The Lighthouse (standard:horror, 3036 words)
Author: Hulsey	Added: May 25 2002	Views/Reads: 5192/2596	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Rosie has a gift. She can see things through given objects and moves to Cornwall to escape the publicity, unaware of the horror that awaits her.

Life had not been sweet for Rosie Sinclair. She was intelligent, and her
early academic skills hinted at a brilliant future for the girl. The 
University lecturers who gloated over her to strive for the ultimate 
achievement had prompted her in her advancement. She could have 
anything she wanted, they had relayed to her, but Rosie was not so 
ambitious. All she ever wanted was to be an ordinary woman, with an 
ordinary husband, with ordinary children, and living an ordinary life. 

What Mother Nature had so generously bestowed on her, was negated by her
unnatural and uninvited gift. The gift, as it had been portrayed by 
countless qualified psychologists, psychoanalysts and psycho anything 
else you can care to name, was like an albatross around her neck. 
Psychometry they called it; the ability to see things through given 
objects. 

As a child, Rosie was ignorant of her powers. Were not all children like
this, she used to ask herself? Occasionally, she would pick up a 
child's ball or toy for instance, and be able to visualize that child's 
occurrences from the past. She was mocked by other children, rather 
than acclaimed, and branded a freak. 

After word had spread about her gift, the media circus and the so-called
therapists moved in, and she became a celebrity overnight. The police 
took the opportunity to exploit her talents and recruited her, in order 
to solve numerous crimes. She had become the human bloodhound. 

Rosie, one day decided she wanted out of London. She wanted to blend
into society; melt away from the prying hypocrites and glory-seeking 
specialists. Her parents, though distraught at her decision, understood 
her reasons for leaving. 

Her new life would begin shortly after her twenty-second birthday. She
had an aunt in Cornwall who was recently widowed. What better place to 
secrete than the wide expanses of Cornwall? Her aunt welcomed her and 
promised never to mention the gift. 

In Trewithian, Rosie was just another ordinary girl, a welcome addition
to the ordinary, everyday life in this small town. Rosie was now 
happier than she had ever been. She had met a local lad and she 
cherished every spare moment she had with Ronnie. True, she still had 
the visions, but the lives of these gentle, cultivated people offered 
her no threat, as the apparitions were of trips to the seaside and 
jaunts in the countryside. 

Rosie had found work, not as a doctor or a scientist as her lecturers
had hoped, but as a barmaid. She soon established herself in this 
tranquil community, and for the first time in her life, she was glad to 
be alive. Rosie's popularity was expanding with everyday, as she had 
become a sort of agony aunt of the Golden Pheasant. The punters would 
bring over their uncompleted crosswords to the bar, or perhaps their 
tax returns for Rosie to fill in for them. 

“You be too clever for this job missie,” they would say. Rosie was plain
looking in every way. Some say her hazel eyes were too close together 
and her nose was too wide. Rosie had promised that one day she would 
have her crooked teeth straightened. One feature she was proud of was 
her long, straight-auburn hair. Before going to bed, she would make a 
point of passing the hairbrush through it one hundred times. 

Yes, Rosie was finally content. She had acquired her obscurity from the
inquisitive, uncaring society. However, her tranquillity did not last 
for long. A chance encounter with a customer was about to change her 
life forever. 

It was a glorious summer evening, and Ronnie, this strapping farmhand
with long dark hair had captured her heart. He was sprawled across the 
bar in deep conversation with Rosie, attempting to woo the city girl. 

A scruffy looking man entered the Golden Pheasant and was standing
looking around the bar, as people turned their heads away from him. He 
was an odd-looking, chubby character, cock-eyed and with protruding 
teeth. His pale face was riddled with so many freckles. He was wearing 
an old combat jacket, a soiled white tee shirt and tattered jeans. 

“Oh no,” exclaimed Ronnie, when he saw the reflection of the character


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