books-in-times-of-darkness

The lighthouse shows way for lost sailors. The wind pulls the stone walls, threatening to tear them apart. He knows it won’t. These walls have held storms for a hundred years. This storm was harder, though. Much harder. The sea was higher than he’d ever seen it. The wind stronger. The thunder rumbled louder.

A flash. A loud crack. He looked up. Out of the window looking over the sea. There was no light.

He put down his book, took his little lamp and went out to the stairs. The tall walls were making threatening noises. The pharo tower was built for hard weather. He walked up the many stairs. He looked around in the light of his lamp, tried to find the failure. He remembered a book about evil lurking in the shadows.

He was not afraid.

Outside of the lamp room a cable had loosened. He could hear the sea slamming wildly onto the rocks underneath. The wind made the tower wave. He opened the door. He was sucked out. Grabbed the edge when his feet left the ground. He got back in and closed the door.

He found a rope. Tied it around his waist. The other end he tied to the railing. He opened the door again, went out. The wind pulled him, tore him. He moved along the wall. Held on to the fence. He fell once. Got up. Fell again. He remembered a book about adventures in high mountains. Explorers crossing bottomless abysses and cold wind.

He was not afraid.

He got the heavy cable. Something raised from the sea behind him. Something big. He could see a light in the darkness, over the sea, floating high up in the air. He got the cable in. Pulled the lever. Light. He saw a monster. A snake. A dragon. A fishlike head covered in shells. Gills. Nostrils. Six arms on it’s body.

He remembered a tale of lost sailors. A tale of darkness in the sea. Of creatures from the deep of the oceans, cosmic monsters from dimensions of evil.

He was afraid.

The wind got him. He fell. The rope straitened. Above him stood the monster. Enormous like a mountain. Terror from the deep.

He thought he heard laughter. An evil, rolling laughter in the storm. He grabbed the rope, pulled himself up. Got to the door. He slammed the door behind him.

He ran down the stairs. The roars of the monster echoed between the rocks. He remembered a book about old gods and sea monsters. He was afraid. He sunk down in a corner. Hopefully the storm would soon be over.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H._P._Lovecraft

https://jacforsyth.wordpress.com/2017/02/07/the-death-of-dragons/

The Strange Nest