“Don’t we all?” I jeered. I felt vaguely insulted. Just because I was twenty-two and not thirty-two didn’t mean I hadn’t been through a lot. Dex took his attention away from the camera and looked me straight in the eye, with sincerity this time.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low, warm and serious. “I didn’t mean to belittle you. By any means. OK?”

I may not have been transparent, but he was awfully good at reading my thoughts or at least my face.

He nodded, apparently satisfied with my non-response, and turned back to the camera.

“OK, do you remember your lines?”

What the hell? Lines? When did the topic of lines come up?

“What lines?”

“Didn’t I give you lines?” He scratched his head.

“No, Dex. History homework, but no lines.”

He thought that over then shrugged, “Fuck it.” He waved at me. “Just make something up.”

“About what?”

“About the lighthouse. What we might experience. Introduce the show; tell us some history. Go!” He pointed at me.

Oh God, this was worse than being called on in class when you didn’t do the homework.

I cleared my throat, “Good evening. Welcome to—” I paused. I didn’t actually know the name of our show, “Ghost...Blogger. Tonight’s mystery show revolves around the mysteries of....this....lighthouse.”

I motioned at the lighthouse like one of those cheesy babes who showcase the prizes on The Price is Right. My mind was frantically spinning, trying to come up with ideas faster than I could talk.

“The Rocky Point lighthouse has an interesting and sordid history”—one that I was about to make up—“It was built at the turn of the century to warn incoming ships; however, after only ten years in service, it started to have mechanical problems. At least they figured it was mechanical because no matter what they tried, the light kept going out after dark. Rumors started that the lighthouse was cursed as it lay dark at night and became invisible to passing ships. The lighthouse was deserted and boarded up and a new lighthouse was resurrected out on a rocky outcrop further up the coast.”

I pointed up the coast, hoping Dex would follow my finger and take the pressure off of me for a moment. I had no idea what the hell I was talking about and had no idea how long I could keep it up. But the camera stayed on me. Dex met my eyes for a second and silently encouraged me to keep going. I took a deep breath...

“However, horror and tragedy met that lighthouse as well. The day before it was set to be lit, a merchant ship slammed into nearby rocks during the night. The ship sank, along with sixteen men and two women who drowned in its waves. At least, that’s what the official record was. Legend has it that one of the women managed to drift along on a piece of driftwood until she reached the shore. Right there.”

I looked behind me at the rocky coast beneath the lighthouse and cliff.

And just like that, I couldn’t breathe. The immense pressure of cold prickles seized my body and I froze on the spot.

I stared blankly at the area and suddenly my world was black.

I was now standing beneath the lighthouse, waves crashing into me from behind as my attention was fixed on the sight above. On the cliff stood the man in black, his fingers pointed straight out at the darkening sea and sky. Behind him stood another figure, obscured by the shadows.

The light from the lighthouse came on then, and in that instance of stark illumination, I could see that other figure. It was me.

It was me, standing there as plain as day, and slowly reaching for the shoulder of the man in black.

I felt fingers grasp my own shoulder.

I turned and screamed.

I was back on the beach in the daylight. Dex was standing beside me with his hand firmly on me. It took a good few seconds to stop screaming and realize what I was looking at.

He grabbed my other shoulder. “Perry. Perry, it’s me, Dex. Are you OK? What happened?”

My eyes flitted across his face, unable to focus. He squeezed my shoulders and brought me closer into him. It would have been nice, if only I wasn’t freaking the fuck out.

“Perry, look at me. Look at me.” He put his face in closer until I had no choice but to focus on those brown orbs of his. I could see he was just as frightened as me. “You’re here now. With me. OK? Everything’s OK.”

I nodded and took in a deep breath. He didn’t let go of my shoulders or get out of my face. He searched my face relentlessly. That frown line of his is really etched in there, I thought absently.

“What happened? You turned and you froze. Went completely white. I kept calling your name over and over again. Couldn’t you hear me?”

Shaking my head, I told him I couldn’t hear anything, “I wasn’t here anymore. I was...somewhere else.”

“Where?”

I looked away. “I don’t know. Nowhere. I thought I was dreaming.”

“Where did you go? What did you see?” He shook me slightly. It reminded me of something. I wondered if he had ever seen Hitchcock’s Vertigo because he was starting to go all Jimmy Stewart on me.

I pulled away from him and walked a few feet towards the ocean, conscious of the waves’ foamy fingers but needing the space to breathe.

“We should go back,” Dex said and turned to gather his equipment.

“No!” I yelled, surprising myself. It surprised him too.

“Sorry, but no. Let’s just go to the lighthouse, plan the shots for the night and get this over with,” I said through gritted teeth. I was not about to let this whole operation turn to shit just because I was having nonsensical episodes. I would not let my imagination—because that’s all it had to be—get the best of me.

“Perry, I don’t know what just happened to you, or where you went, but there is no shame in calling this whole thing off.” He looked earnest and a tad anxious, the way I imagine I looked when I was dealing with Ada. The last thing I needed or wanted was for him to be worried about me.

“It was nothing, Dex. I was daydreaming. All right? Let’s do this.”

“I feel responsible for you.”

“Why? Because you called me up and was all like ‘Oh, hello there, little girl, do you like scary movies?’” I imitated his growly voice and talked into my hand. “‘I was hoping we could make a scary movie together; maybe then I could make some money off of ya. Hope you like to read history books at gunpoint.’”

“That’s a terrible impersonation,” he commented. “And just to set the record straight, there is no money to be made here. Do you think I’m getting any money to do this? I paid for my own gas, I’m paying for my own hotel room, and this equipment is all mine. Do you think you can get rich off of the internet just because you’ve had a few hits on your blog? That’s not how it works. You do this because you want to do this or because you don’t have a choice. And you have a choice, Perry.”

I was abashed at his reply but put on a haughty face. “And my choice is to keep going. Now, I can film myself alone if you’d rather go right now.”

Dex grinned—it wasn’t a happy grin—and shook his head. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere. I can just tell you’ve been unsure about this whole thing from the start, and I’m giving you a way out.”

“Well, excuse me if I seemed hesitant.” I rolled my eyes. Did he have no idea at all what it was like to be in my shoes? I consider myself to be a very easygoing person but that only extended so far. Two days ago I was basking in the glow of having written my blog. Now, I was back at the lighthouse with someone I barely knew and who I was increasingly convinced was slightly “unhinged,” and filming the whole deal—again—hoping to turn it into something for the whole world to see. I thought I was rolling with the punches as quickly as I could.

“OK.” Dex finished stuffing the tripod into the bag and handed it to me. He then offered his hand. “Friends?”

I balanced the tripod with my shoulder and slowly extended my hand. I wasn’t sure if Dex was my friend or not; I wasn’t sure if I could trust him. But there was something that compelled me to be a part of his life, somehow. Even if it was just for two days on this wild west coast.

Ugh. I was doomed.

“Friends,” I said, and smiled shyly.

I shook his hand. His hand was hot, and once again I felt that surge of energy rush through me, creating internal goose bumps. I squeezed his hand to match his firm grip.

Everything seemed to slow down. The waves were muffled; the wind ruffled my hair in a hazy stupor. In my mind’s eye I could see myself, shaking hands on this beach, committing myself to...something.

***

I’m happy to report that the rest of the lighthouse excursion was uneventful. I managed to push my fears out of my head, not letting myself think about the dreams and what it could all mean. It was hard, especially when I felt tiny pinpricks of terror, rooted in some hazy memory, creeping upon me around each corner. I told myself it was merely deja vu from being there only a week ago.

Even though it was light out, the lighthouse was still creepy as hell. Maybe even more so considering you could make out every decrepit line and grey cobweb in detail.

Uncle Al had boarded up the window that I had kicked in but luckily Dex was leaning toward the more rational method of entering via the skeleton key.

The lock on the door clicked open with a satisfying sound. The door itself needed a hefty push or two from Dex, but it swung open with a very dramatic creak that echoed across the room. Dex stepped in and looked around. I remained outside.

“Not coming in?” he asked. “Would you rather stay out here while I go look around?”

The air coming in from the room was stale, as if nothing had breathed in there for hundreds of years. It was as dark as coal and I could only make out the faint outline of a table. But standing outside by myself didn’t sound very safe either.

I shook my head. I gingerly stepped in and coughed at the thick air. Dex pushed the door even further to allow more light and flow inside.

“I guess you wouldn’t have a flashlight on you?” He asked.

“iPhone?” I showed it to him.

He waved it away and looked at the far corner of the room, squinting. “I’m just gonna try that door over there and see if it works. Don’t want any surprises tonight.”

I watched him disappear into the ombre mist of suspended dust particles. I looked around the room, inspecting it. The table was made of oak (or some sturdy tree) and was held up by thick, sculpted legs. I made a brief comparison to my own body build. It was bare and covered with a good inch of slimy murk. The walls were bare and grey, save for a few nautical oil paintings that still hung there, out of place. A stack of chairs and an armoire looked to be in the corner while one wall housed a rusted stove.

I heard Dex wrestling with the lock in the darkness.

“So, tell me,” he said, his voice echoing. “Where did you read about the two women who were aboard the ship that sank?”

I shivered and pushed the thoughts out of my head. “I made it up. Can we not talk about it here please?”