Realistic or Modern A Haunting at Silver Harbor Light | Sleipnir; Rusting Knight

[Sleipnir]

Silver Harbor was the cutest of lakeside towns: This was a fact Morgan McCoy was certain of, and she'd been in plenty.

Surrounded on all sides by thick mixed forests, with rivers and ponds and streams running through them and out into the bay, the only sort of outdoor recreation the Northwoods National Forest seemed to be missing was mountain sports, and that was alright. Silver Harbor and its surrounding public lands had everything else, from boating, to kayaking, to fresh fish in every restaurant and the cutest little local cafes. Everything including the lighthouse, sitting outside town, visible from her favorite cafe. On a nice, clear summer morning like this one, when the lake was deceptively calm, it was a picturesque sight: Well-maintained and stout-looking up there on its high cliff, where it once warned sailors of the treacherous rocks below it. Morgan could see the tan bricks and white trim from where she stood, staring out a big, wide window. The keeper's quarters and all the outbuildings were just obscured by the forests between her and the lighthouse, some few miles away.

She'd worked around the lighthouse several times. She'd heard the stories. Knowing her luck, she'd always been careful not to have the evening shift closing the place down. Tonight, though, that's what they had her doing -- she'd go into work late, she'd hang out and give an evening talk on the history of the area, and then she'd make sure everything was locked out and secure for the night. If she was lucky, she'd even ignore it if she heard or saw something weird while she did it. Most of the staff and locals didn't really believe the ghost stories around that place, and there had to be half a million variations -- it was haunted by an old keeper who died of a heart attack on the job, the spirits of the ships dashed upon the rocks seek shelter there, someone threw theirself off the gallery, there had been a gristly murder there... People told it so many ways. Morgan didn't want to believe any of it, but... knowing how things went around her, she did. The Silver Harbor Lighthouse wouldn't be the first haunted house she'd been in.

"Morgan!"

She looked up when a barista called her name with a smile, then made her way over to get her drink. She believed the ghost stories, and she'd have to face them, but not yet. For now, she could hang out in her favorite coffee shop with her black hair down, wearing a pretty yellow sun dress, looking out at the enormous lake that stretched out to the horizon. The lighthouse was a later problem. "Thanks, Andy," she called back with a smile, nodding. Andy just tossed her a wink before they went back to their other orders, and Morgan stepped back toward the door to step out into the patio seating. The place was too small to have seats inside, after all, and she liked the breeze off the water anyway.

 

[Rusting Knight]

Seeing Silver Harbour again was a relief to Sadie, like stepping into a warm bath. The beauty of the place never surprised her. Whenever she wanted to indulge in nostalgia, or calm herself down after a hard day, she only had to close her eyes and the postcard perfect image of Silver Harbour would unfurl behind her eyes. Even the memory of the forests or the still surface of the lake on a calm day could lull her into happiness. The place had a real hold on her, a strong grasp on her ankle that it could use to pull her back whenever it wanted.

It had been her parents that had called her home, in reality. Their phone call had been a welcome lifeline. She had been about two long shifts or one more blank audience at an open-mike night away from throwing in the towel and fleeing the city on her own accord. It was nice to see them again, though they were old these days and prone to circling the same topics endlessly. But on some level, it was nicer to see Silver Harbour again, to walk back into the cafe she’d gotten her first job at. The barista was new, of course, but the big customer service smile and chipper voice was the same sort that had been taught to her. It reminded her of being sixteen, despite the fact that after years of sporadic visits, Sadie felt like a proper tourist and acted like one too.

That was fine with her. The shock she felt when the edges of her nostalgic memories rubbed against the present-day reality bothered her, but Sadie always leant into things that bothered her. She spent her time out of the house wandering aimlessly through the half-familiar streets, peering closely at shops in an obnoxious parody of window shopping meant only for herself, takeaway coffee dangling from her fingertips.

In the window she was looking at, admiring dresses hung limply off plastic mannequins, her reflection hung, badly bleached hair and sharp broad features clear. When she straightened up and turned, her eyes caught on the lighthouse, tall, pristine and proud. The sight of it sent a dull fear rising up her throat, despite the warm sun beating down on her neck. There was no need to get scared of that old building, Sadie told herself. She needed to get a gift for her mother. She was better off worrying about getting sunburnt. In the evening, then she would have to look at the thing.

To satisfy her nostalgia and her parent’s desires to educate her on her hometown’s history, she had booked a tour of the lighthouse. The last one that ran, as another one of her private jokes, or as a test of will. Growing up at the foot of the lighthouse, Sadie had been terrified of the ghost stories that attached themselves the building like flies to a carcass. Her older brother had wielded the tales of grisly murders and stormy nights against her, whispering them in her ear at night in the bedroom they shared. Sometimes she still woke up sweaty and breathing shallowly, the afterimages of the lighthouse and its keepers swimming in the darkness before her. Sadie figured she might as well use her triumphant return as an opportunity to put those childhood nightmares to rest.

 

[Sleipnir]

Morgan wasn't the sort to stay out on the town for too long before work. Even having a late shift and having the time, she didn't really care to get herself too tired before work -- but then, her tired eyes gave away her state of constant exhaustion anyway. She was just terrible at resting, and that was the truth of it. She stayed at a table, sipping her coffee and watching other guests come and go with there to-go orders as the sun rose and got brighter and warmer. It would be a nice morning, with a welcome lake breeze and just enough sunshine on her shoulders. Hopefully, it'd be a good day in general.

She'd really, really tried to tell herself it would be. Morgan kept telling herself that right up until she got the text: Sitting in her room, just starting to pull her undershirt on, her phone buzzed.

Morgan turned her head and looked over at it, and saw Jenny's name pop up. Her boss. Oh, that wasn't going to be good. She sighed and grabbed her grey button-up, tossing it on around her shoulders before she leaned over to snatch her phone up off the nightstand. It'd be fine, she tried to tell herself. Nothing at all. Maybe Jen was just sending her a photo of her dog or something.
No. Of course not.
No, when Morgan opened her phone and pulled up the conversation, she couldn't even be surprised by what she read: Alex called in sick. Are you okay to take your shift alone?
Well... things never did go according to plan. Morgan's green eyes skipped across her cramped little Forest Service cabin room, staring at the outdated paneling on the interior wall. Theoretically, sure. She'd be fine. She knew what she was doing. If things went normally, she knew it'd be no problem at all. What was the likelihood that she'd actually have a run-in with a ghost in there, anyway? The tour would have plenty of people around, and folks called every old building under the sun haunted. Most of them weren't. Sure, she texted back. Don't worry about me.
...Most of them weren't even haunted.
Even so, she turned and looked over at her backpack where it sat slumped against the door frame, nearly empty. In the third drawer of her dresser, there was equipment tucked away, buried underneath flannel pajamas and nightgowns and slips. An EMF reader, a spirit box... DOTs projectors and other things. Morgan heaved a heavy, soul-weary sigh, then stepped over to dig her things out and drop them in the back. Just in case.

And at first, at least, things were pretty normal. She was hanging out at the gates, just outside the visitor center as guests filtered in. Her hair fell around her shoulders and down her back in thick black waves from under her hat. Gray shirt, green pants, hiking boots -- she was the very picture of a forest ranger, standing and greeting people cheerfully in her thick midwestern accent. "Once we're all here and ready," she began, as she always did, "We'll be taking a walk around the grounds. The area's paved, and it'll be easy walking for the tour itself, though we'll be climbing stairs inside the lighthouse. This is a ranger-led hike, so I'll be in the front at all times."

It was a small detail. But it was still one she had to point out every talk. Even after she said it, she often had to call people back into the group or remind them not to get ahead of her and wander off.

 

[Rusting Knight]

The sun was already drooping down to the horizon when Sadie returned home. The streets were quieter, and the brightly lit storefronts she passed glowed as the natural light dwindled. Her parent’s home was in a dull residential street, small and smelling of the same under-spiced cooking that her father had churned out for all her preteen and adolescent years.

Sadie sat on a creaking wooden chair, propping her chin on her hand as she watched her father move around the kitchen, sliding onions off a chopping board and into a pot coated in a spitting layer of oil. She scrolled absently through social media, and checked the group chat for the restaurant she worked at, and didn’t message her friends back. Their texts blurred before eyes into crawling black bugs trapped in grey bubbles. When her father called out to her, she stood up and laid out plates, ones that she was pretty sure had been a gift from her brother.

Dinner was nice. The sun was properly low in the sky, sending shifting patterns of gold light through the windows. Sadie should clean them while she was visiting - the house needed a lot of tidying up.

Conversation was slow, drifting to her roommates (good, mostly) to her attempts at stand-up (terrible) and her work (same as ever). Her parents talked about their work with worn boredom, and kept themselves entertained with documentaries. Their favourite topic was the history of Silver Harbour, its founding and its growth and the lighthouse. They were excited about the tour in a way that made Sadie a little more excited herself. Her mother talked about its construction and its importance, steering around the ghost stories and mutters. Then the conversation turned to her brother, and Sadie felt her mind drift away from the table.

After she finished her bland food, Sadie excused herself to change for the night. She swapped shorts for thick jeans and her practical work shoes and pulled on a new t-shirt with a dumb joke plastered on the front. It would be fun, in the end, she reassured herself when the beginnings of fear began to creep back in.

It was long way, by Sadie’s standards, but she walked all the way to the visitor centre. Something about the illuminated streets soothed her. There were few other people about, walking dogs or talking loudly amongst themselves. As she approached the gates she took out her cheap wired earbuds, still playing faint pop music until she fumbled for her phone to pause the sound. The lighthouse was clearly visible; Sadie tricked herself into thinking her fear was excitement. It did look beautiful, sturdy and clear against the horizon. Beyond it stretched the lake, expansive and calm.

The ranger seemed friendly and competent, somehow trustworthy. Sadie peered curiously around at the other guests. They shuffled and chattered, seeming distracted even as the ranger began to speak. She guessed that’s why the ranger had to insist on her leading the group. Sadie knew she was probably guilty of the same thing, her anxiety a little worm in her stomach that made her jumpy and shortened her attention span. Even at the best of times, she knew herself to be the kind of person who ignored signs and paths and instructions, led around by her own insatiable curiosity.

This time, she would behave, Sadie promised herself. She didn’t want to irritate the ranger or the other guests.

 

[Sleipnir]

It was a solid talk, Morgan couldn't deny that. She kept her theme so tight and redirected questions so well that she almost forgot where she was entirely -- for a brief, beautiful moment, her program was going so well, that she forgot about the anxiety around the lighthouse entirely as the group walked from building to building, basking in the moonlight and cool lake breeze. It was a little harder than normal, she had to admit: As she moved from one spot to the next, with no second ranger to heel the group for her, she had to keep leaning around and making sure she knew where everyone was.

Then, finally, it came back into her mind again. "Alright," she called, turning back around to face the group. "The keeper's quarters are inside here. We'll finish the tour with a brief look around, and then we'll finish up back at the visitor center, so let's head on in."

Of course, it was then that Morgan recalled again just where she was with her hand on the door. But it was fine, she reminded herself. Just because people say it doesn't mean it's actually haunted. Most places aren't. Most places were just drafty, or settled oddly, or had raccoons in the attic. Most places were nothing special at all. But most places weren't places she was working, and she couldn't be sure, but Morgan McCoy thought that made a difference.
All the same, though, she gave the door a light knock, as if she could warn someone who might be inside that she was coming into the house. Then she pushed the big, old wooden door open with a soft creak. The air inside was a cold wall, and the chill pricked at her skin, but that wasn't special, either, she told herself. It was just chilly.

And besides. Turning on the lights and looking around with a smile, Morgan reminded herself that it was a beautiful home. The keepers who had lived there had been lucky to have such a comfortable house. The door opened into a receiving space with a fireplace, pretty hardwood floors, and a couple rocking chairs and a sofa, all of which were original from when the light went out of service back in the 1910s. The rug between the chairs was finely woven, with red patterns on it, and across from her, Morgan could see into the dining room, where a wood stove and kitchen area were tucked away with a copper kettle sitting on top. Off to one side, there were doors into other rooms, and stairs leading up into the bedroom areas and the stairway up to the gallery. Out of the corner of her eye, Morgan could see that at least one of the doors below the staircase was just slightly ajar.

It was slightly ajar.

Just drafty, she assured herself. It was just drafty in here. She tried not to look at it, and kept her group there in the front room, just in case. "...And you know, we've talked a lot about all the things the keeper and his assistance would have to do during the day. That didn't leave a lot of time for leisure, but they still had some -- and this was the house they lived in while they worked here," she continued, glancing around the group. "We won't be going up to the gallery tonight, but we'll hang out here a little and I'll answer questions and point out some of the features of our lighthouse here..."

And on she continued, though Morgan had to admit she was getting eager to finish. She was skipping things, she realized. She would've taken them upstairs if she hadn't had an evening program. She just wanted to finish it, though -- to herd everyone out again.

 

[Rusting Knight]

The ranger guided the group through the buildings with a skill that held Sadie’s attention. She dutifully trailed along with the group, feeling awkward on her own, noticing how people clustered in groups and couples, shivering a little in only her t-shirt. The loneliness was easy to brush off, in favour of enjoying the clear night sky and the fresh air. The town felt distant from here, even outside of the lighthouse itself.

Sadie fidgeted with the cord of her earbuds in her pocket, listening intently to the talk. Sadie had only ever heard the ghost stories before, but it was interesting to hear about the actual, tangible history of the lighthouse. It alleviated her fear, and made the lighthouse seem real, and less menacing. Every now and then she piped up with a few questions, mostly to keep herself focused on the information, and avoided the eyes of the other guests.

The fear came back when they approached the keeper’s quarters. In Sadie’s eyes, the house was stunted and menacing. She noticed the ranger knock on the door before opening it, an odd, polite gesture that notched up her anxiety. None of the guests seemed nervous, Sadie reassured herself, half-eavesdropping on quiet, mundane chatter. Nobody mentioned hauntings or murders. Despite her rationalisations, Sadie couldn’t shake off the chill when she stepped through. Something about the drop in temperature gave the atmosphere of stepping into another, closed-off world.

Inside, Sadie tried to shake her nerves by focusing on in the details of the quarters. She kicked gently at the fine red rug with the toe of her shoe, drifted close to the sofa and then away, ahead of the group, to the thresholds of the dining and kitchen areas. It must’ve have been alright, living here, Sadie reckoned. She pictured the lighthouse keepers and their families in the little home, vague images of children running around and a man boiling water in the copper kettle. It was like another world, a step back into another time. Sadie lost the thread of the ranger’s talk, trying not to wander off too noticeably.

Sadie stared up at the second floor, past the stairway, squinting at the darkness. For a moment, she considered breaking off from the group, going up on her own - but that would be rude. She was an adult, and there was no reason to fall back into bad adolescent habits. With a twinge of guilt, Sadie returned to the mass of the group, redirecting her attention to the talk. The ranger seemed nervous, thought maybe Sadie was reading her own emotions into the woman. She almost tried for another question, but couldn’t come up with one.

One of the doors was ajar. Sadie saw it out of the corner of her eye while she was admiring the fireplace. The sight made her nervous, and then Sadie felt embarrassed for her nervousness. Her heartbeat quickened. Don’t be stupid, Sadie scolded herself, circling closer to the door. Slowly, trying not to catch the eye of the ranger, exactly like a teenager, Sadie crept closer to the open door. There was nothing to be scared about, not about the ranger and not about the supposed ghosts. With the tips of the fingers, Sadie pushed the door open, catching a glimpse of another, smaller living area. Another rug spread across the floor, a few wicker chairs, a piano against one wall. It held the same preserved, semi-artificial affect that Sadie always associated with museums. Nothing to be scared about. Sadie turned around and moved to rejoin the group, easing the door back to its halfway closed position.

 

[Sleipnir]

Morgan hadn't even noticed Sadie wandering -- not when, initially, she was so caught up in answering questions, giving out maps and information, or otherwise paying attention to the other guests. On a few occasions, as guests filtered back out the door and back toward their cars, she could swear she heard piano keys hit in the next room, but every time Morgan's attention snapped over to the door, there was no one coming or going from the room.

Just a trick, she told herself. It's probably in my head. Just like the chill in the air, and the doors that shouldn't have been open, sure. All in her head. She could tell herself that, but Morgan found herself getting more and more sure that all in her head just wasn't the case. That was plenty of reason for her to start bringing her post-talk chatter to a close. "Alright," she began, keeping that same, cheerful tone. "It's getting late, and I've gotta get this locked up, so it's a good time to start heading back."

It was a good group: The kind who didn't linger too long once she gave the signal that she was ready to go home. Or at least, Morgan sure acted like she did, but she was still carrying a bag heavy with ghost-hunting tools. As if that was normal. She ushered the guests out and glanced back at the door on the other side of the room, slightly ajar.

She didn't even check to make sure she really was completely alone, or that the guests had all headed back to their cars. She just needed to check. Just to see. Morgan set her bag down on the floor and heaved a sigh, then unzipped it and grabbed out an EMF reader and flipped it on. "I'm sure I'm gonna regret this," she mumbled under her breath. "I should really just... leave you alone. Or at least not bother you when I'm sure you're already pissed off by having about ten uninvited guests in your house." Morgan certainly wouldn't be able to blame a ghost for that. She'd be mad, too, in the same circumstances. "...Gotta say you should expect it by now, though."

Morgan eased her way back over to the door and glanced back at the living room. It was still washed in the soft yellow light of the only lights witch she'd turned on. She'd rather keep it that way, really. She turned back to the door, then lifted the EMF reader to it. It didn't go off. The lights didn't change from where it sat at 1. Fine. So she shouldered the door open carefully and made her way across the small room to the piano near the window instead. The moonlight washed the room in white light, and it should've felt almost romantic, but in that moment, the cold light and hard shadows just made her skin crawl.

Once again, a little more timid, she raised the EMF reader again to the piano. It gave a low, constant beep and the lights on it flashed. That was a 3. Morgan closed her eyes for a moment, and muttered something she knew she never really should've said in uniform.

"...Ah. Shit."

 

[Rusting Knight]

It was the moonlight that tipped Sadie over the edge into terror, creeping pale and strange across the world outside the keeper’s quarters. It made everything hostile to her eyes, even the yellow light of the living room. The illusion of safety struck Sadie as repulsive. The tour was wrapping up, the ranger was signalling that the guests should trickle out to the car park and sidewalks, but Sadie had given into her old, childhood fear. It left a familiar weight in her chest, a pain to accompany her fluttering heart, knocking around in her chest. The same reaction she had at eight and twelve and fourteen. A shrinking, prey animal feeling of being hunted.

If Sadie was telling the story to one of her dead crowds, as a part of her set, she would say that she knew ghosts weren’t real. She could spin it as an impulse, a petty rebellion or the echo of a teenage dare. Even as she separated again from the group Sadie was telling herself that she was doing so because of Lily, who used to tease her for having nightmares about the lighthouse.

It was the stairs she headed for this time. She stepped lightly, footsteps hidden under the chattering clots of guests wandering into the night. The ranger hadn’t left; Sadie wondered for a moment how she would sneak past her then dismissed the thought. The bannister was smooth under her hand, wood polished by the oil of many hands. The stairs creaked a little under her weight, like her the floorboards in her childhood hone had, years ago, when she snuck home at night. Sadie found herself admiring again how well the place was maintained. The upkeep seemed disconnected with the queasy churn of anxiety in her stomach. Above her the landing was a featureless pit, unlit and undisturbed. When Sadie craned her neck, she could see the shine of light on a doorknob.

Below her, Sadie could hear the soft notes of piano keys, pressed one at a time, without a melody. Another straggling guest, she assured herself, maybe the ranger breaking a few rules. Still, she found herself paralysed on the final few stairs. The bedroom doors were visible through the darkness now, white paint chipped to reveal another layer underneath. The corridor was carpeted to match the downstairs living room. A voice drifted up, words indistinguishable. A jolt of fear animated her, parting her lips with an involuntary, near silent cry, before she registered it as the cadence of the ranger.

“Nothing, see?” Sadie told herself, or maybe some imaginary audience. The haunted keeper’s quarters would make for a bad joke. But Sadie went up the last few stairs anyway, and twisted the tarnished silver doorknob, warm under her trembling fingers. It swung open to a bedroom, decorated as it would have been when the lighthouse keeper’s assistant lived there: plain floorboards, desk pushed under the narrow window, bed made with thick covers, prop books in a dark wood bookshelf. The moonlight from the window made the scene seem like something out of a period piece, unreal and intangible.

From a neighbouring room, she heard the creak of footsteps. Sadie turned and fled down the stairs without closing the bedroom door behind her.