October 5th, 1973
So, I’ve decided to keep a journal. Mostly to steady the head. To keep me sane. To keep track of everyone in here. To help us navigate this place.
We are the crew assigned to the lighthouse of Dúrnach isle, a rock that looks black on the side, and green on top, on the northern coast of Northern Ireland. We keep the lighthouse running, we maintain it and we tend the house here.
Today was just like any other. Cormag barking orders, me carrying them out, while Emmet kept muttering under his breath. Stubborn as a goat, that one – always questioning, always pushing.
After finishing, we gathered in the common room. We have some old board games to help kill the time. We’d just sat down when Father Gavin started saying a prayer – quiet and soft, mostly to himself I assume.
Cormag rolled his eyes, and I joined in, told him this wasn’t the time for sermons. I probably said it harsher than I intended, because Gavin looked back at me – not angry, just sad – and quietly excused himself. That stayed with me. Still does. He is a nice man, after all. For a priest that is.
After a few awkward moments, Ingram spoke up, perhaps to lighten the mood, maybe he just wanted to be heard. He got shut down just as quick. Green as moss, that one. Keeps mostly to himself. We haven’t decided about him yet – and out here, that means a lot.
October 6th, 1973
Things just keep getting better.
As we were tending the lighthouse today, checking the oil and giving it a good once-over, Cormag decided we should all go up to the top in order to get a view of the ocean. It always fills me with such calm. There is something about the horizon – something steady, dependable. But not today.
Cormag pointed towards the sea, where some rather angry, dark clouds were gathering in the distance. He said we should brace for a storm.
We headed down, started boarding up the windows and collecting whatever loose bits that were scattered around the yard. Father Gavin asked for assistance barricading the small church. I scoffed at the notion. He looked… wounded. Ingram offered to help him, as did Emmet (that was a surprise). I felt terrible after that.
Why do I keep going after Father Gavin? He is nothing like my own father, who was a terrible bully. Blaming me for… well, no sense dredging that up, not now.
Anyway, once everything was secured, we gathered in the common room. The wind had picked up by then. Father Gavin picked out one of the board games and suggested we play while waiting out the storm. For once, everyone agreed.
October 7th, 1973
There was no sleep to be had last night. The storm blew across the island like a fierce dragon of nature. The whole place groaned and shuddered like an old man caught in a blizzard. I could hear Father Gavin praying – not quietly, but with real desperation. For once, I didn’t mind. Not too much, anyway.
We all sat in the common room, looking tired and underslept. Cormag tried to speak up, but he didn’t have the strength it seemed. Then Father Gavin suggested we tell the others something about ourselves – to connect, to strengthen our unity.
Cormag rolled his eyes again at him. Emmet muttered something and said no thank you.
I hesitated – then stammered out, softly at first, the story of the single worst day in my life. The day I lost my beloved brother. He had drowned. I told them how my old man said it was my fault – that I lacked faith. And right there, I broke down in front of them. In front of Cormag.
I cried tears – not of pain, but of relief, for relieving myself of this heavy burden. As if I had finally put the massive weight down. Father Gavin stood up and gave me a big hug. He just stood there and held me for a while. No words – just the embrace of a caring fellow man.
The others stayed quiet. Eventually, Cormag said that this was enough drama for one day. I think I lost everyone’s respect today. And that is what hurts most.
October 8th, 1973
So, a lot has happened.
The storm is still raging. Last night, while we were sitting and playing some stupid board game, Ingram suddenly stood up, looking confused. He hurried to one of the windows, and peered between the boards, I think. He screamed – sharp and sudden – and ran for the door.
Cormag tried to stop him, but Ingram pushed him aside. He yanked the door and ran out – no shoes, no jacket. No hope for him either.
We looked as he ran for the cliffs. He started climbing. Everyone shouted for him to get back. No response. Just the wind and rain swallowing everything.
Cormag sank into a chair, head in his hands, desperate for answers. His eyes were wide – more than I have ever seen them. Then he said we couldn’t go after him. He couldn’t risk the whole crew for one man.
He asked Father Gavin to say a prayer for mr. Ingram. He did so. The rest of us just sat there, rattled.
I decided I needed some answers. I went to Ingrams room. What I found there, I did not expect.
My son.
Every day without you is a day full of pain. I should have been there for you, to save you. But I wasn’t. I blame myself for that.
If only I…I could have saved you from getting hit by that car… everything would be better.
A parent should never have to bury their children. I only hope that we find each other some beautiful day. You were my proudest moment. I love you, son.
I showed it to Cormag. We were all lost for words. He had been trying to fit in all along – and we kept pushing him away. Again and again. The shame I feel now is unbearable.
October 9th, 1973
Good new first. The storm has abated.
We were all sitting in the common room, reminiscing about Ingram, and drinking whiskey in his memory. It wasn’t a toast, not really – more like a shared silence, with glasses in our hands and nothing to say. No one really knew Ingram. As sad as that is.
Cormag eventually asked Father Gavin for a short sermon, and he obliged, of course. His voice was soft, almost drowned by the sound of wind still dragging its nails across the windows. He spoke of compassion. Of the weight we carry. Of how every man is fighting something you’ll never even see. He also spoke of the need to hold fast – to stand strong beside one another, come what may.
I didn’t look at anyone while he spoke. I just stared at the flame in the lantern. Let it burn the words into the silence.
The mood in the house is heavy – as if we all have been slapped by an invisible hand. Everyone turned in early.
October 10th, 1973
We got up, bright and early, and started working on the lighthouse. Maintaining the machinery, lubricating it and tightening some loose bolts. It was steady, focused work. A good kind of silence.
We had been going for quite some time, when Cormag shouted for Emmet. I turned, confused. Emmet had his back to us, and was walking away. He was already far off – halfway to the edge.
Cormag kept yelling at him to return, that his shift wasn’t done. But there was no response. Just that same slow, calm walk.
And as he reached the cliffs, he started climbing. Cormag’s rage was immense, he was fuming. Swearing under his breath. I tried my best to try to calm him down, but to no avail. Eventually Cormag spat something unintelligible that I couldn’t make out and told me that we were going inside.
We didn’t speak much after that. The day just… ended. We all turned in early.
October 11th, 1973
We woke up early, and walked down the stairs. However, midway down, I saw something at the bottom. It looked like a person. I hurried down and found Father Gavin lying at the bottom of the stairs. It looked like he had fallen during the night. We got him to the couch, gently sat him down and Cormag tended to his wounds. He ordered me to get some stuff, which I obviously did without question. After a while, Father Gavin opened his eyes and looked at us. He apologized for any trouble he had caused. Both me and Cormag said that it was no problem, and Cormag asked how he had fallen. Father Gavin reply caused my heart to sink. He said that he was terminally ill. He had been for some time, and that he came here for his last job. He knew the place and found solace in the solitude and beauty of the place, that he was happy that he could die here, at peace, with people that accepted him and loved him. As he said that last part, I couldn’t take it anymore. I started crying. I asked for his forgiveness, for the way I had treated him. He just looked into my eyes and said softly: ”forgive you for what? you were just being yourself. and that is all god wants.”
I cried for quite a bit, Cormag went outside, doing who knows what. But he wasn’t really comfortable around feelings and such. He probably thought I was a weak little man. And in the end, I probably was. I turned in soon after that.
October 12th, 1973
So – I woke up early this morning. Went down to the common room and found that Father Gavin was… gone. Somehow, the man who couldn’t walk yesterday – and was terminally ill, mind you – was gone. Vanished.
Cormag muttered a curse under his breath. He sat down in his usual seat. I slowly walked to the chair across from his and sat down. He looked me in the eyes and said: ”now it’s just you and me, son.”
I felt something warm stir inside me – the feeling of being accepted. Finally. But I knew it wouldn’t last, not really. So I tried to act like a man. But that didn’t quite go as planned.
I slapped my knees as I stood up and said: ”guess we have to get started with the work, then.”
Cormag’s eye-roll felt as if it would crush my very soul. I was such an idiot.
We did our shift – maintaining the lighthouse, tightening loose bolts, lubricating machinery, checking systems. The usual.
After our shift we went back inside. After a long and painful silence, we both agreed it was best to turn in.
October 13th, 1973
Oh God, oh god…this is going so wrong, so fast. There is no one here but me.
I can’t find Cormag.
I have yelled my throat raw. I have searched every room in the house – the pantry, the cellar, the upstairs hall, the room of every member of the crew. I even climbed the full tower and checked the lantern deck.
No trace of him. Not a boot, not a coat, not a single damned thing.
I tried starting a shift of my own, just to stay busy, to cling to some sense of order – but it just feels so… overwhelming. I can’t do it on my own. The silence is too loud. The machines feel heavier. The light… colder, somehow.
I’m going to scour the house again – maybe I missed something. A note, a sound, anything. After that, I’ll try the small church for good measure. Maybe there’s something there. Some clue. Some reason. Just anything… anything at all.
October 14th, 1973
I can’t go on. Maintaining the lighthouse on my own… it is too much. The silence is so loud it is deafening. Every step sounds like it belongs to someone else. But it’s just not that. Something is wrong here. Deeply, unnaturally wrong. I can feel it.
Like I can’t remember a single time we had a meal since I started the journal. 9 days ago. Not one meal, no cooking smells, no dishes to be done. And no hunger. How is that possible?
And now that I’m thinking about it… how did I even get here? I simply cannot for the life of me remember how I got here. There should have been a boat trip. A crew. Papers. Supplies. I feel like I remember packing…I must have. But the trip itself? The arrival? Nothing. Just waking up, already here.
We haven’t seen a single boat yet. Not even on the horizon. There is something mysterious going on here. Something I cannot explain. And I intend to find out what.
October 15th, 1973
I figured it out. It is all clear now. Whatever awaits me – I will start my ascent today. And I will be ready.
Temple of Morrbanesh 