Young Storykeeper Volume III

264 | STORYKEEPERS VOLUME III AGE TWELVE | 265
THE LIGHTHOUSE
I grip the splintering banister, my knuckles white.
The events of the past hour repeat in my head.
Running up steps. The lighthouse balcony.
Wind whipping our hair around. Pulling her with
me. You come up the stairs. Screaming. Fighting.
Begging. Your arms around her waist. You, moving
back. Pleading. Falling. Dead.
I shake my head and continue down the steps.
Five years ago. Running through the waves.
Laughing with her. You walking past. Smiling.
Waving. Plotting.
I stop, breathing hard. If only I had known. I
choke out a sob. I stumble down further, pushing
down the tears, pushing down the hope that she
might be alive. She’s dead. She can’t possibly have
survived. And if she could have survived that means
you could have too. If you are alive.
“I’ll kill you,” my hands shake, and I grip the
banister harder. “And I’ll make it slow.”
My voice is a rasp from screaming, barely
audible. I stumble and fall head over heels down the
last of the stairs. I groan as my arm cracks.
Two years ago. Running. Playful shoving.
Laughing. Tripping. Cracking. Crying. Pain. Her,
running for help. Alone. Screaming. Darkness.
I push myself up. I feel no pain, though my arm
might be broken. I don’t care. I open the door and
step out onto the rocky ground. I slowly circle around
to the back of the lighthouse. I cry out as I see her,
mangled and broken. Dead. Empty. I crumple next
to her, sobbing anew. You did this. You took her
away from me. She was all I had left and now she’s
gone. Now I have nothing. I see you beside her and
my breath catches. You’re dead too. But I’m not
saddened by that. The world is better off without
you. You’re gone. But you took her with you. And
I can’t live without her. I can’t live if she isn’t alive.
I look out into the ocean. The sea had always
reminded me of her ocean blue eyes. I stand up and
walk out onto the beach. The waves are high, and
the sky is cloudy so no one else is on the beach. I
am alone. I will always be alone. I walk towards the
sea and pull off my dirty old shoes. I keep walking
when the freezing cold water washes over my feet.
I keep walking when my jeans get heavy. I keep
walking when the water reaches my waist. I keep
walking when the waves try to push me back. I keep
walking when the water comes up to my neck. I keep
walking when I am fully enveloped in salty water.
I stop and stand still, staring forwards into the
blue nothingness. I stay there until all the air has
left my lungs and all is dark. I stay there till I am no
longer human. I stay there till I am the sea and the
sea is me.
Sara O’Flaherty
Co Dublin
GRANUAILE SINKS!
My dad worked for Irish Lights as a Second Officer
on the ILV Granuaile in 1992. Every year there was
a Commissioners’ trip. The Commissioners went
on board the ship and inspected all the lighthouses
around the coast of Ireland.
On this trip, the ship left Dún Laoghaire
and travelled north to Belfast, stopping at every
lighthouse along the way so that the Commissioners
could inspect the light.
When the Granuaile reached Belfast, the Belfast
Harbour Board boarded the ship and there was a
big party. Afterwards, the ship sailed for the Maidens
Lighthouse off Larne. The Commissioners left the
ship to inspect the lighthouse.
My dad was in bed asleep when he awoke to
a loud noise and was nearly thrown out of his bunk.
He knew instantly something was wrong, so
my dad went straight to the bridge of the ship. The
Granuaile had struck a rock near the lighthouse and
water was quickly spilling in. The ship’s carpenter
checked the ship and to the dismay of the crew, the
ship was well and truly sinking.
The Granuaile headed for the coast as my dad
called the Coast Guard and Larne Port. Larne Port
wouldn’t allow the ship in so the Granuaile headed
for Browns Bay, which was a shallow, sandy bay
close by.
All the lifeboats were lowered into the sea with the
Commissioners and crew aboard. Just the essential
crew, including my dad, were kept on board while
the others took refuge on the lifeboats.
The engine room filled up with water and the
engine eventually gave way. Some motorboats and
a small tugboat towed the Granuaile up onto the
shore.
Eventually, the Granuaile was floated and was
towed to Harland & Woolf shipyard in Belfast to be
rebuilt. The Granuaile returned resiliently to service
the next year.
The top decks of the ship were always above
water. The Second Engineer rewired the electricity
supply to the deck generator. My dad lived like a king
because all the lovely food was still in the fridges and
freezers for the Commissioners trip. It was going to
rot so my dad had to eat it!
My great-grandad was a lighthouse keeper and
my grandad John Harding was a captain on the Irish
Lights ships.
Kate Harding
Co Dublin
THE LIGHTHOUSE
“We hope to see you next week!” called my piano
teacher as I walked out of the Seafront Piano
Academy.
“Bye!” I said, wrapping my furry hood tighter
around me. The door shut behind me. It seemed
to be unusually dark that night. A crisp wind blew,
making the trees quiver.
I was about to go to the bus stop so I could
make my way home, but something caught my
eye. There was a flickering light coming from the
abandoned lighthouse.
Nobody had set foot in there for years. The
light kept glimmering in an ominous way. I felt drawn
to it and I wanted to investigate. It wasn’t as if there
was anyone waiting for me at home…
I walked down the rotting wooden steps leading
to the beach. The ocean was disconcertingly calm,
there wasn’t one ripple in the water. The sand was
ghostly white. The entire beach was empty, not even
the tiniest shrivelled seaweed or a small stone could
be seen.
I clambered up a mass of wet slippery rocks.
The lighthouse loomed above me. I scraped my shins
on a particularly jagged rock and winced in pain. I
couldn’t give up now, not when I was so close.
I pulled myself up onto a stone trail leading up
to the lighthouse. I thought dejectedly of how long
it would take to get those tiny pebbles out of my
shoes. I found myself in front of the lighthouse door.
I assumed it would be locked, but surprisingly
with a slight push the door budged open. I walked
inside the dimly lit room. To my disbelief I heard
distorted piano music coming from somewhere
upstairs. I recognised it to be Beethoven’s Moonlight
Sonata. I looked about me in wonderment. The
windows were broken. The walls were cracked.
Insects scuttled and rodents scurried. I felt a chill
go down my spine. I decided to go up the spiral
staircase to see what lay ahead.
As I made my way up, the staircase wobbled
precariously. I shivered with anticipation as I neared
the top. I had just enough time to catch a glimpse
of a sinister figure playing the final few notes of
music on a grand piano. The lighthouse’s ancient
bulb suddenly grew blindingly bright and with a whirl
of dust and debris I found myself lying on the sand,
just under the rotting wooden steps. I felt the eerie
sonata ringing in my ears. I scrambled up, hit my
head on the wooden stairs, stumbled and ran as fast
as I could to the bus stop.
Strange colours flashed before my eyes, and
my heart pounded. My mind swirled.
To this day, I have never played the piano. Not
once.
Julia McDonnell
Co Dublin