There isn't much to do in Nova Scotia. Growing up in a small coastal town, you have to learn to take what you can find. As for my friend Herschel and me, our pastime of choice was diving. We would spend the bitter winters and chilly springs planning our next excursion, and as soon as those warm summer winds came sweeping off the Atlantic, we were off on some makeshift adventure. Our hope was always to stumble across some lost and forgotten shipwreck brimming with precious metals and jewels. They say the deep is home to more than $60 billion USD in lost treasure. Herschel and I confirmed that none of it was near Nova Scotia. We never let that discourage us, though. While we joked about the next dive being “the one”, we were just glad to be out, exploring places other people never ventured; we never really thought we would find anything spectacular. That was until we heard about a small cape to the south, home to a lighthouse the locals had ominously named “The Wrecking Light”.
From the time it was constructed, the lighthouse of Cape Trinity had seen the wreck of over six dozen ships, spanning a time of about 80 years -- nearly one wreck a year until it was decommissioned. Survivors of the wrecks -- shockingly few in number -- reported an inexplicable need to sail towards the lighthouse, and when their ship was inevitably struck by some errant outcrop, they had a pressing desire to save it so that they could continue to sail. The handful of men that had survived seemed to have done so through sheer happenstance, a tremor or ocean swell knocking them overboard. Once free from their ships, each survivor reportedly experienced the same thing: watching in horror as their shipmates lashed themselves to the rigging and sank down into the depths.
Herschel and I were fascinated by the tale. The thought of countless deaths had not fazed us. We reveled in the thought of exploring the waters around the cape. By the time that summer rolled in, we were all set for our trip, but much of our enthusiasm was stamped out by the locals when we finally arrived. Most were short with us from the beginning, but when asked about the lighthouse, all of them became outright hostile -- spitting at us, cursing at us, and telling us to get out of town. We were baffled by this reaction until one of the townsfolk pulled us aside and told us a part of the story we had not heard yet. It seemed the curse of The Wrecking Light ran deeper than the dozens of ships that it had claimed: for about one hour every night since it was decommissioned, the lighthouse flared to life again. As its haunting green beacon slowly spun, those scattered ships that littered the ocean floor would come sailing in again, wrecking and plunging into those briny waters once more. As they crashed and sank over the course of that hour, the cape became a cacophony of ghostly voices, loud enough to carry into the town.
Herschel and I didn't believe a word of the story. We suspected that the townspeople had a personal reason for keeping outsiders away from the cape, and this curiosity simply made us more determined to find what secrets those waters held. We thanked the man for his time and set out towards the coast. When the lighthouse finally came into view, a wave of fear swept over us. We shot each other a quick glance to confirm that we had both felt it. There was certainly something ominous about that building. Herschel suggested it was just our imaginations getting the better of us. We shared a nervous chuckle and chalked it up to the story we had just heard, and continued riding down that long road with our meager little trawler in tow.
We spent the better part of that day diving around the cape. We stumbled upon half a dozen ships in the first several hours alone. Though they held nothing of particular value, the experience was extraordinary for us. Even seeing those lifeless figures lashed to the rigging like in the stories could not suppress our excitement. As the sun was sinking behind the horizon and we were back in our boat, I suggested we go back and find some food and lodging for the evening. I will freely admit now that a small part of me was still dwelling on the story we had heard in town, and I was hoping we would be off the water before nightfall. Herschel was too excited, however; when we spotted another outcropping of rock, he pleaded with me to investigate it. It was in the general direction of shore and we were still suited up, so I reluctantly agreed.
The ship we found at the base of that outcrop was like many of the ones we had seen that day: a small coaster with a stock of long-rotted goods. We were diving purely by flashlight at this point and there didn't seem much to see anyway, so I motioned to Herschel to head back up. As we were exiting the ship, Herschel's light fell on a body near the starboard cabin entrance. I didn't give it a second thought, but Herschel swam over to it, apparently intrigued by something. To my horror, he reached out to the body -- shriveled and badly decomposed -- and hoisted it up by the shoulders. He stared at it for a moment, then pulled something off from around its neck. He turned back to me and signaled to head up. It wouldn't have mattered if he had or not; a primal fear was already driving me back to the surface.
Night had fallen when we were back in the boat and stripped out of our gear. Herschel turned on the deck lights and came over to show me what he had taken from the corpse. It was a gold medallion with a small insignia engraved into it. I asked him what was so important about a small gold charm that he felt the need to rob some poor man's grave. He reached under the collar of his shirt and pulled an identical medallion out. He removed it and handed them both to me. There was no mistaking it: the engravings were the same on each medal.
Herschel explained that the engraving was his family's coat of arms, and that each son in the line was given a medallion when they came of age. That could only mean that the man in that ship was one of his ancestors who had been lost at sea. I handed him the medallions back and suggested he take a moment to pay his respects. He nodded and walked to the edge of the boat, holding the medallions together in his hands. As he stood in silence, a sudden chill ran down my back. I felt as though something were out of place. A quiet fear gripped my heart as I looked around, trying to divine the source of this unease. Suddenly, I saw it: the pale green beacon of the lighthouse.
As I opened my mouth to alert Herschel, the boat rocked from a sudden swell. Herschel fell backwards, his medallion flying loose from his hand and sliding over to me. I scooped it up and shouted to Herschel about the lighthouse. He turned back to me to respond when his eyes widened in horror. I twisted my head back and saw a fleet of ships on the horizon, drawing closer. I scrambled over to Herschel amidst the rocking of the swells and told him to start the engine so we could make our way to shore. He began to nod, then shook his head. He told me he wanted to stay; if it was really his ancestor on that ship, he might be able to board it and get him to safety. I tried, in the midst of the ever-growing din, to talk some sense into my friend, but he pleaded with me. Gripped with fear though I was, I swallowed my cowardice and agreed to wait for the ship.
It was a short while before we saw the coaster. By then the sound was deafening. We watched in amazement and horror as it ran within feet of our boat upon the rocks. Herschel grabbed our boarding plank and managed to secure it to their deck. We quickly scrambled across and made our way into the cabin. Crew members were frantically running about, evidently trying to patch the damaged hull. Despite our best efforts, Herschel and I were unable to stop any of them, and none that we saw appeared to be wearing the medallion.
The ship suddenly heaved as it took on water. I stumbled and nearly lost my grip on the medallion that was still in my hand. As I opened my hand and looked at the medallion again, a terrible realization dawned on me. I clamored over to Herschel and grabbed him by the arm. I pushed him to the cabin entrance and up the short flight of stairs. When we were above deck again, I gave him a heavy shove that sent him reeling over the side and into the water. As I did so, the ship heaved again and sent me toppling back into the cabin. I scrambled for the exit, but by that point the ship was nearly fully submerged. As the water rushed in, I tried my best to swim, only to find myself entangled in some loose netting. I felt in my pockets for something that could aid me and managed to pull out a small emergency breathing apparatus. I quickly put it to my lips and took a few panicked breaths. I knew what little air I had available would not last long, and as I struggled to free myself from the netting, the few precious moments of air dwindling down to nothing, I had a sudden sensation of freefall.
Within the blink of an eye I found myself on the deck of the ship. I saw the light on the cape off in the distance and felt the rushing of wind on my face. The crew around me talked of heading towards the lighthouse. Somehow, I had been saved, and for a moment I was glad; yet when I went to leap over the side, I saw no ocean, but only darkness. That emptiness terrified me like nothing ever had before, and even knowing what awaited us towards that lighthouse, I could not bring myself to jump.
I went below deck and looked at the objects in my hands: in one, I still held Herschel's medallion; in the other, I held the small breathing apparatus that had saved my life once already. The oxygen inside that small tube had been depleted halfway, and as I felt us run upon the rock, I placed it to my lips and waited for that cold rush of water. Within minutes I was engulfed again, and as the oxygen trickled down to nothing, I once more found myself on the deck, looking towards that ghastly light.
I have managed to find a bottle and some paper. Before we sink again, I will try to get these pages I have written into it with the hopes that it might be discovered some day. I don't know where they will end up, but I pray that whoever finds them will believe my story and discover some way to break this awful curse. The lighthouse must be stopped.
We have struck the rock, I'm almost out of time. I'm placing the medallion around my neck, Herschel if you somehow see this, I don't blame you, it's not your fault
it's not your fault, oh god
oh god i dont want to die
Wow @griff, I love it, great work! Unique story and brilliantly put together!
Thank you very much. I'm glad you liked it.
Cool story (and I dont usually like ghost stories!)- strong, unexpected ending.
You know, I'm not a big fan of ghost stories, either. But I have a weakness for lighthouses and ghost ships, so I thought it would be appropriate for October.
@griff, this is very good! I much enjoyed it and cannot wait to read more of your work.
Thank you!