Feed the Voices

16th November 1903

Jamie stared out into the distance, hearing the familiar sound of harsh waves crashing against the cliff face. He sat back in his chair, feeling the wind slowly pick up speed. The weather was getting worse this time of year, and it was only a matter of time before his final shipment would arrive.

433 cans — enough to last him a few months.

No sailor in his right mind would come near Bell’s Island if they could avoid it.

A sharp gust of wind sent a chill through Jamie’s body, issuing him with a warning that he was not welcome up here any longer. Packing up his chair, he made certain that the light was functioning before heading down the stairs into his rudimentary quarters.

Jamie changed into his warmest clothes, made sure the window was closed, and sat at the edge of his bed. He shut his eyes, said his prayers, and turned to the small candle flickering on his bedside. Next to it was a calendar.

He picked up a pen and crossed out ‘16’.

Six more months, then his contract would be over and he could go back home.

That night, he dreamt of his wife, his son, and the smell of their home. But the dream quickly morphed into a nightmare, just as it did every night. Holes in the wall, water flooding in, doors locked, no escape. He woke with a start, his wife’s cries still echoing in his ears.

There was really no way to tell what time it was, but he assumed around 2 or 3 o’clock. A beat of silence passed, but the sound of her cries still hadn’t quite gone away. Straining his ears, he wandered over to the window.

Outside, the wind was howling, and rain poured down so heavily that he couldn’t see the ocean anymore. But the cry was there. He had almost convinced himself it was just the wind, when he heard the voice weep his name.

Jamie knew it wasn’t his wife. Anne was home — warm and safe. But he could not deny that there was someone out there, perhaps a woman in distress.

Despite his better judgement, he pulled on his coat and rushed down the stairs. Down toward the water. Down toward the cliff’s edge.

17th November 1903

The oil had long since run dry, and the fire burnt out. Darkness flooded the sky and melted into the sea. One lone ship sailed towards home. With no light to guide them, it was a miracle they arrived. Just in time to make the final stop to unload the last of their cargo.

No man came out to greet them. The door was left open. Not one trace remained to show what had happened. So the sailors packed up, and one remained to care for the light.

Little did they know, the rain worked with the wind to feed the hunger of the ocean. It washed away the blood from the jagged rocks on the cliff. The rain howled to silence the scream of terror. And the sea swallowed the evidence to feed the voices inside.