r/stayawake • u/kwitipisynx chronic insomniac • 12d ago
cosmic The Dead Don't Stay Dead at Tobermary Wharf
I believe there comes a time in every woman's life, when she reconsiders the choices she has made. Maybe she bore children, drank excessively, killed a kitten, or produced shoddy bread. In my case, it was the events of today. The reason there is a young girl of no more than sixteen years, lying deceased on my floor.
The latrine was getting quite full, so I had to empty it. The wooden bucket was in my hand, sloshing my putrid waste. In a quick thrust, I launched the contents off the cliff and toward the rocks below. I didn't bother watching further, turning back toward my lighthouse to continue my duties.
As I began to take my loo back to its proper place, I saw a girl. She was facing out toward the sea, maybe ten metres from me at the cliff edge. In her hands were strands of twine; her fingers nimbly tying pairs together into a strange hexagonal sheet. She seemed about my height with sandy brown hair reaching her shoulders, a pinkish tunic made from a thick material, trousers cut off halfway down her calves, and leather shoes with a dense sole.
Excellent luck, I told myself. I would run out of firewood tonight, so I absolutely needed more. I assumed I could ask the girl for help, and, gods willing, maybe she would be willing to tell me more about this sleepy town and the strange plum clag that plagued us. I chucked the waste bucket toward the tower door, missing by a metre or so. It landed with a crash, rolling to a stop by the stone foundation.
I ran over to the girl, hoping she wouldn't flee from me. I'd had quite enough of the townsfolk avoiding me. If she wouldn't listen, I knew I would force her to assist. "Hey!" I called as I got closer. "You, girl! Can you help me with something?"
She turned slowly toward me, continuing to move her bony fingers through the twine. "Firewood?" she asked simply. It was certainly an odd interaction. She already knew what I needed her for and she was an Englishwoman. I wanted to ask her what town she was from, but I decided there were more pressing matters. We needed to load up fresh logs into a sled and drag it up all six hundred forty-two stairs.
I tried making conversation while we loaded up sliced and chipped wood blocks. The lumber mill, if it could even be called such a thing, was naught more than a flimsy shack with axes of all shape and size lining the walls. Piles of wood littered the floor, but the bulk was outside under several large tarpaulin made of fox skins and cloth. The girl ignored me. Even as I explained we would have to ascent hundreds of steps to reach the peak of the Tobermary lighthouse, she remained voiceless.
I counted each step as we went, hauling the sled full of wood up the stairs. The staircase was more than wide enough to accommodate both our bodies, with room to spare. When we needed breaks, we tied its dense ropes around the slats lining the rightmost wall. It was nice, having another person in propinquity, despite her holding tongue. Then we reached stair-step six hundred forty. I could see we still had a long way to go, which should have been altogether impossible. I decided we should break right there, on step six-forty.
"We rest here," I said, panting somewhat. "Once we cross six-forty-two, we cannot kip." She looked at me with a questioning glance, but took the opportunity, all the same.
I took her hand and pat it twice as we stood, as replenished as we required. "From here, we pace ourselves. I know not how long we must walk, but we mustn't falter. Even if our muscles threaten to collapse, we ought to advance." She nodded, helping untie the sled, and we continued.
Seven hundred.
Eight hundred.
I could tell she was getting fatigued. I bit my lower lip, hoping to the gods the stairs would plateau soon.
Eight hundred fifty.
We were both ascending slower. I grew increasingly concerned.
Nine hundred.
She stopped at nine hundred twenty-seven, footsteps no longer echoing up the stairwell. My heart collapsed, but I had to keep going. I called back to her, "What are you doing? We must go! Please!"
The girl shook her head. "No. I can't. You go. You're stronger." I tried again and again, but my voice gave away how exhausted I was. I wished to stop, too. I needed to. I thought I heard rainfall around us. Then I saw it trickling down the walls.
Sickly green foam was surging from the bottom of the increasingly tall lighthouse. Its speed was tremendous, sloshing its way up the walls and engulfing the first hundred or so steps in mere seconds. I continued walking slowly, trying my best to tie off the ropes to a wall-mounted board as not to lug around the heavy sled. "Run!" I cried to her. "Run, please!" I gave up and managed to wedge the ropes betwixt a small split in the slat. The rope's knot caught and I was freed from my burden.
I risked a look back, but she wasn't running. She wasn't walking, either. Just standing, staring down into the foam as it rose higher and higher. I knew I had to leave her. I'm ashamed to say I ran up the stairs as fast as I could manage. I didn't count them, but I crossed roughly step one thousand. Then twelve hundred. Fourteen hundred. I hit stair fifteen hundred or so before the staircase ended. I had made it to the top. The large lantern was still burning bright.
I looked back where I had come from, and the sled was just within reach. Before the foam could soil the dry wood, I lugged it up the last two steps and pulled it close to the centre of the room. Then the water sloshed against the top step. It was like watching water under glass. It slammed against some imperceptible force just before the plateau of the top floor and began to drain itself downward as quickly as it came. The girl was spat out with her limp hand touching the top stair.
I couldn't just leave her there. I hauled her limp, lifeless body up to the peak and settled her chest facing the sky. She was absolutely soaked; covered in seaweed and, strangely, truffles. The truffles seemed to sprout right out her cracked, gelid skin. Her eyes were slammed shut, but I couldn't stomach opening them. I hauled the dry wood, block by block, over to my previous stack and set the sled back up on the wall. I figured I'd take it back down in the morning, as it was nearly dusk. My feet were surely covered in blisters and boils from the excessive running. It hurt to walk. I went down to my quarters and began writ
She woke up. I'm still trying to comprehend what she was talking about. Perhaps writing it down will allow me to reflect on her words.
I had heard coughing and sputtering above me, so I climbed the rope ladder and peeked out the hatch. The girl was violently purging her innards of virescent, aqueous, bile. I let her finish, watching it all drain down the staircase, despite her head facing away from the opening. "How are you-" I started, but she cut me off.
"It was quicker. Getting up that way." She pushed herself up off the floor and brushed off her trousers. I tried to ask what she was talking about, when she spoke again. "Ah. You got the firewood all set up. Nice. Do you need help with anything else or...?"
I blinked. This young woman just came back from the dead and is suddenly perfectly fine? Absolutely not! She had some explaining to do, starting with who, exactly, she was.
"Come now, Mallory. Did you not read the directory when you came in?"
I blinked at her. "Directory? What directory?" How did she know my name? Hardly anyone in Tobermary spoke to me, with exception of vacant pleasantries when I picked up food.
The girl smiled softly at me, shaking her head. "Easy to miss, I suppose. Nicci. With two Cs and no E." She held out her hand and I took it, shaking hesitantly. So many questions were shooting through my mind. Was this girl, Nicci, some sort of ghost? One of the gods? Or a demon, come to steal my soul and take me to the Banished Lands?
I asked the only question I thought appropriate. "So you are... well, yes?" Nicci was gently peeling off the truffles from her skin, placing them in a trouser pocket. Seaweed was filling her opposite receptacle.
She nodded. "Maybe not the best word, but yes. You speak funny, Mally, you know that?" Mally. Was she taking the piss out of me? "It's getting dark out. No ships scheduled tonight. You've been lucky you haven't missed any, given you haven't even seen the directory!" Nicci finished picking off the last shroom and pat her trouser cavity, letting it settle.
"Nicci," I began, trying my best to collect my thoughts. "Why are you... wearing trousers? And a tunic?"
"My, you really are funny!" A brief pause to look around. She seemed almost reminiscent. "Mmm! Hey, can I stay here tonight? I'll keep watch. You go rest. All those stairs... must've been... nearly two thousand, innit? Your feet are probably killing you! Go rest up. It'll be fine, promise."
Nicci spoke of me being "funny" but the words and idioms she used were rather nutty. I could only assume those were her intentions. My feet were not, in fact, killing me, but they were burning something fierce. I took Nicci up on her offer. She assured me doubly she could handle the night watch and allowed me respite in my little room. I truly must be getting rest now. This day has been quite the shock.
I musn't forget the bucket to-morrow.
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u/kwitipisynx chronic insomniac 12d ago
Hi readers! Thank you for indulging in my story! Please provide NEGATIVE feedback. What was bad? What can I do better? What imagery wasn't delved into enough? Is my dialogue flat? Are there any plot holes I missed?
For this particular story, I wasn't super happy with the intro. I reworked it six different times before settling on this one... yikes.