motion as the shadowy thing leapt
out straight into the screaming open mouth of the man
(31:26):
in the hat. It forced its way inside him. As
he fell, his skin pushed and pulled in every direction,
much like my father's had. The rope ran out its length,
and when it pulled taut, I heard a sickening snap.
His neck had broken, and while for most that would
have put an end to it, but for him it
only made it worse. I hurried down the steps to
get close to him, as if my mere proximity would
(31:48):
help comfort him in some way, but it did nothing
but a nerve me. His body convulsed as a rope
pulled tighter his lungs no longer receiving oxygen. He struggled
for air, but none came, and his black is consumed
by the darkness, bulged out of his head. His neck
bent at such an angle that I could almost see bone.
I wanted to reach out, just to let him know
(32:10):
he was not alone in those final moments, but I couldn't.
Soon he stopped struggling, and I watched as the life
left his eyes. The man in the hat was dead.
I ran from the lighthouse down the stairs, faster and faster,
as the world outside the window turned from a clear
summer night to a winter wonderland all over again, the
(32:32):
sun rising over the Atlantic Ocean. When I reached the bottom,
I looked up, I found that the body was gone.
I hurried back toward the house, my mind racing why
was I meant to see that? What did it mean?
And who was showing it to me? A pain in
his eyes, the way he tried to complete his task
before the shadowy thing arrived told me everything I needed
(32:54):
to know. Killing his wife had been a mercy, saving
her from being consumed by the darkness of the house,
and his own death was a lastic effort to escape
it as well, but the darkness had taken him in
his final moments, claiming it another life. With the lighthouse
no longer showing me a vision of the past, the
(33:14):
glow from the top was gone, thankfully, the sun coming
over the horizon lit my way. When I arrived back
to my car, I saw that at some point during
my journey to the past, the road had been plowed.
Who knew how long I was stuck in that vision,
but who cared? I was free, free to leave this
place again. I didn't bother to say goodbye to my mother.
(33:36):
What could would that do? I wasted no time in
leaving lighthouse that day. As I drove away, I glanced
in my rear view mirror, watching the house receipt there.
I nearly drove off the road when I saw what
was on my porch. I could see Leny standing there
on our left was a little girl, Abacail. They both
(33:59):
smiled me as someone stepped out of the darkness behind them.
It was the man in the hat, not the one
I had seen earlier that evening in the lighthouse, but
the one that had stopped me in my entire life,
the one consumed by the darkness. He smiled as he
took Cleany's hand in his own. His message was clear.
(34:23):
She belonged to the darkness Now. Lighthouse is a production
(34:49):
of I Heart Radio and Bamford Productions. Chapter seven featured
the voice of Ali Trasher, written and directed by Jeff
Himbuck audio engineer, ring an original musical score by Corey Celeste.
Production assistance by Alex Gona. Executive produced by Holly Fry.
(35:09):
Questions comments, you can reach us at the Man in
the Hat is Watching at gmail dot com. Thank you
for listening. M
Lighthouse is a production of I Heart Radio and Bamford Productions.
Lighthouse revealed a secret to us that warm summer's day
in nineteen eighty six, one that began to make the
pieces clicked together. When that recording ran out and the
real to real player was left spinning an empty spool,
my mind reeled from the revelation. My father had a sister,
(00:24):
a sister that had died in the very same room
he was. In a way, it was almost poetic, if
not horrifying. But this sister, Madeline, also was a race
from the family's history. Thinking back, my father had never
spoken about her. Even the painting in his former study
excluded her from the family portrait. She was the secret
(00:44):
shame whitewashed away in an effort to forget. But she
wouldn't be forgotten. Consumed by the darkness both in life
and in death, she had returned with the other entities
of the house. Lini's imaginary friend, Abigail was one and
the same as Madeleine. The darkness that lived in Lighthouse
had corrupted her, and now she had latched onto Leani
(01:06):
for who knows what purpose. Hearing all this, it was
too much to bear. While I stood there captivated, fingers
digging into my palms when it was playing. Once the
recording had run its course, I ran from the dark room.
I bounded up the stairs, through the pantry and the
rest of the house, straight outside, leaning against the ancient
red oak tree. I was sick to my stomach. I
(01:29):
hadn't eaten all day, so nothing came up with bile,
and it burned my throat, as if my body was
trying to expel what I had just learned. I looked
back to the house. I saw the man in the
hat standing in the window on the third floor, in
the same place I had first seen him all those
years ago. He smiled, knowing that he had helped expose
(01:49):
me to a secret that the family had tried to forget.
I couldn't stand it anymore. Lighthouse was a stain on
the soul of the world, and I had to get away.
I had to keep my family away, to keep them safe.
I would move to the ends of the earth if
I had to, and keep moving to stay ahead of
the man in the hat and whoever else the house
sent for me. I ran. I ran back to my car,
(02:12):
and when it didn't start because it was still overheated,
I kept running. I ran until I eventually found my
way back home days later, and hucked my son until
Chris had to pry me off. I was never going
back to Lighthouse again. But that's not how it works,
does it. On that day in it was thirteen years
(02:33):
since my father died, thirteen years since Lighthouse had claimed
another soul, and it was hungry again. But the house
was patient. It bided its time until the moment was right.
It reached its tendrils into its next victim, continuing to
claw its way inside until finally I snapped. On a
(02:54):
cold winter's day in, I came back to Lighthouse. Seven
years had passed, and though I swore never to return,
something tragic happened that caused me to break myself imposed exile.
Leaney was dead. Lighthouse, Chapter seven. Lighthouse never left my mind.
(03:51):
During those years away. I stayed in contact with my sister,
more so than I had previously. I had gone dark
for a few months, but called the house late one
night check on her. Thankfully it was her that picked
up the phone and not my mother. I wasn't sure
I would be able to face her after I left
without saying goodbye, but Leni was always thrilled to hear
from me. Since my mother was somehow intercepting her mail,
(04:14):
we decided on an alternate route. I would establish a
PO box in Leni's name in town, away from my
mother's overbearing eyes, where I would be able to send
her letters. Lenie had already established a habit of long walks,
disappearing from the house for hours at a time, so
mother was never suspicious of the days she visited the
post office to receive our secret communications. Most times her
(04:37):
letters were a childlike the way I had come to
know her. But other times it was as if my
sister had an air of clarity about her, like the
fog in her mind cleared and she was herself. She
seemed normal, normal for her age. I mean, those letters
were more coherent focused. It was incredible. But unfortunately, these
(04:58):
moments came and went quickly, and she always reverted back
to the way I remember her being. So it went
for years. We traded letters secretly back and forth. I
spoke of my family in the outside world, while she
wrote innocently of her long days spent within the house.
Of color she had painted her bedroom, how the flowers
were growing in the garden, how the ocean was rough
(05:19):
that day. She never complained, but there was always a
hint of sadness in her letters, maybe even regret, regret
for not leaving Lighthouse and regret for me not being
in her life. More from her letters, I could tell
my mother was demanding much of her and often treated
her as a child. It was as if they were
both stuck in a perpetual state of when Leni was
(05:41):
still a young girl. This point was driven home, even
more so by the drawings she sometimes included, similar to
that birthday card she gave me all those years ago.
I often begged her in my letters to come visit,
to get away from Lighthouse and from our mother, but
she always ignored these requests. Those last few months, her
(06:01):
letters grew shorter. There was less about her comings and goings,
and more about how happy she was that I was
having a good life. These were worrying, of course, as
she seemed to be drawing inward. I tried to follow
up each of these with a phone call, but most
of the time they went unanswered. All this was concerning,
to say the least, and I doubled my efforts to
(06:23):
invite Leny to visit us, or at the very least,
start seeing someone. I sent a letter detailing my concern,
asking her to spend Christmas with us, a letter which
went unreturned. This was sometimes common, as getting to town
and away from mother did not happen as much as
she would have liked. But when the next letter, and
(06:43):
then when after that went with no response, I grew
more worried. I spent many sleepless nights thinking of her,
often waking from a nightmare that would not let me
fall back to sleep. In it, I saw the lighthouse,
the dim glow atop it, steadily growing brighter and brighter again,
until I could see nothing but the blinding brilliance emanating
from it. I received the call a few days before Christmas.
(07:06):
It was from an old friend from high school, when
I kept in contact with sporadically over the years, who
was offering her condolences. I was confused at first, thinking
that she perhaps had dialed the wrong person, but she
soon realized that I was not yet informed and broke
down telling me the news. Lenny had gone missing a
few days before. She had left lighthouse to go grocery
(07:30):
shopping alone. Since the weather was inclement, it wasn't until
two days later that my mother, coming out of a
drunken stupor, realized that she had never returned home. The
police searched the town and surrounding areas for her, but
to no avail. There was no trace of her, no, no, nothing,
until her body had washed up on shore a few
(07:51):
days later. Eventually, the police found her jacket in the lighthouse.
The prevailing theory was that she climbed to the top
and jumped over the edge of the bluff to her death,
down to the ocean below. As I listened to my
friend tell me the story, I was in a state
of shock. I gripped the phone in my hand until
my knuckles turned white and my teeth ground against each other.
(08:14):
When she ended the connection, I stood there, my mind
trying to process all that she said, until it all
weighed down on me and I could not hold it
together any longer. I collapsed. I lost all track of time.
Chris found me there much later, furious at me from
missing several phone calls and for not picking up Kevin
from school. And when the initial shock of her death
(08:37):
finally wore off, the anchor set in. I was furious
with my mother for not letting me know Leni was dead,
let alone missing. I was furious at Leni for not
reaching out for help during the time that she so
desperately needed it, But most of all, I was furious
at myself for not being there for her, for not
(08:58):
making a better effort, and for letting this happen to
begin with. I tried calling my mother for further details
on arrangements, but like usual, the phone just rang and rang.
I eventually mustered up the guts to call the funeral
home in town and got the details from them. The
service was happening the next day, so I quickly packed
the bag and once again I found myself back on
(09:18):
the road to Lighthouse. Chris wanted to join me to
provide the emotional support that I so desperately needed, but
I refused. I wanted to keep both him and Kevin
as far away from there as possible. The snow was
coming down heavily by the time I made it to town. Thankfully,
I did not miss the viewing, as there wasn't one.
(09:39):
Apparently the result of her jump was too grisly for one.
But I drove as quickly as I could to make
it in time for the service. The roads were slippery,
making my progress slow, but I pulled into the cemetery
just as Leney was being loaded out of the hearse
and toward her grave site. Bracing myself against the cold,
I pulled my coat tight or on me and climbed
(10:00):
out of the car. The wind was bitter, assaulting my
face and making my eyes tear immediately. My shoes were
not made for these conditions, but I trecked a few
inches of snow on the ground as the minister's voice
drifted towards me. He began his eulogy to an empty audience.
My mother sat solemnly in her wheelchair, the only soul
(10:23):
in attendance. I walked up beside her, placing my hand
on her shoulder, but she didn't react. Instead, her eyes
were focused on her daughter's final resting place. The minister
spoke of Leni as if he hadn't really known her
at all. He said she was a happy woman, living
of fulfilling and rewarding life that went through a rough patch,
but now it was in a better place. I could
(10:45):
have laughed, if not for how sad I was. My
own thoughts drowned him out. As I continued to blame
myself for what had happened. I couldn't help but feel
like it was my fault that Leanie was dead because
I didn't do enough to help her. The tears began
to flow as I considered how I could have taken
her away from this place ages ago, given her a
(11:06):
better life, one that was not marred by lighthouse and
are past. Would that even have been possible? Was she
so far gone by then that it wouldn't have mattered anyway.
It wasn't until my mother began to wheel away that
I realized they were lowering the coffin. She grabbed a
handful of dirt and tossed it on the casket. She
(11:26):
rolled away toward a limousine waiting for her, and I
watched her go without saying a word to me. I
thanked the priest for his kind, if untrue words, and
dropped my own handful of dirt into Lini's grave. With
my mother gone and me on my way back to
my car, they didn't waste any time in starting to
fill in her plot. Each shovelful of dirt striking the
(11:48):
casket was like a knife through my heart. A period
accentuating the end of her chapter. I got in my
car and watched them as they worked. It was grueling,
especially in this weather, but they looked like a well
oiled machine working together to get it done, with the
snow swirling around, giving everything in the area a natural
white coat. I didn't notice the little girl standing beyond
(12:10):
them at first. She was wearing a short white dress
that made her blend into the scene. Her pigtails were
the only splash of color aside from her eyes, which
were focused on Leni's grave site. I was concerned at
first because she wasn't wearing a coat, which in this
weather it could be the death of anyone. But then
I saw she was holding onto a teddy bear, one
(12:31):
that looked very familiar. There was no question about who
it was. It was Abigail paying her last respects to Lenie.
I drove away before she finished Lighthouse will return after
(12:57):
these messages and now back to Lighthouse. Since my mother
did not acknowledge me at the funeral, I was ready
to drive back home to Chris and to Kevin, to
(13:19):
the life I had made away from this wretched place.
But despite her cold shoulder, I knew my mother was hurting,
especially now that she was alone I made my way
back to Lighthouse. The falling snow made it seem less menacing,
but the familiar feeling of dread reared its ugly head
as soon as it came into view. My plan was
(13:39):
to pay my respects to my mother, see if I
could set her up with any help, and get out
of there as soon as possible. The limousine that had
taken her from the cemetery was leaving the gates as
I pulled up to them. I envied the person behind
the wheel as they were leaving Lighthouse behind a speck
in their rear view mirror. I parked avoiding a gla
(14:00):
said the third story window, afraid that the apparition of
the man in the hat would be there to greet me. Instead,
I focus solely on the front door, and I went
inside to get out of the unpleasant weather. At least
it was warmer here, the only thing going for it.
With the door shut behind me, the silence of the
house was striking. If it wasn't for the limousine I
(14:21):
saw dropping my mother off, I could have sworn no
one was home. I didn't bother to call out for
my mother as she rolled into the main hall, bottle
of scotch in hand. She continued on past me, content
to ignore my presence until I called out to her.
When I did, she stopped, but didn't bother to turn
around to face me. Instead, she merely tilted her head
(14:42):
back in my direction. What do you want? She said.
I didn't know what to say. I came here to
comfort her, to help her through a difficult time, and
she was treating me this way. I came to say
goodbye to Leni, I started before she cut me off,
and you did. Now what do you want? She still
(15:03):
wouldn't look at me, and it was clear that I
was keeping her from her busy schedule of getting so
drunk she forgot how sad she was. I don't want anything,
I told her, I just want to be there for you.
She turned her wheelchair around so she could finally look
me in the eyes. Why now, you weren't there for me,
and you weren't there for her, so why bother? Now?
(15:25):
Go home? Tara. You made it clear you didn't want
anything to do with us, and now I don't want
anything to do with you. She turned again, wheeling herself
out of the room before stopping once more. I left
some things for you upstairs in your room, she called
over her shoulder. Take them, leave them. I don't care,
but after that, I want you gone. I was speechless,
(15:47):
standing there, all alone in a house I hated, with
a mother who hated me. The tears began to form,
but I held them back. I didn't want to give
her the satisfaction. Instead, I made my way upstairs, anxious
to see what she left so I could get out
of there as soon as possible. I stood in the
doorway of my old room, my eyes searching every corner
(16:07):
before entering, just to make sure there was nothing lurking
in there. My eyes fell upon the bed, where a
cardboard box was waiting for me. My name was scrawled
across the side hastily with a black marker, and when
I opened it, I could tell she haphazardly threw things
inside to rid herself of them. There were a few
things from my childhood and there, including my old camera,
(16:29):
the one I had found in the dark room all
those years ago. Sitting on top of it was the
very first photograph I ever took with it, the one
from my twelfth birthday, where my parents and Leany sat
around the table eating cake. I took it out studying it,
and while I remembered my father wandering off to the
study shortly after it was taken, I also remembered being
(16:50):
happy in those few moments. It was the last true
memory I had of all of us together as a
family that I enjoyed. That moment was marred, though, by
the appearance of a dark shadow crossing my father's face
in the photo. Whether a flaw of the camera or
a harbinger of things yet to come, it cast him
in a darkness that reflected what was invading his soul.
(17:12):
Placing the photo aside, I reached deeper inside the box
and felt something soft, pulling it out, I saw it
was a teddy bear Abigails, the one Leonie had grown
so attached to, despite my aversion to it all those years.
It was the only real piece of Leanie. I had.
The bear, and Abigail had meant the world to her,
(17:33):
and now here it was discarded. I pulled the bear
close to my chest and sat on the bed. I
could fight the tears no longer, so they flowed freely.
I cried and cried until I tired myself out so
much that I fell asleep. I awoke hours later, my
room as dark as the night outside. I jolted out
of bed, unsure of how long I had slept and
(17:55):
wanting to get out of there immediately. I grabbed the
box of things and ran down the stairs. The house
was dark and quiet still. The only sound drifting through
the air was my mother's gentle snoring. I opened the
front door and was immediately battered by the cold winter
night air. It had gotten worse than the time I
was out. My car was covered, and I did my
(18:15):
best to clear its windshield so I could see. It.
Took a few minutes to actually open the driver's side door,
but once I was able to, I threw the box
inside and followed suit, wasting no time. I turned it on,
thankful for the blast of hot air that was to
follow shortly, and shifted into drive, pressing lightly on the
gas pedal. The car didn't move fine, I thought, it
(18:37):
just needs a little more gas. I applied more pressure
to it, but still nothing. The car tried to lunch forward,
but the snow was piled too high, not giving way.
I cursed loudly, hitting my hands against my steering wheel
and anger before trying again. Still the car did not move.
My eyes looked ahead traveling down the driveway, and I
(18:58):
realized it was rootless. The storm had blocked me in
for the night. I was stuck. I cursed again, hating
that I was going to be forced to stay the night,
and placed my head in my hands. I leaned against
the steering wheel, frustrated and wondering what I was going
to do despite the night, my car was suddenly filled
with light. I looked up, hopeful that it was a
(19:20):
snow plow making a path for me to leave this
dreadful place. Instead, the light was coming not from the driveway,
but from off to the side, closer to the ocean,
from the lighthouse. The glow from the top, the one
that haunted my dreams. It was there, beckoning me. It
was brighter than I had ever seen before, so much
(19:42):
so that I had to use my hand to shield
myself from it. And as it grew so bright reflecting
up the snow that I felt it was going to
blind me, started to fade away until it was nothing
at all. The dark of the night returned, leaving me terrified.
It was getting cold and I needed to get back
inside before I froze of death. Out there, I opened
the car door, ready to make a run for the
(20:03):
front door. When the light returned, it grew brighter and
brighter again, illuminating everything it touched, making me want to
scream and terror. But as I watched it go bright,
I understood what was happening. There wasn't a mysterious light
atop the lighthouse. It was a lighthouse itself, despite sitting
in neglect for over seventy five years, it was somehow operational. Confused,
(20:25):
I stood transfixed, watching the light go round and round again,
calling out to the night. I wanted to run back
to the house, wanted to hide somewhere under the covers
and wait for the first light so I could call
for a plow so I could get back home. But
I knew deep inside that wouldn't happen. I knew that
the things in the house would not let me be
and would come after me, assaulting my senses all night
(20:48):
long until I did something. I bundled my jacket up
tighter and made for the lighthouse, It's light illuminating my path,
my only hindrance being the mounds of snow that I
trudged through. Though it was not too far from the
house itself. The weather made my journey long and arduous,
and by the time I reached the clearing where it stood,
sweat dripped off me. Despite the cold. Long ago we
(21:10):
would play here in the shadow of the lighthouse and
never once paid at any mind. We were forbidden to
go inside, and with the door padlock shut, we didn't
bother to try. But now the door was wide open.
A flickering light invited me to step inside. I was
eventually going to have to anyway. It was also freezing outside,
and I wouldn't last much longer in the cold. I
(21:33):
stepped in and instantly felt a wave of heat, despite
the weather outside. I shrugged my coat off a bit
and looked around. This bottom floor of the lighthouse was
mostly barren. On the hard concretes at a few old
wooden boxes rotting from the inside out. A melting candle
sat on one. A large, frayed length of heavy duty rope,
(21:54):
the kind of big ship might use to tie itself
to a dock, sat on the floor. The end looked
like it was hacked off to whatever it was originally
attached to. A spiral metal staircase was attached to the wall,
winding its way up to the very top of the lighthouse.
There was a vague hint of a heavy, intoxicating smell
(22:15):
as well, gasoline. Perhaps. I looked up, hoping to catch
a glimpse of what awaited me up there, but there
was not much to see. The stairs continued upward into
the darkness, but ended a few stories up when they
disappeared into another concrete level. The wind howled outside, battering
against the walls, but beneath that sound was something else,
(22:39):
something unearthly, something whispering. Much like the voice I once
heard coming from the vents, I could hear someone calling
out to me from the upper level of the lighthouse,
It's words mixing in with the wind. I didn't want
(23:03):
to obey, but I found myself doing so anyway, perhaps
out of a morbid curiosity. This place had been closed
off to me my entire life, and after all this time,
I deserved to know what secrets it held. I took
the candle from the box, thinking it was left for me,
and began to climb the stairs. I went slow at first,
my strength still weak from the trek through the snow,
(23:26):
But as it returned to me and I felt more
confident that the stairs were sturdy enough not to collapse
under my weight. I went faster, much like the light itself.
Round and round I went, circling the cylinder shape of
the building to the top. The higher I climbed, the
louder the whispered voices became. Their words became less distinguishable
(23:46):
and more cacophony of sound, and such a chill through me.
But still I continued. There are a few times I
passed small windows along the stairs, looking out to the
outside world. At first they showed me actually what I expected.
The beacon from above lit up the massive grounds of lighthouse,
filled with snow as it continued to fall from the
(24:07):
sky and droves. But as I got further up, looking
out the window revealed a different scene altogether. The winter
weather seemed to melt away. Before I reached the next floor.
I took a quick glance out the window and was
surprised by what I saw. There was no more snow,
no more winter. Instead, it resembled a cool summer's night.
(24:30):
But I had no time to ponder that. Now I
was at the top. Another candle flickered above me, joining
my own. As I took the final step off the staircase,
I found myself in a small room just below the
very top of the lighthouse. Though the room was dark,
the other candles sat on a table pushed against the
far wall. I thought I was alone at first, but
(24:53):
then a shadow shifted near the table, and I realized
someone was sitting there. His face was heard by the
darkness of the room, but he turned to face my direction.
Who are you, I asked, but he didn't say anything. Instead,
he stood I asked who he were, an edge in
(25:14):
my voice, but still he remained quiet. Instead, he took
a step towards me, and then another. On his third
his face came out of the darkness and into the
light of my candle. It was the man in the hat.
(25:37):
Lighthouse were returned after a word from our sponsors, and
now lighthouse continues. The man in the hat came for me,
his long strides crossing the room in no time at all.
(25:57):
He was upon me, ready to strike, and then he didn't. Instead,
he walked right past me toward a cabinet attached to
the wall. He opened it, pulled out a bottle, and
walked back to the table. I called out to him again,
trying to figure out what I was doing here, what
he was doing For that matter, but instead he ignored me.
(26:20):
I walked over to the table, where I watched him
sit and cork the bottle before taking a swig of
whatever it was. I went to grab his shoulder to
make him face me, but instead my hand went right
through him. Confused, I moved closer and waved my hand
in front of his face instead of acknowledging it. He
continued to drink. For some reason, he couldn't see me,
(26:42):
and now that I thought about it, he was walking.
I had never seen the man in the hat walk before,
but here in the lighthouse he was more human than
I had ever seen him. The walking and not being
able to see me, the winter weather, no longer being
out the window, I had a sinking feeling that I
was no longer where I came from. As crazy as
(27:03):
it sounded, I was seeing something else, perhaps a memory
of the past, an impression of an event that came before.
I watched as the man in the Hat, in his
human form, continued to drink right up until he drowned
every last drop of the bottle. I saw a pain
in his eyes, one I had never seen before, and
all those other times he had appeared to me, it
(27:26):
nearly broke my heart, if not for the fact that
this was a man who had terrified me throughout my
entire life. He abruptly stood again, walking back to the
other end of the room. He stood before what I
had earlier thought was a chest, but was actually a
small bed. I got up to join him, looking at
what he was seeing. Sleeping in the bed soundly was
(27:48):
a beautiful woman. The man in the hat looked at her,
his right hand, finding his left spinning a ring that
was there a wedding ring. The woman in the bed
was his wife. He looked at her longingly and leaned
over to gently brush some hair away from her face.
After he did, he kissed her forehead, and she smiled
in her sleep. Despite the darkness of the room, I
(28:11):
could see a tear fall from his eye. Still leaning
over her, the man in the hat took one of
the pillows from beside his wife's head and forcibly put
it over her face. She didn't struggle at first, then
she did. She tried to get up, but he held
her down, held the pillow in place. She kicked and clawed,
her screams muffled by the pillow he held against her.
(28:33):
As the man in the hat continued to cry. My
brain wanted me to do something, but my heart knew
it would be useless. This was in the past, it
had already happened, and even if I wanted to do something,
I couldn't. The ordeal went on for far too long,
and I grew more uncomfortable watching it play out before me.
But I could not look away. My eyes were fixated
(28:55):
on his actions, his remorse, and her struggle to break free.
Soon her movements subsided, and then she went limp. He
held the pillow there as if to make sure that
it was over, and when he realized it was, he
let go. He sank to the floor, his head in
(29:15):
his hands, and he sobbed loudly. The man in the
hat he killed his wife. But why he didn't look
like he was consumed by the darkness like my father was.
Why did he do this despite the fact that he
had just murdered his wife. I wanted to console him
and was about to when he stood again. He went
(29:35):
to another cabinet and took out a rope from inside,
one that looked very similar to the one I saw downstairs.
The man in the hat wounded around his wrists, tugging
testing its strength. Satisfied, he tied a noose with it.
He strode past me towards the staircase, and I followed.
I expected him to walk all the way to the bottom,
(29:56):
but instead he stopped a few steps below the ceiling.
It was here that he reached out over the edge
of the railing toward a hook attached there. It was
originally intended to help hoist large, heavy objects up to
the small apartment above us, but now he seemed to
have a more sinister purpose for it. He wound the
rope around the hook, tying it tight. He left a
(30:18):
length of it out, giving it a bit of slack,
before taking the noose and wrapping it around his own neck.
The tears falling from his eyes, I gasped as I
watched him take a step over the railing, and then another.
He stood facing the hook, his back toward me, and
held on. His sobs echoed, bouncing off the bottom floor
and back up toward us, along with something else, whispers
(30:44):
much like the ones that lured me up there, but
somehow more sinister in their intent. I thought it was
my imagination at first, until my eyes looked down to
the entrance to the lighthouse. The shadowy thing was there,
coming up the stairs, making straight for the men in
the hat. It lunged in and out of the walls,
stretching them into unnatural shapes and sizes in a desperate
(31:04):
attempt to get to us. The man in the hat
saw it coming for him and readied himself. I could
do nothing but listen as I heard him speak only
two words, forgive me. With that he let go, his
body falling from the railing, plummeting down to the floor below.
I watched it slow motion as the shadowy thing leapt
out straight into the screaming open mouth of the man
(31:26):
in the hat. It forced its way inside him. As
he fell, his skin pushed and pulled in every direction,
much like my father's had. The rope ran out its length,
and when it pulled taut, I heard a sickening snap.
His neck had broken, and while for most that would
have put an end to it, but for him it
only made it worse. I hurried down the steps to
get close to him, as if my mere proximity would
(31:48):
help comfort him in some way, but it did nothing
but a nerve me. His body convulsed as a rope
pulled tighter his lungs no longer receiving oxygen. He struggled
for air, but none came, and his black is consumed
by the darkness, bulged out of his head. His neck
bent at such an angle that I could almost see bone.
I wanted to reach out, just to let him know
(32:10):
he was not alone in those final moments, but I couldn't.
Soon he stopped struggling, and I watched as the life
left his eyes. The man in the hat was dead.
I ran from the lighthouse down the stairs, faster and faster,
as the world outside the window turned from a clear
summer night to a winter wonderland all over again, the
(32:32):
sun rising over the Atlantic Ocean. When I reached the bottom,
I looked up, I found that the body was gone.
I hurried back toward the house, my mind racing why
was I meant to see that? What did it mean?
And who was showing it to me? A pain in
his eyes, the way he tried to complete his task
before the shadowy thing arrived told me everything I needed
(32:54):
to know. Killing his wife had been a mercy, saving
her from being consumed by the darkness of the house,
and his own death was a lastic effort to escape
it as well, but the darkness had taken him in
his final moments, claiming it another life. With the lighthouse
no longer showing me a vision of the past, the
(33:14):
glow from the top was gone, thankfully, the sun coming
over the horizon lit my way. When I arrived back
to my car, I saw that at some point during
my journey to the past, the road had been plowed.
Who knew how long I was stuck in that vision,
but who cared? I was free, free to leave this
place again. I didn't bother to say goodbye to my mother.
(33:36):
What could would that do? I wasted no time in
leaving lighthouse that day. As I drove away, I glanced
in my rear view mirror, watching the house receipt there.
I nearly drove off the road when I saw what
was on my porch. I could see Leny standing there
on our left was a little girl, Abacail. They both
(33:59):
smiled me as someone stepped out of the darkness behind them.
It was the man in the hat, not the one
I had seen earlier that evening in the lighthouse, but
the one that had stopped me in my entire life,
the one consumed by the darkness. He smiled as he
took Cleany's hand in his own. His message was clear.
(34:23):
She belonged to the darkness Now. Lighthouse is a production
(34:49):
of I Heart Radio and Bamford Productions. Chapter seven featured
the voice of Ali Trasher, written and directed by Jeff
Himbuck audio engineer, ring an original musical score by Corey Celeste.
Production assistance by Alex Gona. Executive produced by Holly Fry.
(35:09):
Questions comments, you can reach us at the Man in
the Hat is Watching at gmail dot com. Thank you
for listening. M
Popular Podcasts
On Purpose with Jay Shetty
I’m Jay Shetty host of On Purpose the worlds #1 Mental Health podcast and I’m so grateful you found us. I started this podcast 5 years ago to invite you into conversations and workshops that are designed to help make you happier, healthier and more healed. I believe that when you (yes you) feel seen, heard and understood you’re able to deal with relationship struggles, work challenges and life’s ups and downs with more ease and grace. I interview experts, celebrities, thought leaders and athletes so that we can grow our mindset, build better habits and uncover a side of them we’ve never seen before. New episodes every Monday and Friday. Your support means the world to me and I don’t take it for granted — click the follow button and leave a review to help us spread the love with On Purpose. I can’t wait for you to listen to your first or 500th episode!
The Breakfast Club
The World's Most Dangerous Morning Show, The Breakfast Club, With DJ Envy And Charlamagne Tha God!
The Joe Rogan Experience
The official podcast of comedian Joe Rogan.
© 2025 iHeartMedia, Inc.