Steep Marrow All Along

• Dieser Text gewann im Wettbewerb „Writing Battle“ eine „Honorable Mention“. Es ist ein Wettbewerb, in dem die Teilnehmenden Geschichten (die nicht zu ihrer in Konkurrenz stehen) in Zweier-Duellen bewerten.

With its 150 inhabitants, Steep Marrow nestles on the hillside leading to the Marrow Cliffs. It consists mostly of shepherds, a few fisherman families and an alehouse. At one end of the hamlet, there is a thick eerie forest, at the other, a plateau of maybe 700 square feet of rocks and sand. This plateau, ending in an extremely steep cliff, had in ancient times either deemed not safe for building houses on it, or the Steep Marrowers just didn’t like building on perfectly horizontal ground.

For centuries, it was the Hiplerton family’s office to light fires on the plateau as a beacon for ships to keep them away from the perilous waters around the Marrow Cliffs, which they did without fault. Not long after my birth, though, the King had decided that the plateau of Steep Marrow could carry a lighthouse.

This was a cause for great concern among the Steepers (we don’t like to be called Marrowers), because here, changes take centuries. 

Except for when parts of the cliff break off, that happens rather fast. 

The Hiplerton family had always had a perfect system which of the many children did which part of the watch, and they lived well off the Crown’s fee. 

Now, by orders of the King, someone had to live in the lighthouse and do this duty on his own. Jeremiah Hiplerton, stubborn as Steepers come, forbade all of his sons to apply for the post. He made his wife pack and his nine children line up, from the eldest son who was 22 to the youngest daughter who was just a toddler like me. Then they left the village in a procession, never to be seen again. My grandmother always told me, “By George, they didn’t so much as leave the Dark Forest! They were eaten by the Hobgoblin, Barty! No one moves away from Steep Marrow!” 

And so, the misery took its course. 

When, 20 years later, Agatha Fishbottle arrived with one suitcase in her hand to apply for the post of lighthouse guardian, the whole village had changed, and not for the better. There she was, a resolute woman of uncertain age in a dark wool coat, wearing a headscarf and big horn-rimmed spectacles. With a raspy voice and a big black wart on her chin that made it impossible for anyone to look anywhere else.

As our house was closest to the plateau and therefore the graveyard – oh, I haven’t told you about it yet, have I? I’ll get to it soon. As I said, with our house being the closest to the lighthouse, the interviews took place there, and as we only have one room, we all heard everything.

“I can’t even begin to tell you, Miss Fishbottle, why you couldn’t do this!” my father bellowed. “First off, if I’m not mistaken, you are a woman, you are, aren’t you?! And then, there’s the hard work, you see, given that you are a woman, and obviously, one needs technical understanding, and then, for starters, there is the haunted graveyard you have to cross each and every time you need to leave the lighthouse, and given that you are a woman …” 

“Mr. Westling”, said the wart, I mean, the woman, “will you forget my sex for a moment? If I’m not mistaken, you haven’t found anyone to fill the position for two months, which has resulted in two more shipwrecks and more sailors buried on your graveyard, which, as you say, is haunted. Am I correct so far?”

My father nodded, disgruntled. 

“If you don’t mind me asking: why did you even build a graveyard that one needs to cross to get to the lighthouse? There’s not even a church here. Or was the graveyard there first?”

That’s when a voice could be heard from the stove, startling Agatha. This was understandable, because even we were startled from time to time when my grandmother made herself heard after days of silence where she seemed to become one with the stove.

“It all began with the first lighthouse keeper, who was a fathead” she said, “and who slept during his working hours. That’s when the first ever ship sailed into the sea cliffs, and we had seven dead sailors washed ashore! By George, it was a shame, it was!”

Agatha Fishbottle shook her head as if to say: how could you do that?

“And, you see, Miss Fishbottle, when a Steeper dies, we have a big procession of all of the village with the dead, through the Dark Forest to Mettleton, the village where the churchyard is. There was no way to carry seven sailors to Mettleton! Thus, the reverend sprinkled the plateau with holy water and told us it had become our own graveyard. See for yourself, there is not a square foot anywhere between here and the forest we could have a graveyard!” 

My grandmother sighed and immediately fell asleep of exhaustion against the stove, or maybe even died, I thought, we would have to see.

Our visitor obviously waited for more explications, but we didn’t know what more to explain, so nobody said anything. 

“And the graveyard is haunted, you say.” 

We all nodded silently. No one left the house after midnight, but we all heard the moaning and howling.

“That’s because of the first lighthouse keeper”, I said. “He went crazy after the seven sailor’s burial. He was drinking during the day, and he told the barman he felt them staring up at him all night. Two months later the whole village heard him scream and scream, and then he was gone. He was washed ashore a week later, he must have jumped off the cliff that night, and …” 

“… and he lays with the sailors now, you see?”, my grandmother, who was not dead yet, added.  “And ever since his burial, the place is haunted!”

There was a moment of silence, during which I asked myself why Agatha Fishbottle was the first applicant who wanted to know all about the story of the lighthouse instead of, like all the others, about the food deliveries and the pay, which the King had increased considerably over the last years. When I looked up, I forgot to look at the wart and incidentally met her eyes. Thunderstruck, I gasped. She had the most intelligent, warm eyes I had ever seen. I felt instantly as if I knew who she was to the core.

As if she were pondering a decision, Agatha tipped her finger against her chin, drawing my eyes to her wart again, and said: “As I understand it, this story has repeated itself a few times over the years? How many sailors and how many keepers are buried on the grounds?” 

“72 sailors, but only three lighthouse keepers.”, my father answered. “Most of them just ran away during the day.” He seemed somewhat appeased. Despite her appearance and raspy voice, Agatha Fishbottle had a calming effect on us all.

“Mr. Westling, how would you like it if I tried out the duty for one week without pay and without yet moving my belongings?  You do not seem to have any applicants at this time; therefore, I cannot make things worse. By lighting the Argand lamp regularly at night, though, I can possibly prevent more deaths and subsequently the imminent overpopulation of the graveyard.”

And so it was done. Steep Marrow, the village jammed between the Dark Forest and the haunted graveyard breathed a sigh of relief and hope.

For one week, night after night, the Argand lamp was lit on time, the Fresnel lens sent out a warning to ships close-by, and no bodies had to be carried from the shore up to the graveyard.

Strangely enough, there had only been a great brouhaha during the first night, causing many a pillow to end up on many an ear. After that, no one heard any moaning or howling at night. On the third day, my grandmother tipped over from the stove, being definitely dead. While our procession entered the dark forest, I wondered whether this was a bad or a good sign. Did Agatha bring death, or could my grandmother finally die because she brought peace? I decided it was peace, looking at the bulky figure of her on the churchyard. You never saw her in the village, but she didn’t hesitate to partake in the burial.

Even before the week was over, my father approved of Agatha Fishbottle becoming the new lighthouse keeper and allowed her to send for her belongings. I decided to pay her a visit at the lighthouse during the day. It took her quite some time to come down and open the door, but then she was very hospitable. The lighthouse looked cleaned and almost homely. As the hours went by and we chatted away, I completely forgot to look at the wart. That night, it was exactly after one week, I lay in my corner, asking myself time and again why I felt so much at ease with Agatha, when I suddenly heard ghostly voices from the graveyard. I jumped to my feet: Agatha! As I dared look through the window, I saw a whole mass of white bodies at the entrance of the lighthouse, rattling at the door. Without thinking, I ran out of our house across the graveyard. The rocks cut my bare feet, the icy wind blew under my night shirt, but all I could see was the heaps of ghosts at the door – that suddenly opened. I wanted to scream, but my lungs felt frozen, when I heard a pleasant voice: “Oh well, come in, you, but stop all that noise!”  As if I were watching someone else’s most bizarre nightmare, I saw the ghosts float into the lighthouse and followed like a puppet on a string.

When I arrived at the top where the living room was, Agatha was already talking to the ghosts, but it was not the Agatha I knew! She was about my own age, round but not bulky, had red curls, no spectacles and first and foremost – no wart! “I am well aware that the week is up, and I do have a proposition. Not only do you sailors protest lying in the same grounds as the lighthouse keepers, but you are also seamen and long for the wet element. On the other hand, the lighthouse keepers do not find peace. I propose that we dig your bodies up and give you a proper sea burial so that you can rest where your heart is. In order to do that, though, I require forgiveness from all parts.”

There was an uproar, and I could see everyone turn towards a group of three frightened-looking ghosts in one corner. 

“Well, it’s your decision”, Agatha said. “The first lightkeeper just fell asleep, which was fatal, but it can happen. Then you caused him to take his life, dooming him to haunt the graveyard, too – and the rest is history. If you forgive each other, this will become a nice little graveyard for lighthouse keepers, you will all rest in peace, and I can have my brother come here and be the new keeper like he always wanted.”

“Hmmmm ….?”, one of the ghosts said, “you will not stay here?” 

“No”, Agatha said, “I would like to travel the world. Barty Westling, whom I have known since we were toddlers and who was willing to give his life to save me has been listening to us all along, which is perfect because I can ask him right away if he would like to come see the world with Agatha Hiplerton.”