Let’s begin with a name. Hello! My name is Simon Keiv, and I work as a lighthouse technician in eastern Canada in the province of Prince Edward Island. I am fifty-six years old and live with my loving wife on the island. I am retired, and as such, I am doing my part for the community through this lighthouse on the outskirts of my town.
I go there every night to ensure the tower is working and spend a few hours reading a book at the top. Once in a blue moon, I get a distress signal and get the Coast Guard to save a poor sob that flew too close to the sun. My job is simple. Sometimes, waves hit the tower a bit harder, but that is a part of the job.
One night, when I went to the tower, everything seemed normal. The gate to the trail was locked, and when I went in, a soft presence of calm surrounded the tall building. The more I approached the building, the greater this presence became, and the more irregularities I missed. Recalling the short walk to the tower, several electrical components were scattered on the ground alongside chairs, tables, doors, and even a small boat. It was inexplicably beached in the middle of this small clearing, hundreds of meters from the waterfront, with a heavily dented hull. Drag marks and displaced ground surrounded me as I walked to the tower in my soft daze. The sky was dark, and the air was damp, so I wanted to get this shift over with, disregarding the odd sight.
Once I approached the building, the feeling slightly waved over as I had to pause, confused as I snapped out of the daze. I recall not understanding my surroundings even tho I knew exactly where I was. Everything felt different as if the familiar walls were miscoloured or the fence surrounding the tower was tattered and worn. I chalked it up to self-actualization or a late-night shower thought. That was when I shrugged the discomfort off my shoulders and walked towards my potential hell.
The moment I got to the very top was the exact moment I had a horrible urge in my gut that something was very wrong. I cannot stress this feeling enough and how bad it was. It was similar to the emotion and shock of watching a tragedy, seeing a brutal car accident or witnessing a murder.
I looked down at my hands, counting my fingers to verify I was not dreaming; I wasn’t. I then walked around the top of the tower, counting my belongings and finding everything was still there.
The feeling was getting worse.
I didn’t understand it and started panicking. My brain was on high alert, and my chest was pounding. It was as if my brain was leaving me, deviating from my original plan, going on strike while I was still wholly coherent and aware. Even now, I wish I had run away, for nothing will make me forget. Suddenly, I heard a noise down on the sand below, similar to scratching and squelching sand between your toes.
There it was, the source of my panic and the sight that changed me forever.
A handprint that covered the beach.
It was about the size of the tower lying down, fingers spread, five of them identical to a human hand. There was blood in the center of it as if the hand of god crushed someone. The blood was being washed away from a body, having been flattened.
Then I heard the voices.
Noise. Internal panicked voices silently speaking in my head.
“Run, he’s coming. Do you want him to get you?” a female voice said, “Are you stupid? Run!”
“Run,” a young boy spoke.
“You are going to die,” an older male spoke.
I was holding my head in pain as the voices overwhelmed me, causing a splitting headache. It was so loud and different that I couldn’t move.
“He’s here.”
And suddenly, the moon turned crimson, and the air got thick as the pressure in my head made me want to scream, but I couldn’t. I held my head as off into the ocean, an abnormally sized hand broke the tension of the water and rose out, grabbing the beach, pulling a very human face out of the water with a groan of pain.
They were too big and too familiar, like something you would see in your dreams as an omnipotent presence. Their eyes were a deep red, and their teeth were pristine as they held themselves up directly in front of the tower, staring straight at me, silent and foreboding. The sea turned to blood as we remained unmoving for what felt like half an hour.
In the silence of the night, it whispered in a deep, Eldrige voice, “The man was not ready for what he saw,” and he moved forward till he was mere inches away, “Irrelevance.”
His eyes met mine as the air felt heavy. His whisper rang through the air, “Leave.”
I blinked, and everything was normal. The ocean was dark, the moon was pale, the handprint was gone, and the feeling of dread left as fast as it appeared. I was unable to move, even with the body floating in the ocean, lifeless. I couldn’t move for an hour, staring straight forward toward the void of the sea.
It has been a week, and I am unsure what to think. I have come here for some sense of relief and perhaps guidance. I am unsure what to do. What do I do?