"I seem to have stood still for an eternity,"
"Engulfed by a sea of thoughts, kept silent as a cemetery."
"The three lighthouse keepers on the isles still remain,"
"Where they should have long passed into memory."
Marcus: …
Marcus: So much has transpired here upon the Flannan Isles, each and every event etching itself into my consciousness ...
Marcus: Despite all my installments so far on the History of the Flannan Isles, what I've documented barely scratches the surface ...
Marcus: The readers, I believe, share my eagerness for the next issue of the Daydream Post ...
Marcus: deep breath I cannot let them down.
Marcus: …
Marcus: The young lady rubs her eyes and refocuses back to her writing.
Marcus: The History of the Flannan Isles column has to fit in roughly a third of a page ... But there are so many more stories about the archipelago I've yet to tell—stories the readers still haven't heard ...
Marcus: Ms. Dennehy mentioned that even the editors have been following the mysteries of the Flannan Isles with intrigue ... If I can keep up that interest, she might allow me an additional section!
Marcus: That way, I can present our readers with a more comprehensive look at their stories.
Livened up, she dives back into her writing.
Marcus: "The Flannan Isles, a small island chain in the Outer Hebrides of Scotland, have been the subject of rumor for years. Even up to today, many mysteries still remain here ..."
Marcus: "Of course, to hear it from the credible authorities, the lighthouse and indeed, the whole archipelago, were perfectly normal, all except for ..."
Marcus: "... its three vanished lighthouse keepers."
Marcus: "Speculation over their disappearance drove the public wild, yet the authorities claimed they were simply swept away in a deadly storm."
Marcus: "This, of course, did nothing to convince them."
Marcus: "Meanwhile, a sailor claimed to have seen coal-black UFOs over the islands, casting eerie, cold beams of light ..."
Marcus: "Other theories included gargantuan man-eating birds, a bottomless abyss, and so on ..."
Marcus: "Rumors continue to swirl, but the truth remains elusive ..."
Marcus: "The police report, the log entries, and the lack of any recovered bodies ... They all scream one thing—this is no simple disappearance ..."
Marcus: "Twelve years have passed, yet driven by curiosity, I decided that I must visit the islands myself ... And there I discovered a never-before-seen log book."
Marcus: "The signature on it reads 'James, recorded on December 15, 1900.'"
Marcus: …
Marcus: Her pen hangs in mid-air, like a sail on still water, hesitating to embark on the next line.
Marcus: So much time has passed since the incident, yet the mysteries only seem to multiply ...
Marcus: Hmm ... How can I sift through all these story threads?
Marcus: Before setting foot on the islands, I heard other unsettling rumors from the sailors. Ships passing too near often find themselves caught motionless on the sea, with eerie and unnatural ooze forming on their decks ... These frightful tales have meant that most give this archipelago a wide berth.
Marcus: This is a story worth telling ...
Marcus: Meanwhile ... there is the matter of the island's lighthouse, which has, through unknown means, been kept in operation for twelve years despite being abandoned.
Marcus: If I failed to include that sort of mystery in my History of the Flannan Isles, I'd surely regret it ...!
Marcus: Which, of course, leads to the central mystery of them all. The disappearance of the original lighthouse keepers in the first place ...
Spoiled for choices, Marcus is, nonetheless, in a very briny pickle.
An arduous choice lies before the poor girl.
Marcus: …
Marcus: History of the Flannan Isles belongs to the islands themselves. It's only fair that I treat their stories impartially ...
Marcus: To turn down the opportunity to tell any of these stories feels like betraying the truth itself!
Her gaze wanders, shifting from one page of notes to another.
There it is, a narrow path that she could follow to capture the essence of all these stories.
Marcus: "I set the log book aside, noticing the lighthouse just as its light washes past me."
Marcus: "After the disappearances, no one proved willing to station on the Flannan Isles ... The Eilean Mor lighthouse was left unmanned, or so it should have been."
Marcus: "From the base of the lighthouse, I walk step by step upward. Curiously, I notice, the wooden stairway beneath my feet appears to be meticulously well-maintained, and stranger still is the warm yellow light spilling from the apex of the tower ..."
Marcus: "They all silently, yet truthfully, convey an astonishing revelation: that this lighthouse has been running just as well as it had since it was abandoned twelve years ago!"
Marcus: "My footsteps falter, nearly tumbling backward at the realization ... Yet, how could I believe all that I am seeing?"
Marcus: "Nevertheless, the slippery moss and weathered scratches adorning the grounds prove with cold logic that twelve years must indeed have passed here."
Marcus: "After composing myself, I decide to begin my exploration."
Marcus: "Just before I alighted, I sounded the ship's steam whistle to signal to passing vessels, if there were any. Then, I took the three remaining flares ..."
Marcus: "If misfortune befalls me, at least the maritime police can collect my body here within a week and have my story publicized, if that must be my last humble contribution to the world."
Marcus: "Stepping back onto the island, I no longer feel as relaxed as before; a touch of fear and sorrow occupies me. But thankfully, my heart still harbors the courage to strive for knowledge and human progress ..."
Marcus: "And to unveil the truth of this mysterious place."
Marcus: "Door locks won't bar my way; I deftly climb through a window, entering into a cramped space that, by all rights, should have been long forgotten and moldering."
Marcus has fully immersed herself in the world she is recreating, wandering freely along the blank page, then back to the ink-stained words.
Marcus: "The kitchen door is open, though there is naught inside. Not even a moldy apple, a rotten orange, nor even a cobweb."
Marcus: "My mind, as yet stiff with anticipation, suddenly and involuntarily relaxes as it stumbles over an idle thought."
Marcus: "Perhaps this was nothing more than a prank, if a poorly executed one."
Marcus: "Or perhaps a kind-hearted soul, for the safety of all the ships in the area, made a habit of replacing the lighthouse's lamp and repairing its rusty screws, but bowed by some secret honor, swore to never tell any of his work ..."
Marcus: "These are, for now, my best theories on the nature of this mystery."
Marcus wields her pen with renewed fire, drowning out the sounds around her.
Marcus: "Out of obligation, I settled on making a final cursory check before leaving."
Marcus: "To think it would mark the beginning of a whole new chapter of this unfolding mystery."
Marcus: "Inexplicably, I found myself knocking on the bedroom door ... Stifling a chuckle, as I soon realized my folly."
"Knock-knock-knock!"
Marcus: "But as I brace to push open the door, it swings open in spite of me with a grating creak."
Marcus: "The sudden movement causes me to stagger and stumble, falling beside the fireplace inside the room."
Marcus: "To my surprise, the coal dust under my palms holds a comforting warmth, as if it had come from a dying flame, one that could again alight."
Marcus: "Two figures form just beyond my vision, at first pale and translucent but gaining substance, as if to match my palpable fear."
Marcus: "Are you ... ghosts?!"
Marcus: "The pair of specters suddenly shriek, as if in terror, 'You can see us?!'"
Marcus: "And we face each other dumbfounded, before a series of knocks come from outside—steady and deliberate."
Marcus: "Knock-knock-knock!"
"Knock-knock-knock ..."
Marcus: ...?!
The knocking is no longer just a figment of the author's recollection.
???: Ms. Marcus ...?
???: Anyone in there?
Marcus: Ah ... Yes. A moment please.
She hurriedly gathers the papers now scattered across the desk, stacking them aside neatly.
Lest the voice outside had grown impatient, she cautiously pulls the door open.
Investigator: Greetings, Ms. Marcus.
Investigator: The man before her, with his stern gray and neatly patterned tie, nods courteously.
Marcus: ... Greetings.
Investigator: You'll see here I've been sent by the St. Pavlov Foundation. I am the investigator responsible for registering all arcanists in the Eilean Siar region.
His tone is flat and official, but his bearing exudes an air of entitlement and pride.
Marcus: The ... Foundation?
The significance behind that name has clearly been lost on the young lady.