Goose Island Light

The following is a transcript of a journal found in Goose Island Light, a lighthouse off the coast of Washington, USA. The journal belonged to Illinois native John A. Merrian, a 31-year-old man who was studying for a Master's in engineering. His body was found washed up at a local beach five days after his last journal entry, barely recognizable.
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June 13th, 1997
Hello, I'm going to leave this journal here as a record for anyone who decides to take this job after me. Two weeks ago, I was hired to be the keeper of this place. Although lighthouse keeping is definitely an odd job, it was simple to get. I talked to the previous owner about it for a bit and she hooked me up with the right people, and here I am now. Kind of funny how I can't even get accepted at a grocery store, but this is just fine. Anyways, to my future successor, one thing I've learned in my two days here is that the first night is the toughest. See, I'm from Illinois, Decatur specifically, and the drive up to Washington is absolutely insane. I can't even remember how long it took, nearly 3 days I think. Non-stop, I didn't sleep once. You might be a little closer, but taking the kayak to Goose Island is horrible. 1-2 miles out to sea, for Christ's sake! Good arm exercise, but tiring after three days of nonstop driving.
June 14th, 1997
I woke up this morning to find the sun shining right through my window. It was a pleasant surprise, until I noticed the sky was a bright warm pink. You know that old sailor's phrase, "red skies in the morning, sailors take warning?" Well, that definitely proved itself today. Not two hours later, the tide came, with some big-ass waves splashing everywhere for at least an hour and a half. Had I known I had to deal with this shit for the next four months of my life, I wouldn't have even signed up for this. To top it off, the light busted, so I had to dig an extra out from the basement, I need to put it in before the night's over.
June 15th, 1997
Good lord, all I was trying to do was fix the god damn bulb. I dropped the extra and broke it, so I had to go back into the basement to pick up the last one in the entire basement. After putting it in, while walking down the stairs I felt a massive breeze hit me from the back, and before I knew it, I was tumbling down the flight of maybe 70 stairs. Not sure how a breeze could hit me from there, all the windows were shut. Washington is a damn weird place. It took me almost a minute to notice my left arm was snapped in half, and after panicking for a while, I reset it on a boulder outside the house. It should be fine, I hope. I've been feeling a little lonely lately, I haven't heard another person's voice in nearly a week now, last time was an old guy who worked at a gas station. I don't think I've ever felt so empty in my life, really.
June 17th, 1997
I'm sorry I didn't write in here for a while, I've been looking out, watching the ships go by. It's my only source of entertainment, to be honest. All I have is a hand crank weather-band radio. Listening to weather reports is boring, and I don't want to waste all my hand power on that little hunk of plastic unless I need to. So, I've just sat and watched ships go by every few hours. I know it sounds like a boring thing to do all day, but what else am I supposed to do? I have a phone, but the previous owner is in Canada, and I haven't had proper contact with my family in at least a year, so I don't know any of their numbers. I'd also rather not rack up the phone bill, I get next to nothing out of this stupid "job."
June 19th, 1997
I think this isolation is starting to take its toll on me. I swear I see people out on the dock, staring back at me, but then I blink and they're gone. I've never hallucinated in my life before, which makes this even worse. Maybe I'm just seasick or something, I don't know. I've never had something like this happen before.
June 22nd, 1997
They're gone, I think. The dock people. Jesus Christ, I never want to hallucinate something like that again, let alone at all. It's like my brain is deteriorating every day, and I haven't even gotten past the first month. Please make sure you brought something to occupy yourself, don't make the mistake I did. Nothing could be worse right now. Don't get stuck with cabin fever, or whatever those people used to call it. Maybe this job wasn't for me. I have no idea why I even came here in the first place.
June 26th, 1997
I'm going fucking insane.
June 27th, 1997
I'm not really sure what date it is, I haven't been keeping much track. I'm almost positive it's the 27th, but don't quote me. Why would you care anyway? So, last night, I woke up to find someone staring at me through the window. I couldn't make out any facial features, it was dark out, but I'm glad they care.
June 29th, 1997
The light broke again, but fuck it, I'm sure the people will fix it soon enough. I can't take it here anymore. They're all screaming at me, I have to go. They don't want me here. They don't want you here. Leave, now. I know by the time you read this it'll be too late, but still. Help yourself. Please, please, please help yourself. It's all too much, they fuck with your head. I woke up caked in blood this morning, and found I had hacked my leg with an axe. It's still attached, but I don't know what I'm gonna do with it. There aren't any bandages. I dipped it in the ocean. It stung, but it seems like it might be healing, I don't know anymore. Please, don't fall for their tricks, none of it is real. But it fucking is. It's a nightmare, and I'm living it. It hasn't even been a month, and I'm going down so fucking fast. Please remember that I was here.
July 7th, 1997
I tore out a lot of the pages, I was just rambling about the people here. But, you'll find them friendly. When you come, don't leave. They want you here forever! Don't make them sad. I want to stay so bad, I untied that kayak and sent it back to the ocean where it belongs.
July 10th, 1997
Well, more friends keep showing up every day. They keep telling me things. What's the time?
July 13th, 1997
One month. It's been one month. I started out lonely, but I never want to leave anymore. They're so friendly here. I want to stay! I might stay a little longer than four months--maybe five...
July 17th, 1997
They're leaving. I don't know why, but they're leaving, I see them. That makes me so fucking mad. They're leaving. Why?
July 19th, 1997
Well, this is it. After writing this, I'm going to go back to land, where I can hopefully see my new friends again. I decided to take a picture for you to show them to you, they look nice. My Polaroid only had a few sheets left, so I thought I'd save them for a moment like this. Do you think they'll come back when you show up? I think so. You'll love them. Have a great stay, remember everything I told you! You won't be going back any time soon.
Bye now! Here's the photo.
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Category:Mental Illness
Category:Ghosts