It was May 18th, 1838, at about 10:46 at night. I was about to go to bed when I was looking out the window, gazing at the calm, dark blue, and currently rather foggy ocean that was ahead of me. I would do this nightly, since it would calm my mind to look at the sea for a few moments, before I went to sleep. However, this time was different.

I saw something appear out of the foggy mist that was surrounding the deep blue sea. It seemed to be a ship, having only two sails, and it looked quite damaged. I was surprised to be seeing a ship at this hour. But being a lighthouse keeper, it was my duty to help any seafarer towards shore. 

I got ready to turn the lights on, but as I was just about to, it seemed that the ship had already docked. 

This was strange, since most people can’t steer a ship to land at night without a lighthouse to guide it.

At this time, I was quite tired, plus, I know that once I am too tired, I start to see things that aren’t in fact there, so I assumed that I must have been hallucinating.

Thinking nothing of it, I headed to bed so I could get some sleep. 

That night, I had a rather peculiar dream, in which I was standing on the wreckage of a familiar boat, seemingly identical to the one I saw that night. 

No one else was here at all. It was just me.

As a lighthouse keeper with no family living near me, and the nearest village being located many miles away, meaning that I am used to living a life of solitude as well as the fact that  I am used to the feelings of loneliness that come with my life. 

But the feelings that were present during this dream was not of a dream, but a nightmare. Not only was I alone, but I had guilt. A feeling of guilt that seemed only comprehensible when I was dreaming. It was clear this was not a feeling that any human being could grasp the concept of.

It seemed like a feeling that only someone who was not of this world could fully understand. Perhaps someone of a ghost-like figure.

Although there was nothing particularly scary in this dream, say that of a terrifying storm on the horizon, or enormous waves larger than cities that would leave a person traumatized for years to come, it was clear that this was a nightmare, one of which surpassed the many that had come before it.

I woke up at 6:00 in the morning, and my God I was glad to. Although, there was some kind of thought that lingered in the back of my mind ever since I awoke. 

Something was telling me that I must see what was on that boat that I had witnessed, sailing last night. 

After performing my chores, which helped in keeping the lighthouse alive, I went to see if the ship had landed anywhere nearby. Sure enough, as I opened the door to the lighthouse, it was within sight with only a few people from the nearest town, all of whom I know dearly, surrounding the broken ship. I then headed towards it. 

As I did, I could hear all of them murmuring about the rumors that the ship had brought here. Jonathan, a young man who worked on a farm not too far from here, had stated that it was carrying the ghost of a crew, of whom had been killed here on this very soil, coming back for revenge. 

Mary, who I knew as Jonathan’s wife, examined that it was just a ship that had washed up to shore, and the owners had abandoned it long ago. 

Both of which were plausible ideas on their own, but I could tell neither of them were quite right. 

I headed towards the front, as I saw my good friend Sue, trying to die down the racket. 

As everyone slowly hushed, Sue then assured them that there was nothing to be worried about, although someone was going to have to go onto the ship to look for its crew, as it seemed that no one was coming out. 

Hearing this, I immediately volunteered to search the ship. I had also brought my gun, so if the people this ship may have carried were of ill intent, and still onboard, I could defend myself, although I still felt rather anxious, despite having brought my gun with me. 

I forced myself to climb on board using the rope of which they had managed to secure onto the wooden vessel.

The ship itself didn’t feel so old. I had this strange sense of familiarity, whilst walking around on this boat, despite having never seen it, prior to last night when I spotted it sailing. 

I somehow could tell that an event had occurred here. Something horrific and depressing, but what? How could I tell? I had to look for answers. 

The ship itself was wrecked. Everything last thing it had carried on it was damaged to some extent. So damaged that it must have been a miracle that it made it to land in the first place.

It was then that I had stumbled across a broken down, barely functional door with a broken window on it. 

The window was circular, with a golden shade surrounding it. On the door was a small, golden plate that read “Captain Bonnie and Reed’s Bedroom.” 

Who were those two? Why did their names seem so familiar to me?

I slowly opened the door to reveal a rather small looking room, with only one bed in the corner that looked to be a double bed one might possibly share with a loved one. 

On the bed, there was a small piece of paper. It seemed to have been ripped, most likely not by the hands of a human, as it looked to have been more of a natural element that had torn this piece of paper.

On it, read the saying; “I love you. Please continue to live for the both of us.”

I felt like I should keep hold of this piece of paper, because you shouldn’t disregard anything in a place like this. Plus, this piece of paper felt special. 

In the room, was also a desk of which someone might sit at whilst writing something. Perhaps a journal entry, or a story of theirs. 

I then moved closer to the desk, to see a journal made out of leather. Assuming someone had written in it, this may be the key to what happened to this ship to make it lose its crew, or to have it be so run down but still come ashore. 

The journal itself was covered in grey dust, making it easy to blend in with the desk beneath it.

As I cleared off the dust with my hand, it turned to a shade of umber brown, as opposed to the grey colour that the dust had made it seem it was. 

Then, I opened it to its first page.

This journal belongs to Bonnie Anne.