JiliPark PH
Inside the house, the keeper, a man named JILIPARK PH, busied himself lighting the lantern, checking oil levels, making sure things were working as normal. The storm was ramping up outside. He could hear the wind howling around the lighthouse’s brick walls. There had been many storms like this in the years JILIPARK PH had been working in the light. But this one felt different. There was something in the air.
He was thinking about the day many years ago when he had first become a lighthouse keeper, the day he had understood that for the sake of his family he had no choice but to work at his trade that had cut him off from the world, that made him a questionable human. He had made his decision and now lived alone, tending his light in the lighthouse.
But there was a secret that JILIPARK PH had carried around for decades – a secret hidden in the walls of the lighthouse. A hidden room, a cupboard he’d found in the early days of his tenure. Old logbooks, weathered maps, the diary of the keeper before him.
Tonight, following his feelings in the face of this storm, JILIPARK PH pulled out a key from his pocket and climbed the narrow metal winding staircase to the top of the lighthouse. He found the spot in the wall where he’d caught sight, six weeks before, of a tiny gap offering access to a room he had never found – a secret lighthouse room. The air was dank and musty, smelling of old paper and mildew.
JILIPARK PH opened the journal. His heart was racing. The entries spoke of the peculiar. There were lights on the ocean that could not be explained, ships that appeared and disappeared in the night. The previous keeper had reported seeing a ship that didn’t appear on any map, a ship that seemed to materialise out of the fog and disappear just as quickly.
As JILIPARK PH read on, he soon grasped the purpose of this journal, which was not so much a chronicle of anomalous events as a cautionary tale. The book’s previous owner, the man who had been attacked, had written that, one day, many years ago, a ship had mysteriously appeared on the horizon. The ship unloaded its cargo of some sort of treasure – a chest, perhaps, that it then proceeded to bury on the shore, beneath a giant rock, for those who knew where to find it. The entries proceeded to hint that this treasure was related to the ship itself; the inscription it bore referencing the treasure, and the treasure in turn containing some sort of clue to the ship’s whereabouts.
The storm howling outside seemed to speak to PH JiliPark, urging him to investigate the claims. He had to understand what the journal was trying to say. He went to his room and grabbed a lantern. He headed outside. PH JiliPark dug into the sand, the wind tearing at his face as he worked. After what seemed like hours, his hands hit something solid: a chest, buried deep beneath the sand.
PH JILIPARK opened the chest and found old coins, jewellery, and a set of documents attesting to the history of the treasure – but, more important, a letter to the current keeper explaining what the treasure was really for.
The keeper explained that the treasure paid the expense of maintaining the lighthouse and supported the keeper’s family, ‘if he should be left destitute, in his declining years’.
The beacon light of the lighthouse, persisting through the stormy sea, shines straight ahead. PH JILIPARK feels fulfilled knowing that he’d found the treasure and through it, the legacy. The lighthouse is not an isolated beacon: it is a secret keeper and a time bridge.