It was a dark and stormy night ...

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It was a dark and stormy night ...

Postby Susurration » Sat Sep 13, 2014 9:33 pm

It was a dark and stormy night: the wind was howling from the north bringing driving rain and sleet, the seas cresting white and crashing against the exposed rock. 120 feet above the maelstrom, Jack sat in the keeper’s kitchen reading his book by a single guttering candle. Through a small hatch over his head, he could see the oil lamp that was warning shipping away from the dangerous rocks burning inside its glass cage of lenses and sending its yellow beam out into the night. The needle on the oil level gauge was just above the half full mark.

A distant crash, maybe just a thought, an idea, might have been heard against the howl of the storm. Jack shook his head and went back to his book. Minutes later, the unmistakable banging from the lighthouse’s weighted iron doorknocker alerted Jack to a problem. Jack topped off the lamp’s oil reservoir and checked the flame, then walked quickly down the 143 steps of the spiral staircase leading to the huge wooden door. He turned the big iron key and the storm blew the door inwards. Blinking in the light from the doorway was a lone sailor, his clothes torn, ragged and soaked with seawater, rain, sleet and even blood from the visible scratches caused by being thrown on the jagged rocks when his one-man yacht was driven onto the tiny island by the raging storm. “Come in,” said Jack and then, with his shoulder, pressed the door closed and the sailor turned the big iron key. Jack and the sailor walked up the 143 steps of the spiral staircase to the keeper’s kitchen where, after checking the light and the oil level in the tank, Jack helped clean the sailor’s wounds as best as he could then, handing him a towel from the linen pantry, directed him one floor down to the six-bunk dormitory to shower and sleep. As the sailor turned, Jack asked, “What would you like for breakfast tomorrow morning?” The tired sailor looked back and replied, “I don’t know if I’ll be very hungry. Maybe some cornflakes?” and then closed the keeper’s kitchen door behind him. Jack made a note in the lighthouse keeper’s log , checked the lamp and the oil level one more time and then settled down again with his book.

Another distant crash, maybe just a thought, an idea, might have been heard against the howl of the storm. Jack shook his head and went back to his book. Minutes later, the unmistakable banging from the lighthouse’s weighted iron doorknocker alerted Jack to a problem. Jack topped off the lamp’s oil reservoir and checked the flame, then walked quickly down the 143 steps of the spiral staircase leading to the huge wooden door. He turned the big iron key and the storm blew the door inwards. Blinking in the light from the doorway was a lone sailor, his clothes torn, ragged and soaked with seawater, rain, sleet and even blood from the visible scratches caused by being thrown on the jagged rocks when his one-man yacht was driven onto the tiny island by the raging storm. “Come in,” said Jack and then, with his shoulder, pressed the door closed and the sailor turned the big iron key. Jack and the sailor walked up the 143 steps of the spiral staircase to the keeper’s kitchen where, after checking the light and the oil level in the tank, Jack helped clean the sailor’s wounds as best as he could then, handing him a towel from the linen pantry, directed him one floor down to the six-bunk dormitory to shower and sleep. As the sailor turned, Jack asked, “What would you like for breakfast tomorrow morning?” The tired sailor looked back and replied, “I don’t know if I’ll be very hungry. Maybe some cornflakes?” and then closed the keeper’s kitchen door behind him. Jack made a note in the lighthouse keeper’s log , checked the lamp and the oil level one more time and then settled down again with his book.

Again, a distant crash, maybe just a thought, an idea, might have been heard against the howl of the storm. Jack shook his head and went back to his book. Minutes later, the unmistakable banging from the lighthouse’s weighted iron doorknocker alerted Jack to a problem. Jack topped off the lamp’s oil reservoir and checked the flame, then walked quickly down the 143 steps of the spiral staircase leading to the huge wooden door. He turned the big iron key and the storm blew the door inwards. Blinking in the light from the doorway was a lone sailor, his clothes torn, ragged and soaked with seawater, rain, sleet and even blood from the visible scratches caused by being thrown on the jagged rocks when his one-man yacht was driven onto the tiny island by the raging storm. “Come in,” said Jack and then, with his shoulder, pressed the door closed and the sailor turned the big iron key. Jack and the sailor walked up the 143 steps of the spiral staircase to the keeper’s kitchen where, after checking the light and the oil level in the tank, Jack helped clean the sailor’s wounds as best as he could then, handing him a towel from the linen pantry, directed him one floor down to the six-bunk dormitory to shower and sleep. As the sailor turned, Jack asked, “What would you like for breakfast tomorrow morning?” The tired sailor looked back and replied, “I don’t know if I’ll be very hungry. Maybe some cornflakes?” and then closed the keeper’s kitchen door behind him. Jack made a note in the lighthouse keeper’s log , checked the lamp and the oil level one more time and then settled down again with his book.

Once more, a distant crash, maybe just a thought, an idea, might have been heard against the howl of the storm. Jack shook his head and went back to his book. Minutes later, the unmistakable banging from the lighthouse’s weighted iron doorknocker alerted Jack to a problem. Jack topped off the lamp’s oil reservoir and checked the flame, then walked quickly down the 143 steps of the spiral staircase leading to the huge wooden door. He turned the big iron key and the storm blew the door inwards. Blinking in the light from the doorway was a lone sailor, his clothes torn, ragged and soaked with seawater, rain, sleet and even blood from the visible scratches caused by being thrown on the jagged rocks when his one-man yacht was driven onto the tiny island by the raging storm. “Come in,” said Jack and then, with his shoulder, pressed the door closed and the sailor turned the big iron key. Jack and the sailor walked up the 143 steps of the spiral staircase to the keeper’s kitchen where, after checking the light and the oil level in the tank, Jack helped clean the sailor’s wounds as best as he could then, handing him a towel from the linen pantry, directed him one floor down to the six-bunk dormitory to shower and sleep. As the sailor turned, Jack asked, “What would you like for breakfast tomorrow morning?” The tired sailor looked back and replied, “I don’t know if I’ll be very hungry. Maybe some cornflakes?” and then closed the keeper’s kitchen door behind him. Jack made a note in the lighthouse keeper’s log , checked the lamp and the oil level one more time and then settled down again with his book.

For a fifth time, a distant crash, maybe just a thought, an idea, might have been heard against the howl of the storm. Jack shook his head and went back to his book. Minutes later, the unmistakable banging from the lighthouse’s weighted iron doorknocker alerted Jack to a problem. Jack topped off the lamp’s oil reservoir and checked the flame, then walked quickly down the 143 steps of the spiral staircase leading to the huge wooden door. He turned the big iron key and the storm blew the door inwards. Blinking in the light from the doorway was a lone sailor, his clothes torn, ragged and soaked with seawater, rain, sleet and even blood from the visible scratches caused by being thrown on the jagged rocks when his one-man yacht was driven onto the tiny island by the raging storm. “Come in,” said Jack and then, with his shoulder, pressed the door closed and the sailor turned the big iron key. Jack and the sailor walked up the 143 steps of the spiral staircase to the keeper’s kitchen where, after checking the light and the oil level in the tank, Jack helped clean the sailor’s wounds as best as he could then, handing him a towel from the linen pantry, directed him one floor down to the six-bunk dormitory to shower and sleep. As the sailor turned, Jack asked, “What would you like for breakfast tomorrow morning?” The tired sailor looked back and replied, “I don’t know if I’ll be very hungry. Maybe some cornflakes?” and then closed the keeper’s kitchen door behind him. Jack made a note in the lighthouse keeper’s log , checked the lamp and the oil level one more time and then settled down again with his book.

In the dark, a distant crash, maybe just a thought, an idea, might have been heard against the howl of the storm. Jack shook his head and went back to his book. Minutes later, the unmistakable banging from the lighthouse’s weighted iron doorknocker alerted Jack to a problem. Jack topped off the lamp’s oil reservoir and checked the flame, then walked quickly down the 143 steps of the spiral staircase leading to the huge wooden door. He turned the big iron key and the storm blew the door inwards. Blinking in the light from the doorway was a lone sailor, his clothes torn, ragged and soaked with seawater, rain, sleet and even blood from the visible scratches caused by being thrown on the jagged rocks when his one-man yacht was driven onto the tiny island by the raging storm. “Come in,” said Jack and then, with his shoulder, pressed the door closed and the sailor turned the big iron key. Jack and the sailor walked up the 143 steps of the spiral staircase to the keeper’s kitchen where, after checking the light and the oil level in the tank, Jack helped clean the sailor’s wounds as best as he could then, handing him a towel from the linen pantry, directed him one floor down to the six-bunk dormitory to shower and sleep. As the sailor turned, Jack asked, “What would you like for breakfast tomorrow morning?” The tired sailor looked back and replied, “I don’t know if I’ll be very hungry. Maybe some cornflakes?” and then closed the keeper’s kitchen door behind him. Jack made a note in the lighthouse keeper’s log , checked the lamp and the oil level one more time and then settled down again with his book.

Another distant crash, maybe just a thought, an idea, might have been heard against the howl of the storm. Jack shook his head and went back to his book. Minutes later, the unmistakable banging from the lighthouse’s weighted iron doorknocker alerted Jack to a problem. Jack topped off the lamp’s oil reservoir and checked the flame, then walked quickly down the 143 steps of the spiral staircase leading to the huge wooden door. He turned the big iron key and the storm blew the door inwards. Blinking in the light from the doorway was a lone sailor, his clothes torn, ragged and soaked with seawater, rain, sleet and even blood from the visible scratches caused by being thrown on the jagged rocks when his one-man yacht was driven onto the tiny island by the raging storm.”Come in,” said Jack and then, with his shoulder, pressed the door closed and the sailor turned the big iron key. Jack and the sailor walked up the 143 steps of the spiral staircase to the keeper’s kitchen where, after checking the light and the oil level in the tank, Jack helped clean the sailor’s wounds as best as he could then, handing him a towel from the linen pantry, directed him one floor down to the shower room and then another floor down to the four-bunk dormitory to sleep. As the sailor turned, Jack asked, “What would you like for breakfast tomorrow morning?” The tired sailor looked back and replied, “I don’t know if I’ll be very hungry. Maybe some cornflakes?” and then closed the keeper’s kitchen door behind him. Jack made a note in the lighthouse keeper’s log , checked the lamp and the oil level one more time and then settled down again with his book.

Once again, a distant crash, maybe just a thought, an idea, might have been heard against the howl of the storm. Jack shook his head and went back to his book. Minutes later, the unmistakable banging from the lighthouse’s weighted iron doorknocker alerted Jack to a problem. Jack topped off the lamp’s oil reservoir and checked the flame, then walked quickly down the 143 steps of the spiral staircase leading to the huge wooden door. He turned the big iron key and the storm blew the door inwards. Blinking in the light from the doorway was a lone sailor, his clothes torn, ragged and soaked with seawater, rain, sleet and even blood from the visible scratches caused by being thrown on the jagged rocks when his one-man yacht was driven onto the tiny island by the raging storm. “Come in,” said Jack and then, with his shoulder, pressed the door closed and the sailor turned the big iron key. Jack and the sailor walked up the 143 steps of the spiral staircase to the keeper’s kitchen where, after checking the light and the oil level in the tank, Jack helped clean the sailor’s wounds as best as he could then, handing him a towel from the linen pantry, directed him one floor down to the shower room and then another floor down to the four-bunk dormitory to sleep. As the sailor turned, Jack asked, “What would you like for breakfast tomorrow morning?” The tired sailor looked back and replied, “I don’t know if I’ll be very hungry. Maybe some cornflakes?” and then closed the keeper’s kitchen door behind him. Jack made a note in the lighthouse keeper’s log, checked the lamp and the oil level one more time and then settled down again with his book.

Outside, a distant crash, maybe just a thought, an idea, might have been heard against the howl of the storm. Jack shook his head and went back to his book. Minutes later, the unmistakable banging from the lighthouse’s weighted iron doorknocker alerted Jack to a problem. Jack topped off the lamp’s oil reservoir and checked the flame, then walked quickly down the 143 steps of the spiral staircase leading to the huge wooden door. He turned the big iron key and the storm blew the door inwards. Blinking in the light from the doorway was a lone sailor, his clothes torn, ragged and soaked with seawater, rain, sleet and even blood from the visible scratches caused by being thrown on the jagged rocks when his one-man yacht was driven onto the tiny island by the raging storm. “Come in,” said Jack and then, with his shoulder, pressed the door closed and the sailor turned the big iron key. Jack and the sailor walked up the 143 steps of the spiral staircase to the keeper’s kitchen where, after checking the light and the oil level in the tank, Jack helped clean the sailor’s wounds as best as he could then, handing him a towel from the linen pantry, directed him one floor down to the shower room and then another floor down to the four-bunk dormitory to sleep. As the sailor turned, Jack asked, “What would you like for breakfast tomorrow morning?” The tired sailor looked back and replied, “I don’t know if I’ll be very hungry. Maybe some cornflakes?” and then closed the keeper’s kitchen door behind him. Jack made a note in the lighthouse keeper’s log, checked the lamp and the oil level one more time and then settled down again with his book.

Outside, a distant crash, maybe just a thought, an idea, might have been heard against the howl of the storm. Jack shook his head and went back to his book. Minutes later, the unmistakable banging from the lighthouse’s weighted iron doorknocker alerted Jack to a problem. Jack topped off the lamp’s oil reservoir and checked the flame, then walked quickly down the 143 steps of the spiral staircase leading to the huge wooden door. He turned the big iron key and the storm blew the door inwards. Blinking in the light from the doorway was a lone sailor, unmistakeably female, tall, blonde, blue-eyed, obviously a great beauty even in her current dishevelled state, clothes torn, ragged and soaked with seawater, rain, sleet and even blood from the visible scratches caused by being thrown on the jagged rocks when her one-man craft was driven onto the tiny island by the raging storm. “Come in,” said Jack and then, with his shoulder, pressed the door closed and the beautiful woman turned the big iron key. Jack and the sailor walked up the 143 steps of the spiral staircase to the keeper’s kitchen where, after checking the light and the oil level in the tank, Jack helped clean the sailor’s wounds as best as he could while behaving like the perfect gentleman, averting his eyes and asking her to treat the scratches on her flawless pale flesh herself. Handing her a towel from the linen pantry, Jack directed her three floors down to his own keeper’s bedroom to shower and to use his own small keeper’s bed to get some sleep. As the woman turned, with real gratitude in her eyes, Jack caught her by the elbow and asked, “What would you like for breakfast tomorrow morning?” The tired sailor looked back and replied, “I’m really quite hungry, I’ve been battling that storm for hours. Could I have the works? Sausage, bacon, eggs, beans, mushrooms, black pudding, fried dumpling, potatoes and a couple of rounds of toast?” Jack nodded and watched as the tired woman walked out of the room and then closed the keeper’s kitchen door behind her. Jack made a note in the lighthouse keeper’s log, checked the lamp and the oil level one more time and then settled down again with his book for the night.

In the wee, sma’ hours of the morning, as the storm abated and the sun rose over the Eastern horizon, Jack doused the lighthouse lamp, refilled the oil reservoir and trimmed the wick for the next night. He then set out the breakfasts that had been requested during the events of the night before, with the cornflakes around three sides of the table and the full fry-up at the fourth side.

“Amazing!” thought Jack, and smiled happily.

The lesson of this tale: nine out of ten people prefer cornflakes for breakfast.
Cheers,
Bill
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Susurration
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Re: It was a dark and stormy night ...

Postby Peter Moir » Mon Sep 15, 2014 8:48 am

You've got too much time on yer hands Bill, take up a hobby!
Fraternally Yours, Peter

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Re: It was a dark and stormy night ...

Postby Susurration » Mon Sep 15, 2014 9:29 am

Maybe another Chair, Peter?
Cheers,
Bill
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