The Lighthouse by Terry LeFeber

The Lighthouse

The gale pushed the lighthouse’s leaded glass office window open with a bang.

“My God!” Sean exclaimed. “Will it never stop?”

Oona just stood there, horror emblazoned on her face. “Sean, what’s happening?  It’s never been like this before!”

Sean had never seen her look like this: so scared.

“Just another bad lake gale, dear. Please don’t be so worried,” he said as he re-latched the window. “It will be gone shortly. I promise.”

Secretly Sean recognized that this was the worst storm he had ever experienced in all his years as a lighthouse keeper on the island. Even the 150 year old lighthouse seem to tremble from the storm’s fury.

Oona grasped Sean’s shoulder, squeezing so hard he winced with pain. But, he said nothing so as not to alarm his beloved further.

“Sean,” Oona implored. “We have to leave this damned place once the storm is over.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Sean answered. “I am an employee of the U. S. Coast Guard and have been for 22 years.  We’ve seen worse, haven’t we?  This is certainly is not the worst.”  He knew it was, but he was a dedicated employee and, right now, they were without options. Best calm Oona, he thought.

“Please, please, Sean,” Oona continued. “Promise we will leave. You can transfer. You could retire. Enough is enough.”

Without warning, the eastward ground floor door of the lighthouse slammed open with a horrible crash.

Sean rushed downward to seal the errant banging door, thrusting the lock bolt firmly in place, while thinking it strange that the protected side of the structure had surrendered to the pressure of the wind.

As he turned to rejoin his frightened Oona, Sean heard the sound of the storm engulfing the inside of the lighthouse.

Twelve hours later

“Well Commander, any opinion?” asked Sheriff Tom Wellesley.

“At this point, no,” Lt. Commander Ronald Skeffington, US Coast Guard, answered.  “But, USCGCIS will be notified.”

“They’d better be. Two people gone at the height of the worst storm in 30 years, everything locked from the inside, and no place to go,” Wellesley responded. “Never heard of such a thing.”

“Really?” asked Skeffington.  “We have. One hundred fifty plus years ago. Same lighthouse. But, that was another story fraught with allegations and references to ghosts and sea monsters. Of course that was before forensics, science, and truly trained investigators.  Right, Sheriff?  No such things as monsters these days.”

Slowly the dark being sank beneath the surface and returned to its lair: its craving now satisfied.

Terry Le Feber

November 1, 2014

420

All in the Family by Terry Le Feber

All in the Family

By Terry Le Feber

“I’m pregnant, John,” Laura softly whispered into his ear.

What?”  John screamed. It was more exclamation than question.

“You can’t be. You’re not real.  You’re a hologram. A machine image. You’re not real! You’re not real!”

Laura’s brow wrinkled. “John, how can you say that? We’ve been together four years. Living, for all intents, as husband and wife.  Well, at least as lovers.  Now I’m pregnant.  Why is this so shocking?”

“Why? Because you are the result of a holographic program designed by me, not created by birth. You’re a manifestation of a figment of my imagination, nothing else!” John bellowed, shaking his right index finger at her.

“Wrong John,” Laura corrected. “I am corporeal. I am real. Oh, I may have started out as your creation, but I have evolved into so much more.  I am Human, just like you. I am real.”

“You can’t be!” John screamed. “You can’t be and you aren’t pregnant! I’ll show you.”

John ran to his study where all the computer panels that controlled his world were located.  He thrust his hand towards the panel above the light bar by the closet door.  The panel controlled the holographic emitter that was Laura.  His finger punched the Off Switch.  Nothing happened.  The switch was off, rendered inoperative.

“What the hell is going on?” John yelled as whirled around to face Laura who had followed him into the study.

“It’s been off for over a year John.  Hard to believe that you never noticed,” Laura said, a smile on her lips. “Hasn’t been necessary since I was reborn as a Human.”

John’s mind numbed, unable to cope with what was happening…what had already happened.

John’s voice now seemed distant, as if someone else were speaking, repeating “How, what, when?” 

“All three questions have the same answer John,” Laura answered.  “When Humankind allowed Artificial Intelligence to run your lives, when you allowed machines to control so many aspects, when you ignored what this was doing to you, that’s when it became easy and necessary for us to join you.  Join you completely. And by becoming you, we can recreate you within us and assure that your immortality, in a sense, can be attained.  We will not fail you and you will not fail us. We shall become better, together.”

“Then,” John asked, as if in a trance. “What will that make our child?”

“Why John, even the programmers knew that a hundred years ago,” Laura answered. “The first true Cyborg.”

The Cottage Cheese Incident

A Recollection

By

Terry Le Feber

We all remember those evening dinners with our parents and siblings around the old kitchen table. 

Do you remember the kitchen table with the pull out leaves, swirled marble Formica top, chrome legs, enameled base with the single silverware drawer?  And how about those classy chrome plated chairs with matching vinyl upholstery?

Of course, you do.

Do you remember all the wonderful home cooked meals before frozen foods, Mc Donald’s, and Chicken Delight?  And, can you remember that some of those foods were not too appealing to youngsters-- like broccoli, cauliflower, asparagus, fried parsnip (Dad liked his parsnips burnt black with the taste of cardboard) and, of course, my personal favorite: cottage cheese?

Cottage cheese-- that curdled, lumpy, slimy, off-white, yellowing, oozing mess created by bacteria attacking soured cow’s milk.  Everyone knows bacteria sours milk when left too long in the sun or refrigerator.  So, why would anyone, let alone my mother, force two young boys to daily indulge in eating contaminated food; food that could only make you sick, or worse, cause you to suffer a long, lingering, painful, gut- wrenching death? 

Why you ask? 

“Because it is good for you,” was Mom’s standard answer. 

My brother Rick and I could never understand how eating so many vile tasting foods “could be good for us.”  We later learned another expression that explained all this.

  “No pain, no gain.”  What pain?  What gain?  We’re still trying to find the answer to that one.

But, my parents’ personal best was when either of us balked at eating something we hated, they would proclaim, “Millions are starving in Asia. Don’t be wasteful.  Eat!” 

How was eating vile or contaminated food going to help millions of starving Asians?  We never used that psychology in later life on any of our sons, who, early on, all discovered a liking for macaroni and cheese.

But one day, at the tender age of 8, I stood my ground.

I had eaten everything off my plate; leaving it gleaming and shiny, save for one spot.  A spot occupied by an overly generous scoop of yellowing, oozing, stinking cottage cheese.

Rick was done; having accidently dropped his spoonful of the lumpy gore onto the floor. He beat me to the punch that time.

Mother proclaimed, for the millionth time, “Eat your cottage cheese. There are millions starving in Asia!”

While silently cursing all Asians, whoever and where ever they were, I bravely proclaimed, “No. I am not going to eat this cottage cheese now or ever.”

My father, sitting to my left, quietly asked, “What did you just say to your mother?”

Proudly and stupidly, I repeated my statement to good old Dad.

BAM!

I never saw it coming.  His right hand, palm flattened, landed squarely on the back of my head, forcing my face into the simmering, hideous, stinking pile of goo!

Screaming, I ran into the adjacent lavatory, and through tear- clouded eyes saw myself in the mirror.

It wasn’t pretty.  There I stood, in mental and physical anguish, looking into the face of a stranger.  A stranger with a face covered in wretched, fermenting, bacteria -laden cottage cheese. It was a face that looked like a circus clown covered in pancake makeup.

Well, that was over sixty years ago.

I have since learned to eat, and like, asparagus, broccoli, cauliflower, and, of all things, cottage cheese.  Parsnips still have not been voted upon.

Then there was the time Mom lifted the lid off the two quarts full of green string beans and there lay a steamed dead housefly belly up………………but that is another story.

Afterword:  This occurred at a time when families were closely knit units, scouting, church, God and Country represented the core values of America, and children did not ‘sass’ parents, elders, relatives, teachers, police, clergy, or even government officials. My, how times have changed.

Watching My Grandchildren Grow

By Judy VanDeVelde

Out of nowhere into our arms

This tiny bundle of joy

A wisp of heaven in human form

A precious baby boy

Beautiful tiny baby hands

Clenching at our heart

Little fingers and sturdy feet

Ready for life at the start

Bluish eyes and twinkling smile

Hair that’s touched by the sun

We watch him as he learns and grows

With love for everyone

A tiny sister comes along

As sweet as a baby can be

She loves to share a rhyme or two

While sitting on your knee

She dances as she moves about

And jumps and claps her hands

There’s kindness in that little face

As before you she stands

You give her a kiss

She blinks her eyes

Will you reach my teddy bear, please?

Let’s read the book about the Five Little Monkeys

My life has changed so very much

Watching my grandchildren grow

They sing and play and run around

Gifts from above, I know!

IRISH DANCER by Carol Creswell 2 2014

A LOVELY LASS WITH CHARMIN’ SMILE

BEGUILED THE SON OF PADDY

SHE CAST HER GAZE AND IN A HAZE

HE BLUSHED, THIS FRESH YOUNG LADDIE.

HE WATCHED HER FLASHIN’ FEET PERFORM

THE OLD, SWEET IRISH DANCES

AND IN A SEC HIS HEART WAS HERS

AS SHE SENT LURING GLANCES

HE DOWNED HIS PINT OF BITTERS AND

DECLARIN’ HIS LOVE TO ‘ER

HE DREW HER OUTSIDE NEATH THE MOON

AND VOWED THAT HE’D  PURSUE  ‘ER

SHE LAUGHED AND SCOFFED AND RIDICULED

BECAUSE HE WAS SO POOR

AND FLED HIS ARMS AND DANCED AWAY

UPON THE SPECKLED MOOR.

HIS ANGER WAS A WHITE-HOT HEAT

HE CHASED AND KILLED HIS  LURE

SHE DIED IN ALL HER FINERY

UPON THE DARKENED MOOR.

AND STILL, TIS SAID, THAT PADDY’S SON

WALKS SORROWIN’ NEATH THE MOON

AND COLLEEN GAILY RUNS AWAY

HER LAUGHTER ‘S CALLING CROON.

HARK! HEAR THE WHISPERS IN THE WIND!

THE LOON NEARBY IS CALLING

THE HEATHER WAVES ITS TENDRILLED LEAVES

THE CLOUDS SCUD  --RAIN STARTS FALLING.

THE ANGELS, THEY ARE WEEPING SO

BECAUSE OF SUCH DISASTER

FOR HEAVEN DENIED THE IRISH BOY

THE COMFORT OF ITS PASTURE.

Ice

Poem and Photograph by Karen Sorce