April 28, 2020 • 33 mins
Tara and Leenie find something in the basement.
Light House is a production of iHeartRadio and Bamfer Productions.
Chapter 2 features the voice of Aly Trasher
It was written and directed by Jeff Heimbuch, audio engineered and scored by Kori Celeste, assistant engineered by Alex Gona, and executive produced by Holly Frey
Questions? Comments? Email us at themaninthehatiswatching@gmail.com
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
Lighthouse is a production of I Heart Radio and bamfor Productions.
When you're young and the weight of the world becomes
too much to bear, your room is often the safest
place for you to hide away. Whether it's a fight
with your parents, a bully bothering you at school, or
even just the desperate need for some time alone. With
the door closed, surrounded by your favorite things, your room
(00:24):
becomes a sanctuary for you and you alone. Sometimes, though,
that changes. Do you know what it's like to have
your safe place turn against you, to have your room
become a prison that entraps you night after night, day
after day, with nowhere else to turn to as a
safety net. I do, and it started after we found
(00:45):
the dark room in the basement. It has been six
months since we moved into Lighthouse. The season's changed and
we welcomed a new year. Nineteen sixty four didn't feel
any different than nineteen sixty three, but a new year
often brings new beginnings. I hope that would be the
case for us, but that couldn't have been further from
(01:06):
the truth. After the first night in Lighthouse, my sister
and I lived in constant fear of the man in
the hat, though he appeared at my doorway the first night,
we often saw him elsewhere. Sometimes it was a quick
glance out of the corner of our eye. Others he
made himself fully known, his sinister smile making our hair
stand on end as he disappeared around a corner. Despite
(01:29):
telling our parents what we had experienced, mother didn't believe us.
She blamed the incidents on us acting out, claiming we
were not giving our new home a chance and trying
to sabotage all that she and our father worked for.
She thought we missed our old life, as if moving
from hotel to motel every three months could be something
someone could actually miss. She forbid us from even speaking
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of it. Her father often didn't respond with anything beyond
a sullen nod in agreement with her. He looked distant
during the conversation and didn't seem to want to contribute
to it until one night when I found him in
the study. When we moved into Lighthouse, the home was
already furnished from days before. Various bits and pieces of
furniture littered the house, often hastily covered by a sheet
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to keep from getting dusty. Over time, my mother had
cleaned up and arranged every room to her liking, except
for the study. My father insisted that be left to him.
Truth be told, he didn't change much about it. There
was a desk and matching chair off to the side
of the room, along with another seating area. Hanging on
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the wall above the couch were various trophies from parent
hunting trips from long ago animal heads, including a deer,
a lion, and a bear. There were grotesque things that
my mother hated, but my father refused to remove. Just
below them was an ancient shotgun, presumably the very same
gun that claimed the lives of those animals. Despite all
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the extravagant decor, the focal point of the room was
actually the law large decorative easy chair. It was covered
in red velvet and soft to the touch. A fireplace
sat before it so one could sit in front of
it on cold winter nights. Just above the fireplace was
an old painting, one that my father said his mother
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had commissioned when he was a child. It shows his parents,
his brother, and a younger version of himself. The portrait
made them look regal, like royalty, and I was fascinated
by it. On the night he finally acknowledged the things
in lighthouse. I had just finished getting ready for bed
and came downstairs to wish him good night. He was
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sitting in the easy chair, leaned back, drink in hand.
I wouldn't have considered him a drinker, having only ever
seen him touch alcohol once before, but it was obvious
that he was already a few in by that point,
evident by the half empty bottle beside him. His eyes,
slightly glazed, were staring at the portrait intently. He was
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absent mindedly rubbing his scar. I don't think he even
registered in my being there until after I gave him
a kiss. I turned to leave when he suddenly grabbed
my arm with such force that I yelped in surprise.
My father had never laid a finger on me before,
so I was caught off guard. I looked at him,
his eyes refocusing on me as his words slurred from
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his lips. Stay away from the man in the hat.
He stared hard at me for a few moments before
letting me go, turning back to his drink. Did he
know something I didn't? I was so shocked he even
acknowledged it that I did not press him further on it. Instead,
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I went to bed and slept fitfully with the knowledge
of my father, believing our claims our only solace in
those early days came from an unlikely source. At first,
I thought it was just a dream, a reoccurring one
at that one that was hard to separate from reality.
In the dream, I was still in my bed. Sometimes
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I lean was with me, curled up in the dark.
Somewhere in the distance, unknown to me, I could hear
a soft melody start to play. Its tune was hauntingly familiar. However,
I could not place the sound. It sounded like something
that might play out of a jewelry or a music box,
with a slight tinniness to it. Instead of searching for
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its source, its soothing song would begin to lull me
back to sleep, toward a dream within a dream, Until
one night I realized that it was no dream. The
music was real. I quickly got out of bed and
listened attentively. At first I thought it was coming from
a car traveling down the main road. Sound traveled funny
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along the bluff. I stepped out onto my balcony, the
cool air coming off the ocean chilling my skin. I
looked off to the lighthouse in the not so far
distance and strained my ears to hear the melody, but
out here was not as prevalent. Stepping back into my room,
I closed my eyes to concentrate, doing my best to
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block out all other sound. I strained my ears to
follow the melody. I moved about the area, playing a
makeshift game of hot and cold, trying to find where
in the room the music got louder. On the far
side of the room, opposite my four poster bed, was
where it was the loudest. Was it coming from the walls.
On the floor below me was an ornate metal vent
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that I hadn't paid much attention to before, But now
I dropped to all fours and placed my ear close
to it. The music grew louder. Who was coming from
somewhere in Lighthouse. I didn't know where yet, but I
was going to find out Lighthouse Chapter two. The next morning,
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my sister came into my room to wake me. The
first thing I saw was her smile as she excitedly
tried to tell me that she had something for me. However,
I was anxious to tell her of my discovery, and
I spoke over her. The music isn't a dream I said,
it's coming from inside the house. She frowned a bit,
as eight year olds with a single minded purpose often
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do when their train of thought is derailed. When she
didn't respond, I nudged her. It was then and I
noticed she was hiding something behind her back. It was
a card once she had decorated with flowers and a
gigantic smiling son. Confused, I opened it and read in
her crayon streaked handwriting what she had written inside. Happy
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Birthday to the greatest sister in the world. It was
a birthday card for me. I had completely forgotten that
it was my twelfth birthday. I wrapped her up in
the biggest hug I had ever given anyone, and squealed
with the light Thank you, Leney, this is the best
birthday card I've ever gotten. What do you want to
do today, she asked me. It's your special day. I
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smiled at her, because the previous night determined exactly what
my answer was going to be. We made her way
downstairs to the kitchen where my mother was preparing breakfast.
She put a plate of bacon and eggs in front
of me, arranged to look like a smiling face. Happy Birthday,
birthday girl, she greeted me warmly. I enthusiastically dug into
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the meal as my response, knowing that I would likely
need the energy for the day's mission. I think someone
forgot to turn off the radio last night, my mother continued.
I heard it in the middle of the night. It
wasn't the radio, Mama, my sister said, we don't know
where it's from. No need to make up excuses, my
mother replied, just please try to remember to turn it off, okay, sweetie.
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Leey didn't argue beyond that, but instead asked about my
father's whereabouts, causing my mother to frown. He's still sleeping,
she told us, with a hint of sadness. He was
up late last night in his study, but I'm sure
he'll be down soon. I, however, did not wait for that. Instead,
with a kiss on my mother's cheek and an assurance
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to my sister that I would be back soon, I
ran upstairs to get ready for the day. I quickly showered, dressed,
and pulled out the flashlight my parents got me in
case of a power outage. I had never used it,
so I clicked it on a few times to make
sure it's still worked. When I was satisfied, I set
out to find my sister, who was out playing. The
grounds surrounding lighthouse were vast and prime for two young
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girls to explore, and those early months we covered every
inch of the property, finding the nooks and crannies long
lost to time. Though we were not allowed in the lighthouse,
Lenie still played near it. Even if we wanted to
get inside, we couldn't. The only entry was a door
secured with the padlock, one whose key was nowhere to
be found, at least according to my father, And after
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all the talk of how unsafe it was, we were
afraid of the floor collapsing beneath us anyway. So there
it sat, a reminder of days gone by, a relic
of the past. I hadn't seen the light atop the
lighthouse since our first night in the house. I didn't
know what caused it, and because of how afraid Lenie
already was that evening, I never told her about it.
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It was for the best. It was here that I
found Lenie playing among the flowers growing at the base
of the lighthouse. She was glad to see me, knowing
I was ready to begin our mission, and followed me
back to the house. Once inside, she ran to her
room to grab her own flashlight while I waited a
mind to tell her the plan of action I had formulated.
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She was taking unusually long as I was about to
go get her myself, until I stopped dead in my tracks.
Coming up from the vent in my bedroom again, I
could hear it, the music box melody in the light
of day. It was even more beautiful than I remembered
it to be from the night before. My breath caught
in my throat as I was entranced by it, but
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only for a moment. I quickly ran across the hall
to Linie's room to tell her, but when I burst
through the door, she was already leaning down toward the
vent in her own room, attentively listening. It's in the vents,
She told me it's coming from downstairs. She grabbed her
flashlight from the dresser and followed me to explore the
rest of the house. We opted to start on the
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first floor, as it made sense that the music was
traveling up the vents to us, with Linie's starting in
the dining room while I searched in the library. Every
time we were near event, we stopped to listen and
tried to determine if the music was louder or not.
By the time I found myself outside my father's study,
I realized he was inside. He must have awakened sometime
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during our search and was already sitting in his favorite armchair.
I usually didn't like to disturb him, but being as
how today was a special occasion, I tiptoed him. Good morning, father,
I said, causing him to stir a bit in his chair.
He turned to see me and only gave me a
polite nod of acknowledgment before turning away. I waited to
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see if he would say anything, and when he didn't,
I pressed further. It's my birthday, I told him. I'm
twelve today. He turned again, now using his entire body
and not just his head, and looked at me. So
it is, he replied, Happy birthday. He raised his glass
to me as I realized he was already drinking. It
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was not even ten am, and here he was already
drowning in liquor. When he turned away again, I left
the study upset that I did not receive warmer birthday,
wishing I couldn't dwell on that for too long, though,
as I still had a job to do. After about
an hour or so of searching, my sister and I
met in the kitchen. Neither of us had any luck
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so far, and we're feeling a little deflated. We sat
down at the table to have a snack and formulate
our next move. As we both took turns biting into
an apple, the music continued to play from somewhere. It
was beginning to drive me mad, not being able to
figure it out. When we finished our apple, I brought
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our plate over to the sink to wash it and
noticed that the music seemed to be louder. I looked around,
trying to find event nearby, but to no avail. Looking
to the left of the sink, the house is ancient
dumb waiter sat on a whim. I opened its door,
the metal grating from years of disuse. The melody wafted
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up the shaft into the kitchen. My sister and I
looked at each other as we came to the same realization.
It was coming from the basement. The entry to the
basement was in the pantry just off the kitchen. We
hadn't yet explored it since we moved in, but now
seemed like the perfect time. The door swung open slowly
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with a horrific creek. It revealed the basement below us,
darker than pitch lights, which proved to be fruitless. The
bulbs likely hadn't been changed in years and were burnt out.
Leni stood at the top of the stairs, looking down
into the abyss. I could tell by the way she
was staring that this might be the end of her journey.
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I'm scared, she admitted, her eyes never leaving the darkness.
The music still wafted up from the shadowy depths below,
like a siren song, calling out to us. It's okay,
I told her, I can take it from here. I
turned on my flashlight and aimed its beam down the steps.
To my relief, everything looked surprisingly normal. However, I couldn't
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help feeling a bit of apprehension. As I took my
first step downward, the wood groaned beneath my feet, and
I hoped the wood wasn't rotted. I took the next step,
and then another. Soon I was at the bottom of
the stairs, my flashlight beam moving back and forth as
I looked around. What do you see, Leney called out
to me. Still standing in the doorway, A lot of junk,
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I replied, my father's family hoarded a lot of their
belongings down here, it seemed. While the rest of the
house was dusty when we first moved in, it was
nothing compared to the basement. I remember my mother telling
me that cleaning it out was a product for a
rainy day. I moved cautiously in the darkness, not wanting
to bump into anything or accidentally break something. The music
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continued to play, softly, coming from the left side of
the room. The basement ran the length of the entire house,
making it seem impossibly large, especially filled with so many things.
Old furniture, large portraits, and boxes upon boxes made it
a pseudo maze full of family memories. After some careful navigating,
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I found myself standing in front of a solid wall,
or rather a wall with metal shelving lining the length
of it. I stopped in my tracks and listened. Music
still played, but it sounded more towards the right. I
swung my flashlight in the direction and slowly walked that way,
stopping every few steps to listen again. The source of
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the music was close, but where I looked at the
metal shelf against the wall, and confusion taking a brief
look around. There didn't seem to be anything of importance
on the shelf itself, just a bunch of old junk
and small boxes. Perhaps in the house this old the
acoustics were playing tricks on me. Was it actually coming
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from somewhere else in entirely? I began to make my
way back toward my sister when I heard a crash
behind me. I quickly turned and directed my beam on
the floor. Lying there was a box, one that had
fallen near where I was just standing. Did I do that?
Did I knock something off balance without realizing it, causing
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it to fall? Just beyond the box? I spot an
old pair of shoes on their own. They wouldn't have
caught my eye, but it looked like they were attached
to a pair of pants. I slowly moved my beam up,
and those pants turned into a man's overcoat. A feeling
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of dread formed in my stomach as my brain began
to formulate that it wasn't just a random assortment of
clothing bunch together in the dark basement, but rather something
else entirely, someone else entirely. My flashlight beam continued its
slow ascent up the coat as my dread continued to build.
I was inches away from revealing the identity of this
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stranger in my basement, but in my heart I already
knew who it was. A ghastly smile greeted me as
my light fell upon it. The man in the hat
was there. Lighthouse will return after these messages, and now
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back to lighthouse, I screamed, but through some sort of miracle,
continued to hold my ground. When I exhausted all the
air in my lungs, I stood frozen in fear as
my eyes locked with those of the man in the hat.
His smile never wavered, nor did his stance. He simply
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stared at me. With my first clear look at him.
He looked to be in his late fifties. The flesh
of his skin hung loose, as if he had started
to deep compose, giving him an even more distressing appearance.
His clothing, though once an immaculate condition, now was in
the process of slowly falling apart, as if moths has
started to make a meal of it. We were at
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an impasse, as neither of us moved a muscle for
several moments. I was about to take a step backwards
to get away from this horrifying specter. When the man
in the hat turned his head toward the wall, his
arm long and gaunt, lifted in unison as a single
finger pointed toward the shelf I had been looking through earlier.
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At first, I wasn't sure what he was doing. I
hesitated to get closer to him, but my curiosity was
beginning to get the better of me. Was there something
on the shelf he wanted, something he wanted me to see.
I tried to think of what it could possibly be.
When I heard the music once again. It sounded like
it was coming from the direction of the shelf, and
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then it dawned on me the music wasn't coming from
something on the shelf, but from behind it. I took
a step forward to see what was there. When I
felt a tap on my shoulder. I yelped and nearly
jumped ten feet in the air. As I turned to
see leaning my sister staring back at me. I heard
you scream, she said, I thought you were hurt. Despite
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her fear of the dark, my sister made the trek
through the basement to make sure I was okay. What
was it, she asked, reminding me that the man in
the hat was behind me. I turned in his direction again,
using my light to show her the visitor, but instead
he was gone. What are you looking for, she asked me, Nothing,
I replied, but I think I found where the music's
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coming from. I went back to the shelf and pushed
some boxes aside. There hidden behind the metal rack was
a small wooden door. If not for the man in
the hat, I never would have taken a second look.
I considered trying to move the entire shelf, but it
was next to impossible with everything still on it. I
asked my sister to shine her light at the shelf
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while I started to remove boxes from it. One by one.
I took them away and stacked them neatly near by.
Among the things were artifacts from the days when the
lighthouse was still in operation, a container of spark plugs,
presumably for the light itself, a box of old clothing
including a seaman's cap, and instruction manuals for various controls.
There was more than I anticipated, and it took close
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to twenty minutes for me to finish. With the boxes removed,
it was significantly easier to move the shelfing from its place.
It wasn't long before the door was fully revealed. It
wasn't until that moment that I realized the pit in
my stomach had returned. Just an uncomfortable feeling at first,
but it grew steadily creeping over me like an icy chill.
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My intuition was telling me that whatever was behind this
door was something that was not meant for us. My sister, however,
her bravery growing by the second, ran up to the
door and placed her ear against the wood. She smiled
as she looked at me. It's inside, she exclaimed. Before
I could stop where she grabbed the doors handle. My
stomach lurched as she did, anticipating the worst. It felt
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as if the world around us changed. Staring into the
gaping blackness of this secret room, I felt a rush
of stale air escape it, as if something was trapped
inside for years and hurried out towards freedom. The dread
I already felt inside me reached a breaking point, and
it felt like an impressive force pressing down on my shoulders,
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like all the light in the world had gone out
in a single instant, leaving us in a world of
never ending darkness. Lenny was already inside the room, using
her flashlight to search I crouched to enter the room
as I was a hair taller than the door frame,
and I felt something brush against my face. I momentarily panic,
thinking I had walked into a spiderweb, only to find
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my hand hit a tiny metal chain. My mind registered
it as connection to a lightbulb, and I gave it
a gentle tug. The room illuminated in a deep red color,
letting us see a little more beyond our flashlights. It
wasn't that large of a space, maybe four feet by six,
but I had a table with two large trays, along
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with another shelf filled with an assortment of things. Jars
of some sort of liquid pelled to paper, and various
other odds and ends sat on it above our heads.
A line of string criss cross just beneath the ceiling,
with clothes pins hanging from it. But what drew our
attention before anything else was on the table itself, a
small music box, the source of the mysterious music that
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plagued us for weeks. Its tiny gears turned as the
song continued, It's intricate inner workings creating the haunting melody.
My sister, entranced by it all, made her way toward
it as her fingers brushed against its side. The music
suddenly stopped. She pulled back for a second, startled by
its sudden end, but then took it. Can I keep it?
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She asked me curiously. If this trinket locked inside this
tiny room made her happy, then so be it. Besides,
no harm could come from it, could it? With most
of our curiosity now abated, I turned my attention to
the rest of the room. For some reason, it just
felt wrong. The red light wasn't helping that feeling, either,
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so I turned my flashlight back on and began to
look over the shelves. On the very bottom were three
large jugs with handwritten labels identifying them as developer, stop, bath,
and fixer. These words activated a memory deep in my brain.
When I was younger, I had developed an interest in photography,
and my father taught me how people developed photos on
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their own. The jugs, the trays, and the red light
all began to make sense. Now this was once someone's
photography lab. It was a dark room. On the shelf
above the jugs were spare cases of photopaper, along with
a small camera. It was too dark to see the
make and the model, but it looked to be in
good condition. I slipped it into my pocket. If le
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he was going to walk away from this adventure with
a prize, then why shouldn't I as well. Filling out
the rest of the shelves were large volumes of photographs.
I took one from its place and glanced through it quickly,
not finding anything of interest, just photos of people looking
just as disinterested as I was, accompanied by long pages
of notes. As I went to return it to its shelf,
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something fell out of the back of the album. I
saw it was a pair of records, both slightly smaller
than forty five. They must have been tucked away, long
forgotten by whomever put them there. I didn't recognize either
of the artists, one of them being a single of
Stay on the Right Side of the Road by Noraje
Mayhem's and the Blue Chips, and the other called The
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Raggedy Man by Aida Jones and Edward Meeker. Unfortunately, the
Aida Jones record chattered, but the other one seemed to
be in one piece. For a twelve year old, finding
these as treasure in a secret room was not very exciting.
I put them back as my eyes scanned the rest
of the album spines, all with various states from the
early nineteen hundreds up to the late nineteen thirties. At
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the very top of the shelf was a dusty, old
teddy bear. How he made his way into the dark
room was beyond me, but he was far out of reach,
so I ignored him. Closer at hand were a handful
of loose photos just sitting on a shelf, as if
they were meant to be placed in an album, but
the person doing so never got around to it. Setting
my flashlight down, I took the loose photos and began
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to look through them, leaning watching over my shoulder. To
my surprise, most of them were of lighthouse. On the
bottom of each someone had placed a small piece of
tape on which they had written nineteen nine. We could
only assume that it was when the photos were taken.
Almost were taken from a distance. Some of the latter
ones were closer. A few more showed off the property,
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especially the large tree out front. The one that caught
my eye, though, showed the front of the house with
a man standing out on the front porch. Who's that,
Leanie asked as she leaned in. Those are trying to
get a better look. She grabbed her own flashlight and
illuminated the photo. We both gasped when we recognized who
it was. It was the man in the hat. Lighthouse
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were returned after a word from our sponsors, and now
lighthouse continues. I felt a sick feeling wash over me.
I already knew that the man in the hats appearances
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were on the supernatural sort, but holding concrete evidence of
his former life in my hand was something else entirely well.
The quality of this photo was poor. I could almost
see his eyes staring directly back at me. His ghastly
smile seemed to grow wider the more I looked. I
was only jolted out of this trance by something creaking
above our head. We both looked up to see the
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red lights slow only swaying in an indiscernible breeze. It's
light casting dark shadows in every corner of the room.
Linie's flashlight began to fail, then it's bright center, blinking
once twice three times before cutting out entirely. Mine, still
sitting on the shelf nearby, followed suit. My sick feeling
got worse, as if all the air in the room
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was sucked away in an instant. Suddenly, I felt a
presence there with us. We were no longer alone in
the dark room. I froze, not wanting it to sense
us also, but I feared it was too late. Close
your eyes, I whispered, hoping Lenie heard me. I closed
mine as well, the darkness of my eyelids blocking out
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the red tinted darkness of the room. I didn't want
to make another sound, but I wanted to help keep
Lenie calm. I softly mouthed the words that formed in
my head one, two, three, four five. Whatever was there
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with us, I felt its hot breath on my neck.
I let the photos drop to the floor. Run, I
screamed at her. I grabbed her hand, and we took off.
We quickly navigated our way back through the basement mazes.
We heard something step out of the dark room and
hiss behind us. We didn't bother looking back. We were
both too afraid, but we could sense it right on
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our heels. When we reached the basement steps, we took
them two at a time, not wanting that thing to
catch us. I stumbled over the last few, but Leany
steadied me and helped pull me through the doorway. Once
we were back in the pantry. I slammed the basement
door shut, sliding the bolt in place with a satisfying click.
We both collapsed against the door, breathing heavy but safe
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for now. We didn't tell our parents about the dark
room nor the thing that chased us. My mother barely
believed us about the man in the hat, and after
what my father said about him, who knows how mad
he would be about this. Instead, we made a pack
to watch out for each other and keep it to ourselves.
The rest of that day was fairly uneventful. I stayed
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in my room for most of it, trying to calm
myself down from the earlier events and also examining my
newly found birthday present to myself, the camera from the
dark room. According to the label on its side, it
was a Kodak to a autographic Brownie. It was a
foldable camera, meaning that it's lenses came out like an
accordion when you wanted to use it, and tucked away
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neatly when you did. Not. To my surprise, it's still
had a few negatives left in it. I wasn't sure
if they were still good or not, but I made
it my mission to test it out. Later that evening,
my mother made breakfast for dinner in honor of my birthday,
and then I was treated to a delicious chocolate cake.
My father stayed in his study for the duration of
the celebration, except for when I blew out the candles
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on my cake. Reluctantly, he agreed to let me take
a family photo with my new camera, even though he
questioned where I had gotten it from. I only lied
a tiny bit, telling him I founded in one of
the many rooms of the house, leaving out its exact location.
When he pressed further, my mother urged him to drop it,
and with a grumble, he did, Being as how there
was no time or on it. I had to be
(31:07):
content with not actually being in the photo myself, but
I was okay. My sister sat in from the birthday
cake as my parents surrounded her on either side. With
a single click, the photo was taken, and before I
removed the camera from my eyes, my father was already
to his study again. The rest of us ate our
cake in silence. It wasn't until late that night, as
(31:28):
I lay in bed, that I realized that the feeling
of the house was shifting. Whether it was the way
my father was secluding himself from us what we discovered
in the basement, or a combination of both. Things were changing.
From across the hall, I could hear Leaney switch on
the music box. It's haunting melody no longer a mystery
to us. Instead, it almost gave me a feeling of comfort.
(31:51):
Despite that, my thoughts turned to the dark room and
what had happened earlier. Someone had to have locked that
room away, But for what reason? And who had left
the music box there? Why had it begun playing on
its own? And that thing we felt? What was it?
Was it locked in there? Did we unwittingly set it free?
(32:14):
I tried not to think about it as I began
to drift off to sleep. My eyes grew heavy as
the music box lulled me off into dreamland. I slept
soundly that night, for the first time since we moved
into Lighthouse, and I'm glad I did, because after that
night everything changed. Lighthouse is a production of I Heart
(32:55):
Radio and Bamford Productions. Chapter two featured the voice of
Ali Trasher, written and directed by Jeff Himbuck, audio engineering,
an original musical score by Corey Celeste. Production assistance by
Alex Gona executive produced by Holly Fry. Questions comments, you
(33:17):
can reach us at the Man in the Hat is
Watching at gmail dot com. Thank you for listening.
Lighthouse is a production of I Heart Radio and bamfor Productions.
When you're young and the weight of the world becomes
too much to bear, your room is often the safest
place for you to hide away. Whether it's a fight
with your parents, a bully bothering you at school, or
even just the desperate need for some time alone. With
the door closed, surrounded by your favorite things, your room
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becomes a sanctuary for you and you alone. Sometimes, though,
that changes. Do you know what it's like to have
your safe place turn against you, to have your room
become a prison that entraps you night after night, day
after day, with nowhere else to turn to as a
safety net. I do, and it started after we found
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the dark room in the basement. It has been six
months since we moved into Lighthouse. The season's changed and
we welcomed a new year. Nineteen sixty four didn't feel
any different than nineteen sixty three, but a new year
often brings new beginnings. I hope that would be the
case for us, but that couldn't have been further from
(01:06):
the truth. After the first night in Lighthouse, my sister
and I lived in constant fear of the man in
the hat, though he appeared at my doorway the first night,
we often saw him elsewhere. Sometimes it was a quick
glance out of the corner of our eye. Others he
made himself fully known, his sinister smile making our hair
stand on end as he disappeared around a corner. Despite
(01:29):
telling our parents what we had experienced, mother didn't believe us.
She blamed the incidents on us acting out, claiming we
were not giving our new home a chance and trying
to sabotage all that she and our father worked for.
She thought we missed our old life, as if moving
from hotel to motel every three months could be something
someone could actually miss. She forbid us from even speaking
(01:52):
of it. Her father often didn't respond with anything beyond
a sullen nod in agreement with her. He looked distant
during the conversation and didn't seem to want to contribute
to it until one night when I found him in
the study. When we moved into Lighthouse, the home was
already furnished from days before. Various bits and pieces of
furniture littered the house, often hastily covered by a sheet
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to keep from getting dusty. Over time, my mother had
cleaned up and arranged every room to her liking, except
for the study. My father insisted that be left to him.
Truth be told, he didn't change much about it. There
was a desk and matching chair off to the side
of the room, along with another seating area. Hanging on
(02:35):
the wall above the couch were various trophies from parent
hunting trips from long ago animal heads, including a deer,
a lion, and a bear. There were grotesque things that
my mother hated, but my father refused to remove. Just
below them was an ancient shotgun, presumably the very same
gun that claimed the lives of those animals. Despite all
(02:56):
the extravagant decor, the focal point of the room was
actually the law large decorative easy chair. It was covered
in red velvet and soft to the touch. A fireplace
sat before it so one could sit in front of
it on cold winter nights. Just above the fireplace was
an old painting, one that my father said his mother
(03:16):
had commissioned when he was a child. It shows his parents,
his brother, and a younger version of himself. The portrait
made them look regal, like royalty, and I was fascinated
by it. On the night he finally acknowledged the things
in lighthouse. I had just finished getting ready for bed
and came downstairs to wish him good night. He was
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sitting in the easy chair, leaned back, drink in hand.
I wouldn't have considered him a drinker, having only ever
seen him touch alcohol once before, but it was obvious
that he was already a few in by that point,
evident by the half empty bottle beside him. His eyes,
slightly glazed, were staring at the portrait intently. He was
(03:58):
absent mindedly rubbing his scar. I don't think he even
registered in my being there until after I gave him
a kiss. I turned to leave when he suddenly grabbed
my arm with such force that I yelped in surprise.
My father had never laid a finger on me before,
so I was caught off guard. I looked at him,
his eyes refocusing on me as his words slurred from
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his lips. Stay away from the man in the hat.
He stared hard at me for a few moments before
letting me go, turning back to his drink. Did he
know something I didn't? I was so shocked he even
acknowledged it that I did not press him further on it. Instead,
(04:42):
I went to bed and slept fitfully with the knowledge
of my father, believing our claims our only solace in
those early days came from an unlikely source. At first,
I thought it was just a dream, a reoccurring one
at that one that was hard to separate from reality.
In the dream, I was still in my bed. Sometimes
(05:03):
I lean was with me, curled up in the dark.
Somewhere in the distance, unknown to me, I could hear
a soft melody start to play. Its tune was hauntingly familiar. However,
I could not place the sound. It sounded like something
that might play out of a jewelry or a music box,
with a slight tinniness to it. Instead of searching for
(05:26):
its source, its soothing song would begin to lull me
back to sleep, toward a dream within a dream, Until
one night I realized that it was no dream. The
music was real. I quickly got out of bed and
listened attentively. At first I thought it was coming from
a car traveling down the main road. Sound traveled funny
(05:49):
along the bluff. I stepped out onto my balcony, the
cool air coming off the ocean chilling my skin. I
looked off to the lighthouse in the not so far
distance and strained my ears to hear the melody, but
out here was not as prevalent. Stepping back into my room,
I closed my eyes to concentrate, doing my best to
(06:10):
block out all other sound. I strained my ears to
follow the melody. I moved about the area, playing a
makeshift game of hot and cold, trying to find where
in the room the music got louder. On the far
side of the room, opposite my four poster bed, was
where it was the loudest. Was it coming from the walls.
On the floor below me was an ornate metal vent
(06:33):
that I hadn't paid much attention to before, But now
I dropped to all fours and placed my ear close
to it. The music grew louder. Who was coming from
somewhere in Lighthouse. I didn't know where yet, but I
was going to find out Lighthouse Chapter two. The next morning,
(07:33):
my sister came into my room to wake me. The
first thing I saw was her smile as she excitedly
tried to tell me that she had something for me. However,
I was anxious to tell her of my discovery, and
I spoke over her. The music isn't a dream I said,
it's coming from inside the house. She frowned a bit,
as eight year olds with a single minded purpose often
(07:54):
do when their train of thought is derailed. When she
didn't respond, I nudged her. It was then and I
noticed she was hiding something behind her back. It was
a card once she had decorated with flowers and a
gigantic smiling son. Confused, I opened it and read in
her crayon streaked handwriting what she had written inside. Happy
(08:15):
Birthday to the greatest sister in the world. It was
a birthday card for me. I had completely forgotten that
it was my twelfth birthday. I wrapped her up in
the biggest hug I had ever given anyone, and squealed
with the light Thank you, Leney, this is the best
birthday card I've ever gotten. What do you want to
do today, she asked me. It's your special day. I
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smiled at her, because the previous night determined exactly what
my answer was going to be. We made her way
downstairs to the kitchen where my mother was preparing breakfast.
She put a plate of bacon and eggs in front
of me, arranged to look like a smiling face. Happy Birthday,
birthday girl, she greeted me warmly. I enthusiastically dug into
(08:57):
the meal as my response, knowing that I would likely
need the energy for the day's mission. I think someone
forgot to turn off the radio last night, my mother continued.
I heard it in the middle of the night. It
wasn't the radio, Mama, my sister said, we don't know
where it's from. No need to make up excuses, my
mother replied, just please try to remember to turn it off, okay, sweetie.
(09:20):
Leey didn't argue beyond that, but instead asked about my
father's whereabouts, causing my mother to frown. He's still sleeping,
she told us, with a hint of sadness. He was
up late last night in his study, but I'm sure
he'll be down soon. I, however, did not wait for that. Instead,
with a kiss on my mother's cheek and an assurance
(09:41):
to my sister that I would be back soon, I
ran upstairs to get ready for the day. I quickly showered, dressed,
and pulled out the flashlight my parents got me in
case of a power outage. I had never used it,
so I clicked it on a few times to make
sure it's still worked. When I was satisfied, I set
out to find my sister, who was out playing. The
grounds surrounding lighthouse were vast and prime for two young
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girls to explore, and those early months we covered every
inch of the property, finding the nooks and crannies long
lost to time. Though we were not allowed in the lighthouse,
Lenie still played near it. Even if we wanted to
get inside, we couldn't. The only entry was a door
secured with the padlock, one whose key was nowhere to
be found, at least according to my father, And after
(10:27):
all the talk of how unsafe it was, we were
afraid of the floor collapsing beneath us anyway. So there
it sat, a reminder of days gone by, a relic
of the past. I hadn't seen the light atop the
lighthouse since our first night in the house. I didn't
know what caused it, and because of how afraid Lenie
already was that evening, I never told her about it.
(10:48):
It was for the best. It was here that I
found Lenie playing among the flowers growing at the base
of the lighthouse. She was glad to see me, knowing
I was ready to begin our mission, and followed me
back to the house. Once inside, she ran to her
room to grab her own flashlight while I waited a
mind to tell her the plan of action I had formulated.
(11:09):
She was taking unusually long as I was about to
go get her myself, until I stopped dead in my tracks.
Coming up from the vent in my bedroom again, I
could hear it, the music box melody in the light
of day. It was even more beautiful than I remembered
it to be from the night before. My breath caught
in my throat as I was entranced by it, but
(11:32):
only for a moment. I quickly ran across the hall
to Linie's room to tell her, but when I burst
through the door, she was already leaning down toward the
vent in her own room, attentively listening. It's in the vents,
She told me it's coming from downstairs. She grabbed her
flashlight from the dresser and followed me to explore the
rest of the house. We opted to start on the
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first floor, as it made sense that the music was
traveling up the vents to us, with Linie's starting in
the dining room while I searched in the library. Every
time we were near event, we stopped to listen and
tried to determine if the music was louder or not.
By the time I found myself outside my father's study,
I realized he was inside. He must have awakened sometime
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during our search and was already sitting in his favorite armchair.
I usually didn't like to disturb him, but being as
how today was a special occasion, I tiptoed him. Good morning, father,
I said, causing him to stir a bit in his chair.
He turned to see me and only gave me a
polite nod of acknowledgment before turning away. I waited to
(12:35):
see if he would say anything, and when he didn't,
I pressed further. It's my birthday, I told him. I'm
twelve today. He turned again, now using his entire body
and not just his head, and looked at me. So
it is, he replied, Happy birthday. He raised his glass
to me as I realized he was already drinking. It
(12:58):
was not even ten am, and here he was already
drowning in liquor. When he turned away again, I left
the study upset that I did not receive warmer birthday,
wishing I couldn't dwell on that for too long, though,
as I still had a job to do. After about
an hour or so of searching, my sister and I
met in the kitchen. Neither of us had any luck
(13:18):
so far, and we're feeling a little deflated. We sat
down at the table to have a snack and formulate
our next move. As we both took turns biting into
an apple, the music continued to play from somewhere. It
was beginning to drive me mad, not being able to
figure it out. When we finished our apple, I brought
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our plate over to the sink to wash it and
noticed that the music seemed to be louder. I looked around,
trying to find event nearby, but to no avail. Looking
to the left of the sink, the house is ancient
dumb waiter sat on a whim. I opened its door,
the metal grating from years of disuse. The melody wafted
(14:02):
up the shaft into the kitchen. My sister and I
looked at each other as we came to the same realization.
It was coming from the basement. The entry to the
basement was in the pantry just off the kitchen. We
hadn't yet explored it since we moved in, but now
seemed like the perfect time. The door swung open slowly
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with a horrific creek. It revealed the basement below us,
darker than pitch lights, which proved to be fruitless. The
bulbs likely hadn't been changed in years and were burnt out.
Leni stood at the top of the stairs, looking down
into the abyss. I could tell by the way she
was staring that this might be the end of her journey.
(14:45):
I'm scared, she admitted, her eyes never leaving the darkness.
The music still wafted up from the shadowy depths below,
like a siren song, calling out to us. It's okay,
I told her, I can take it from here. I
turned on my flashlight and aimed its beam down the steps.
To my relief, everything looked surprisingly normal. However, I couldn't
(15:08):
help feeling a bit of apprehension. As I took my
first step downward, the wood groaned beneath my feet, and
I hoped the wood wasn't rotted. I took the next step,
and then another. Soon I was at the bottom of
the stairs, my flashlight beam moving back and forth as
I looked around. What do you see, Leney called out
to me. Still standing in the doorway, A lot of junk,
(15:31):
I replied, my father's family hoarded a lot of their
belongings down here, it seemed. While the rest of the
house was dusty when we first moved in, it was
nothing compared to the basement. I remember my mother telling
me that cleaning it out was a product for a
rainy day. I moved cautiously in the darkness, not wanting
to bump into anything or accidentally break something. The music
(15:54):
continued to play, softly, coming from the left side of
the room. The basement ran the length of the entire house,
making it seem impossibly large, especially filled with so many things.
Old furniture, large portraits, and boxes upon boxes made it
a pseudo maze full of family memories. After some careful navigating,
(16:15):
I found myself standing in front of a solid wall,
or rather a wall with metal shelving lining the length
of it. I stopped in my tracks and listened. Music
still played, but it sounded more towards the right. I
swung my flashlight in the direction and slowly walked that way,
stopping every few steps to listen again. The source of
(16:38):
the music was close, but where I looked at the
metal shelf against the wall, and confusion taking a brief
look around. There didn't seem to be anything of importance
on the shelf itself, just a bunch of old junk
and small boxes. Perhaps in the house this old the
acoustics were playing tricks on me. Was it actually coming
(16:59):
from somewhere else in entirely? I began to make my
way back toward my sister when I heard a crash
behind me. I quickly turned and directed my beam on
the floor. Lying there was a box, one that had
fallen near where I was just standing. Did I do that?
Did I knock something off balance without realizing it, causing
(17:21):
it to fall? Just beyond the box? I spot an
old pair of shoes on their own. They wouldn't have
caught my eye, but it looked like they were attached
to a pair of pants. I slowly moved my beam up,
and those pants turned into a man's overcoat. A feeling
(17:41):
of dread formed in my stomach as my brain began
to formulate that it wasn't just a random assortment of
clothing bunch together in the dark basement, but rather something
else entirely, someone else entirely. My flashlight beam continued its
slow ascent up the coat as my dread continued to build.
I was inches away from revealing the identity of this
(18:02):
stranger in my basement, but in my heart I already
knew who it was. A ghastly smile greeted me as
my light fell upon it. The man in the hat
was there. Lighthouse will return after these messages, and now
(18:28):
back to lighthouse, I screamed, but through some sort of miracle,
continued to hold my ground. When I exhausted all the
air in my lungs, I stood frozen in fear as
my eyes locked with those of the man in the hat.
His smile never wavered, nor did his stance. He simply
(18:49):
stared at me. With my first clear look at him.
He looked to be in his late fifties. The flesh
of his skin hung loose, as if he had started
to deep compose, giving him an even more distressing appearance.
His clothing, though once an immaculate condition, now was in
the process of slowly falling apart, as if moths has
started to make a meal of it. We were at
(19:11):
an impasse, as neither of us moved a muscle for
several moments. I was about to take a step backwards
to get away from this horrifying specter. When the man
in the hat turned his head toward the wall, his
arm long and gaunt, lifted in unison as a single
finger pointed toward the shelf I had been looking through earlier.
(19:32):
At first, I wasn't sure what he was doing. I
hesitated to get closer to him, but my curiosity was
beginning to get the better of me. Was there something
on the shelf he wanted, something he wanted me to see.
I tried to think of what it could possibly be.
When I heard the music once again. It sounded like
it was coming from the direction of the shelf, and
(19:54):
then it dawned on me the music wasn't coming from
something on the shelf, but from behind it. I took
a step forward to see what was there. When I
felt a tap on my shoulder. I yelped and nearly
jumped ten feet in the air. As I turned to
see leaning my sister staring back at me. I heard
you scream, she said, I thought you were hurt. Despite
(20:15):
her fear of the dark, my sister made the trek
through the basement to make sure I was okay. What
was it, she asked, reminding me that the man in
the hat was behind me. I turned in his direction again,
using my light to show her the visitor, but instead
he was gone. What are you looking for, she asked me, Nothing,
I replied, but I think I found where the music's
(20:36):
coming from. I went back to the shelf and pushed
some boxes aside. There hidden behind the metal rack was
a small wooden door. If not for the man in
the hat, I never would have taken a second look.
I considered trying to move the entire shelf, but it
was next to impossible with everything still on it. I
asked my sister to shine her light at the shelf
(20:58):
while I started to remove boxes from it. One by one.
I took them away and stacked them neatly near by.
Among the things were artifacts from the days when the
lighthouse was still in operation, a container of spark plugs,
presumably for the light itself, a box of old clothing
including a seaman's cap, and instruction manuals for various controls.
There was more than I anticipated, and it took close
(21:20):
to twenty minutes for me to finish. With the boxes removed,
it was significantly easier to move the shelfing from its place.
It wasn't long before the door was fully revealed. It
wasn't until that moment that I realized the pit in
my stomach had returned. Just an uncomfortable feeling at first,
but it grew steadily creeping over me like an icy chill.
(21:41):
My intuition was telling me that whatever was behind this
door was something that was not meant for us. My sister, however,
her bravery growing by the second, ran up to the
door and placed her ear against the wood. She smiled
as she looked at me. It's inside, she exclaimed. Before
I could stop where she grabbed the doors handle. My
stomach lurched as she did, anticipating the worst. It felt
(22:07):
as if the world around us changed. Staring into the
gaping blackness of this secret room, I felt a rush
of stale air escape it, as if something was trapped
inside for years and hurried out towards freedom. The dread
I already felt inside me reached a breaking point, and
it felt like an impressive force pressing down on my shoulders,
(22:27):
like all the light in the world had gone out
in a single instant, leaving us in a world of
never ending darkness. Lenny was already inside the room, using
her flashlight to search I crouched to enter the room
as I was a hair taller than the door frame,
and I felt something brush against my face. I momentarily panic,
thinking I had walked into a spiderweb, only to find
(22:48):
my hand hit a tiny metal chain. My mind registered
it as connection to a lightbulb, and I gave it
a gentle tug. The room illuminated in a deep red color,
letting us see a little more beyond our flashlights. It
wasn't that large of a space, maybe four feet by six,
but I had a table with two large trays, along
(23:10):
with another shelf filled with an assortment of things. Jars
of some sort of liquid pelled to paper, and various
other odds and ends sat on it above our heads.
A line of string criss cross just beneath the ceiling,
with clothes pins hanging from it. But what drew our
attention before anything else was on the table itself, a
small music box, the source of the mysterious music that
(23:32):
plagued us for weeks. Its tiny gears turned as the
song continued, It's intricate inner workings creating the haunting melody.
My sister, entranced by it all, made her way toward
it as her fingers brushed against its side. The music
suddenly stopped. She pulled back for a second, startled by
its sudden end, but then took it. Can I keep it?
(23:53):
She asked me curiously. If this trinket locked inside this
tiny room made her happy, then so be it. Besides,
no harm could come from it, could it? With most
of our curiosity now abated, I turned my attention to
the rest of the room. For some reason, it just
felt wrong. The red light wasn't helping that feeling, either,
(24:16):
so I turned my flashlight back on and began to
look over the shelves. On the very bottom were three
large jugs with handwritten labels identifying them as developer, stop, bath,
and fixer. These words activated a memory deep in my brain.
When I was younger, I had developed an interest in photography,
and my father taught me how people developed photos on
(24:38):
their own. The jugs, the trays, and the red light
all began to make sense. Now this was once someone's
photography lab. It was a dark room. On the shelf
above the jugs were spare cases of photopaper, along with
a small camera. It was too dark to see the
make and the model, but it looked to be in
good condition. I slipped it into my pocket. If le
(25:00):
he was going to walk away from this adventure with
a prize, then why shouldn't I as well. Filling out
the rest of the shelves were large volumes of photographs.
I took one from its place and glanced through it quickly,
not finding anything of interest, just photos of people looking
just as disinterested as I was, accompanied by long pages
of notes. As I went to return it to its shelf,
(25:22):
something fell out of the back of the album. I
saw it was a pair of records, both slightly smaller
than forty five. They must have been tucked away, long
forgotten by whomever put them there. I didn't recognize either
of the artists, one of them being a single of
Stay on the Right Side of the Road by Noraje
Mayhem's and the Blue Chips, and the other called The
(25:42):
Raggedy Man by Aida Jones and Edward Meeker. Unfortunately, the
Aida Jones record chattered, but the other one seemed to
be in one piece. For a twelve year old, finding
these as treasure in a secret room was not very exciting.
I put them back as my eyes scanned the rest
of the album spines, all with various states from the
early nineteen hundreds up to the late nineteen thirties. At
(26:04):
the very top of the shelf was a dusty, old
teddy bear. How he made his way into the dark
room was beyond me, but he was far out of reach,
so I ignored him. Closer at hand were a handful
of loose photos just sitting on a shelf, as if
they were meant to be placed in an album, but
the person doing so never got around to it. Setting
my flashlight down, I took the loose photos and began
(26:26):
to look through them, leaning watching over my shoulder. To
my surprise, most of them were of lighthouse. On the
bottom of each someone had placed a small piece of
tape on which they had written nineteen nine. We could
only assume that it was when the photos were taken.
Almost were taken from a distance. Some of the latter
ones were closer. A few more showed off the property,
(26:48):
especially the large tree out front. The one that caught
my eye, though, showed the front of the house with
a man standing out on the front porch. Who's that,
Leanie asked as she leaned in. Those are trying to
get a better look. She grabbed her own flashlight and
illuminated the photo. We both gasped when we recognized who
it was. It was the man in the hat. Lighthouse
(27:16):
were returned after a word from our sponsors, and now
lighthouse continues. I felt a sick feeling wash over me.
I already knew that the man in the hats appearances
(27:37):
were on the supernatural sort, but holding concrete evidence of
his former life in my hand was something else entirely well.
The quality of this photo was poor. I could almost
see his eyes staring directly back at me. His ghastly
smile seemed to grow wider the more I looked. I
was only jolted out of this trance by something creaking
above our head. We both looked up to see the
(27:59):
red lights slow only swaying in an indiscernible breeze. It's
light casting dark shadows in every corner of the room.
Linie's flashlight began to fail, then it's bright center, blinking
once twice three times before cutting out entirely. Mine, still
sitting on the shelf nearby, followed suit. My sick feeling
got worse, as if all the air in the room
(28:20):
was sucked away in an instant. Suddenly, I felt a
presence there with us. We were no longer alone in
the dark room. I froze, not wanting it to sense
us also, but I feared it was too late. Close
your eyes, I whispered, hoping Lenie heard me. I closed
mine as well, the darkness of my eyelids blocking out
(28:40):
the red tinted darkness of the room. I didn't want
to make another sound, but I wanted to help keep
Lenie calm. I softly mouthed the words that formed in
my head one, two, three, four five. Whatever was there
(29:01):
with us, I felt its hot breath on my neck.
I let the photos drop to the floor. Run, I
screamed at her. I grabbed her hand, and we took off.
We quickly navigated our way back through the basement mazes.
We heard something step out of the dark room and
hiss behind us. We didn't bother looking back. We were
both too afraid, but we could sense it right on
(29:21):
our heels. When we reached the basement steps, we took
them two at a time, not wanting that thing to
catch us. I stumbled over the last few, but Leany
steadied me and helped pull me through the doorway. Once
we were back in the pantry. I slammed the basement
door shut, sliding the bolt in place with a satisfying click.
We both collapsed against the door, breathing heavy but safe
(29:42):
for now. We didn't tell our parents about the dark
room nor the thing that chased us. My mother barely
believed us about the man in the hat, and after
what my father said about him, who knows how mad
he would be about this. Instead, we made a pack
to watch out for each other and keep it to ourselves.
The rest of that day was fairly uneventful. I stayed
(30:02):
in my room for most of it, trying to calm
myself down from the earlier events and also examining my
newly found birthday present to myself, the camera from the
dark room. According to the label on its side, it
was a Kodak to a autographic Brownie. It was a
foldable camera, meaning that it's lenses came out like an
accordion when you wanted to use it, and tucked away
(30:23):
neatly when you did. Not. To my surprise, it's still
had a few negatives left in it. I wasn't sure
if they were still good or not, but I made
it my mission to test it out. Later that evening,
my mother made breakfast for dinner in honor of my birthday,
and then I was treated to a delicious chocolate cake.
My father stayed in his study for the duration of
the celebration, except for when I blew out the candles
(30:46):
on my cake. Reluctantly, he agreed to let me take
a family photo with my new camera, even though he
questioned where I had gotten it from. I only lied
a tiny bit, telling him I founded in one of
the many rooms of the house, leaving out its exact location.
When he pressed further, my mother urged him to drop it,
and with a grumble, he did, Being as how there
was no time or on it. I had to be
(31:07):
content with not actually being in the photo myself, but
I was okay. My sister sat in from the birthday
cake as my parents surrounded her on either side. With
a single click, the photo was taken, and before I
removed the camera from my eyes, my father was already
to his study again. The rest of us ate our
cake in silence. It wasn't until late that night, as
(31:28):
I lay in bed, that I realized that the feeling
of the house was shifting. Whether it was the way
my father was secluding himself from us what we discovered
in the basement, or a combination of both. Things were changing.
From across the hall, I could hear Leaney switch on
the music box. It's haunting melody no longer a mystery
to us. Instead, it almost gave me a feeling of comfort.
(31:51):
Despite that, my thoughts turned to the dark room and
what had happened earlier. Someone had to have locked that
room away, But for what reason? And who had left
the music box there? Why had it begun playing on
its own? And that thing we felt? What was it?
Was it locked in there? Did we unwittingly set it free?
(32:14):
I tried not to think about it as I began
to drift off to sleep. My eyes grew heavy as
the music box lulled me off into dreamland. I slept
soundly that night, for the first time since we moved
into Lighthouse, and I'm glad I did, because after that
night everything changed. Lighthouse is a production of I Heart
(32:55):
Radio and Bamford Productions. Chapter two featured the voice of
Ali Trasher, written and directed by Jeff Himbuck, audio engineering,
an original musical score by Corey Celeste. Production assistance by
Alex Gona executive produced by Holly Fry. Questions comments, you
(33:17):
can reach us at the Man in the Hat is
Watching at gmail dot com. Thank you for listening.
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