Warning. This episode contains descriptions of domestic violence. Listener discretion is advised. Lighthouse is a production of I Heart Radio and Bamfor Productions. For six long years after the night of my twelfth birthday, I lived in a constant state of fear. After we opened the dark room, the man in the hat made more frequent appearances. He didn't visit every night, but I was always afraid he would. I tossed and turned in my bed, restless, afraid that every creak of the settling house, every banging of the pipes, every gust of wind outside was him coming for me. On the nights he did come, the ritual was always the same, his shadow blocking the tiny bit of light spilling into my room from under my door. He would turn the knob, jiggling the handle, trying to open it. When the lock prevented him from doing so, he tried to force his way in, banging against it with such force that I was sure he would tear from its frame. I cried myself to sleep those nights, often curled up with my sister by my side, eyes closed tight, slowly counting to five over and over again, wishing him away. However, the man in the Hat was only the beginning. Though his presence was often seen. He was nothing more than a malevolent spirit that used us as ponds to unleash something else upon our house that had long since been sealed away. We did not realize it at the time, but when we opened the dark room, we freed something from a prison that should not have been unlocked, something that was set loose upon the halls of Lighthouse once again, and we my family or its prey, pray that it toyed with and tormented endlessly. For six long years. Lighthouse became my prison. The darkness that lived within its walls had us in its grasp, and it wouldn't let us go until it tore my family apart. Lighthouse Chapter three. Conditions in the house steadily declined over those six years, not only mentally but also physically. The first time I truly realized how bad things were getting was when I was thirteen. Yes, the nightly torment from the man in Hat was gnawing away at my nerves, and things we set loose from the dark room were slowly beginning to make their presence known. But things took a turn for the worse the first time my father hit my mother. Since moving into Lighthouse, my father began to transform into someone else. Though his initial hesitation about moving in went unheard by my mother, it was beginning to become apparent that it was for a good reason. He never shared much about his childhood and his family home with us, but it was clear that his time in the Lighthouse was not a pleasant one. Being surrounded by his past memories of a place he once escaped but was now trapped in again took a toll on him. Once we settled into Lighthouse, he took a job at a local factory that manufactured plastic products. With most of the inheritance from my grandmother's passing now gone, used to pay off their outstanding debts and for living expenses over the past years, we desperately needed money to survive again. How they had dwindled away so much so quickly was lost to me at the time, but my mother's lavish spending habits were likely part of the problem. She only wanted the best for our family, though, and now that she was finally able to provide that, who can fault her for some extravagant spending. It fell on my father, though, to pick up the slack, hence his job. A naturally thin man, the job demanded a lot of physical labor that he was just not suited for. But a job was a job, and he took it in stride. Every day, he left early in the morning before we awoke, and didn't come home until after nightfall. All evenings and week ends used to be reserved for family time. He now spent his free moments sitting in his study, staring at his old family portrait hanging above the fireplace, drinking. He started to deteriorate, and all the time alone in his study was not helping. One evening, when dinner was ready, my mother called out to him from the dining room. Leaney and I were already seated, awaiting the oka to begin eating, but my mother insisted we wait for him. When he still didn't respond after the second and third time, she stood up to fetch him. Leny and I waited and waited and waited, But then they're raised. Voices began to float down the hall toward us. We couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but as curiosity got the better of us, we both got out of our seats to see The study door was cracked ajar, but we stayed out of sight. We used the tiny crack between the door and the wall so we could peek into the room without risk of being spotted. What we saw was my father, still slumped over in his chair, drink in hand, while my mother stood over him. It was obvious from their body language and their voices that their conversation was heated and my mother was upset. The exact specifics of what they were saying have long been lost in my memory, but what is forever etched there was the moment when my mother, in an impassioned flash, knocked the drink out of my father's hand. The sound of shattering last stunned both my sister and I as we froze as still as statues. We watched intensely to see what would happen next. We could see my father finally rise from his chair. As my mother began to apologize, she was caught off mid sentence by the unmistakable sound of flesh striking flesh. He hit her so hard, the back of his hand connecting with her face, that she fell to the ground. The sound echoed within the house, Hanging in the air for what seemed like an eternity. The silence was only broken by the gasp that escaped her lips. My father didn't say anything else after that. He merely stared hard at her, rubbing his old scar before sitting back down in his chair. My mother, stunned, slowly got back to her feet and walked out, holding her face, where a red mark began to form on her cheek. She didn't register our presence as she stormed away towards her bedroom. Leaney took off a few secon games later in the opposite direction, sobbing. That night, I saw the dim glow from atop the lighthouse again, the first time since the night we had moved in. I watched it from my bed and fell asleep while wondering what it was. While the opening of the dark room may have set the darkness loose upon the house, what my father did to my mother emboldened it. The man in the hat had friends, and they wanted to make themselves known. The first did so in a most unexpected way. During one of my many many sleepless nights, I laid in bed staring at the ceiling. Thankfully, the man in the hat did not pay a visit that evening, but something far worse did. As I tossed and turned, I heard the music box in Lini's room begin to play. What was once a comforting sound for me had since turned into a waking nightmare. I found that the haunting melody was often a precursor to a visit from the man in the Hat. With the music wafting from my sister's room into mine, I decided I was in no mood to listen to his assault of my doorstep that night. Instead, I opted to do something I started a few weeks prior. I gathered my blanket and pillow, opened my balcony doors, and created a makeshift bed out there. My hope was always that the night air would drown out the cacophony of noise caused by the man in the Hat, and while that theory didn't always work, being out there did calm my nerves a bit. As I stepped out on to the balcony, I felt an immediate chill run through me as wind from the ocean blew in my direction. I didn't mind, just held my night gown around me closer to fight some of it off. The dark shape of the lighthouse loomed in the distance. The glow not making an appearance. That night, clouds blanketed the sky, allowing only small slivers of light to touch the ground. In these small patches of moonlight, I could see our vast yard stretching out in all directions. I leaned against the railing and I breathed in the cold air, stinging my lungs. For a moment, it was quiet outside, more so than usual. Crickets usually saying their symphony by this time, helping me to block out other noise, But this night was devoid of life. I thought nothing of it, though, just glad to be out of the house for a few brief moments. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, they fell upon the red oak tree. I wondered how long it had been there. It's massive and gnarled branches sprung off in many directions, creating its own labyrinth maze of limbs. As another soft gust of wind blew, I noticed an odd shape, something I had never seen before, swaying among the shadows of the tree. I assumed it was a dead branch, hanging on its last vestiges of life, soon to become another stick in the yard. The clouds above shifted, allowing more moonlight to shine through, and the shadowy thing came into a clearer view. It was a body hanging from the trees limbs. I stumbled backwards, shocked by the sight. I tried to turn away, but my eyes would not listen to my brain. Instead, they continued to stare as every gruesome detail came into focus. An old knotted noose was wrapped around its neck. The body swayed in the light breeze as I could see that the clothing was nearly unrecognizable, rotted away, as if he had been hanging there for some time. The flesh peeking out from behind it hung loosely, giving it a sickly appearance. Thankfully, I burn up bag covered the face, saving me from seeing anything worse. I could only imagine the face decomposed over time, the empty eye sockets burning in whatever direction they faced. I saw the head begin to turn in my direction. It was too much for me to bear. I quickly ran back into my bedroom and closed the balcony doors as fast as I could. I jumped into my bed, and I pulled the covers over me. When I did finally sleep, I had a nightmare about its dead lifeless eye is trying to see through the gaps in the burlap to catch a glimpse of me, before somehow cutting itself loose and hurrying down the tree to get me. I never used that balcony at night again. Lighthouse will return after these messages, and now back to lighthouse. As my father began to drink more and more over the years, the beatings he laid upon my mother got worse. What started as a slap across the face here and they are soon turned into a black eye or a broken limb. Though these things were never done. When Leaney and I were present, we often saw the immediate aftermath. Sometimes one of us would come across her, laying at his feet, victim to a recent strike. Other Times it would be her hiding her injury as best as she could, though we could always see right through her reception. He never struck us like he did her, but we felt his wrath in other ways, mostly when he yelled. His temper became short, and his tolerance for his family grew thinner by the day. The smallest thing would irritate him, sending him into a tailspin of anger that resulted in us running off to cry. As these instances increased, my sister began to change, not in the prepubescent sense that everyone goes through, but in mannerism send the way she held herself. She used to run into my father's arms when he came home from work, anxious to tell him about her day. Now she ran in the opposite direction, often hiding somewhere in the house for hours before making an appearance again. It was months before I discovered her secret hideaway, and I was shocked when I realized where it was. It was late one summer afternoon and I was hungry, so I went to check the pantry for snack. To my surprise, I found the basement door open. A bit worried, I started to close it when I heard a voice make its way up from its depths. It sounded suspiciously like Lini. I hadn't been down there since we discovered the dark room, but I was a bit worried that if it was Lini, she could be in trouble. Against my better judgment, I crept down a few steps and looked into the basement. The light was on down there, so I assumed that one of my parents had replaced the burnt out bulb At some point. I listened intently again, and there was no mistake. Leoni was down there somewhere. I made my way through the basement carefully, even though the light was shining bright. My previous experience was not one I wanted to relive. I followed the sound of her voice as I continued to get closer. It sounded as if she was talking to someone. What did you use it for? I heard her ask. I stopped and tried to listen for a response. Instead, she started giggling. A few seconds later, my heart dropped as I turned a corner and realized where her voice was coming from the dark room. I hurriedly walked to the small doorway to find Lini sitting cross legged on the floor, facing the back wall under the glowing red light. Lini, I called out, startling her and immediately feeling bad about it. She turned toward me and smiled. Dara. She squealed, did you come to play too? What are you doing down here? I asked her. It's dangerous. No, it's not, she told me matter of factly. I always come down here now, it's my secret spot. I was surprised by this, of course, because I had avoided the dark room and the entire basement since the day we found it. I was under the assumption that she did as well. I pushed the memory of my first and only visit out of my head for now, though, for fear of conjuring any unwanted attention. While I was down there still, Who are you talking to, Lini? Oh, it's my friend, Abigail, she said. My heart dropped and my blood ran cold. There was no one else with her but an old, dirty, teddy bear. When she held out to me in greeting, I immediately recognized it as the one that once sat on the top shelf in this very room when we first opened the door. It was too far out of reach for either of us to grab. Then I silently wondered how Leni got her hands on it, and also wondered if that is who she meant as Abigail. The implications of her making a new friend down in the dark room were too much for me to comprehend in that small, darkened space at the moment. Very nice to meet you, I stammered, starting to feel a bit dizzy. A familiar feeling of unease washed over me. And look what she found, Lenie exclaimed, as she showed me something else. It took a moment for it to register in my brain, but she held an old hunting knife in her hand. My eyes grew wide, and I quickly snatched it away from her. Lee that's dangerous. It's not a toy. You shouldn't be playing with that. Sorry, she said, looking sheepishly at the floor. Abigail said it was okay. The dizziness was getting worse, and this Abigail was making me nervous. Who was she and why was LINI treating the teddy bear like a person? Regardless, this was not the place to discuss it. Come back upstairs, please, I told her, we have chores. That was a lie, but I had to get out of there, and the thought of leaving her alone in the dark room was not one I was going to entertain. Reluctantly, she got up, brushed the dirt off her dress, and grabbed the teddy Bear. Come along, Abigail, she said, moving past me into the basement. Before I followed, I took the knife I had taken from her and looked for a good hiding spot for it. Taking a quick glance under the bench, I saw a small alcove in there, one that someone wouldn't normally see unless they were looking for it. I placed the knife there, hopeful that it would be enough to keep it out of Linie's hands. I took one last look inside the dark room before reaching for the chain and turning off the red light. I couldn't get out of the basement fast enough. H Lighthouse were returned after a word from our sponsors, and now Lighthouse continues. Despite my protests, Lenie began to spend more and more time in the dark room. Her own bedroom was often neglected in favor of it, and, much like my father with the study, she would disappear for hours at a time down there. Her continued insistence on playing with this Abigail was worrisome for me, but my mother didn't seem to mind. In fact, if Lenie was occupied elsewhere, that meant less work my mother had to do. It also meant more time for her to be alone with her thoughts, which in turn left me alone with my own. The man in the hat, the person hanging from the tree, Abigail, all of them were just a small portion of the things I saw lurking in Lighthouse. There were so many more things I saw once or twice, things I only caught the briefest of glimpses of things that were almost as common as the man in the hat. One of those things was the maid in the kitchen. I often saw her hurrying herself in there, perhaps preparing phantom meals. Dressed in a simple black dress with a small ornamental apron. She only registered my presence once, when I bumped the table and knocked a fork from its place setting. She turned to me as I saw tears of blood staining her porcelain cheeks. There was also the servant in one of the spare bedrooms upstairs, wearing dark gray trousers a high buttoned black coat with a dark tie. He busied himself with keeping the room tidy, awaiting orders from the master of the house. There was a rust colored stain that spread on the back of his coat as he worked. An old sailor, likely a pirate from the early days of sailing along the bluff, occasionally made appearances on the grounds. That gaping hole where his right eye socket used to be dominated by his face. In the attic, there was an old woman who sat in a darkened corner, rocking back and forth in her chair, her face covered in a shawl. She didn't do anything else but sit there day in day out. Whenever I saw her, there was a man with some sort of file, maybe a doctor, paying attention to her comings and goings, writing down notes about what he was observing. There's a little boy often seen outside on the grounds, who moved with an unnatural gait and whose teeth never stopped chattering. Not all of the entities made their physical presence known. Some of them were content to open doors and cabinets, move valuable objects to different places, and just generally cause unseen havoc. And Lighthouse one waited until the dark early hours of the night to whisper indiscernible words to me in a chorus of gentle saying song voices from the events. There were many things slowly tormenting us in Lighthouse, but none of them were as terrifying as the shadowy thing. Whatever it was, I had never actually seen its full form. I named it for its black, shadowy shape that kept its form nebulous, often appearing just out of the corner of my eyesight, but making it known that it was present. I was certain it was the very same thing that chased us from the dark room on the day we opened it, less person and more thing. I came to think of it as the very darkness living in the heart of lighthouse. I mean it quite literally when I say it was living within the walls of the house. I sometimes saw it slithering behind the wallpaper, a bulging shape protruding from the hallway, giving the appearance that the house itself was alive. I tried to avoid it at all costs, especially after the night I saw it with my father. Unlike the rest of my family, I didn't try to avoid him like they did. Despite his temper, I made a concentrated effort to try to keep connected, to make sure he knew that I was there for him and that he was loved. One relatively calm evening, where I had gone an entire day without seeing or hearing from one of the many inhabitants of the house, I had an uneasy feeling that I was overdue for a visit. As my bedside clock struck three am, I realized how right I was when the whispering voices began to call out from my vend again. I tried not to listen to their hushed words, But sometimes the more you try to block something out the more your brain allows it. In this time, instead of just words, I could not make out, there was something else coming through the cacophony. They were calling out my name. I was immobilized because this was the first time that anything had addressed me by my name. It knew who I was. My fear overtook me, and every rational part of my brain told me to stay where I was, But my body was not my own. Then it was in some sort of trance against my will. I found my legs swinging over the edge of my bed and then walking along the floor outside my bedroom. I supposed, despite all my terror, the lizard part of my brain could not resist the call of whatever it was out in the hall. It continued, much like the music box. I followed it down the stairs and onto the first floor of the house. It beckoned me, the voice drawing me towards my father's study. As I got closer, I found the door jar again, the light spilling into the hallway like a beacon night. The closer I got to the door, the more my anxiety grew. My footsteps slowed as another part of my brain was fighting against whatever was calling out to me in that room. But it was too late. I was too close to the doorway, and I had no choice but to give into my instincts and look inside. Was a scene I had laid eyes on many times before. My father sat in his favorite chair in front of the fireplace and family portrait, with his back towards me. In his hand was a glass of whiskey, with a nearly empty bottle sitting on a table nearby. But as my eyes grew accustomed to the bright light of the room, there was a dark spot in my vision that refused to go away, a shadow that was cast in the room by an unseen object. My brain tried to make sense of it, but there was no sense to be had, because this was not something that human eyes were meant to see. It wasn't a trick of the light. It was a piece of living darkness that had lodged itself in the middle of the room, sucking all the light and life away from where it stood. The shadowy things stood tall over my father and leaned in close, whispering to him. But these whispers were not the same ones that lured me here. These whispers were dark and full of malice. Whatever brought me here, it wasn't one and the same. Whatever it was, it wanted me to see this. It wanted me to see this malicious thing leaching into my father and filling his head with dark thoughts. It wanted to show me what was happening. I took a step back, and a floorboard creaked. Almost immediately, the shadowy thing turned its rough approximation of a head toward me, hissing in anger. My father sat unmoving as the shadow coiled itself up like a compressed spring and then leapt in my direction. I took off at full run, my trance broken, and made for the stairs. I could hear it behind me, hissing and fury because I had interrupted its carefully planned interaction with my father. When I reached the top of the stairs, I chanced to look over my shoulder, only to see the darkened creature wrapping its slithering form around the banister as it raced up after me. A dark appendage reached out to grab me and just barely gray my arm. As I picked up speed, I ran down the hallway toward my bedroom, the shadow jumping from the stairs to the walls, its form bulging from the wallpaper, scurring beneath it like an oversized cockroach. I didn't let up until I was back within the safety of my room, slamming the door shut behind me. I thought myself safe. For a moment, I was. It slammed into my door, forcing me away from it and down to my knees. As I crawled across the floor backwards, the shadowy thing wasted no time in trying to get through my door, the wood distending inward towards me in an unnatural way. It seeped out of the wood, forming its black in shape in the middle of my room, its form becoming less nebulous and more beast like. It hissed and ungodly sound as I screamed and it swirled around me. It covered me in its darkness, the blackest black that I had ever seen. As it felt I was no longer within my room, but within a dark, never ending void of her I screamed and screamed and screamed, but the world was gone, and all that was left was me and the everlasting darkness. I awoke the next day in my bed, my body drenched in sweat and my energy depleted. I didn't leave my room for three days. But worse was that I didn't know what was scarier the fact that the thing attacked me, or that no one seemed to notice. I was confined to my bed for so long. My father stayed in his study whatever dark secrets that thing whispered to him in casing his mind. My mother, beaten down by my father both physically and mentally, was not even aware. And my sister, my little LENI, was too busy spending her days in the dark room to know that her sister needed her. I do not know what the shadowy thing did to me, but I knew after that moment I had to do everything in my power to leave Lighthouse. And when I was eighteen, I finally got my chance. Desperate to start my own life out from under the oppressing nature of the house and my family, I applied for college. He was on a whim at the encouragement of my guidance counsel or at school, who saw potential in me. I had taken quite a few photography classes during my high school career, and the camera I found in the dark room helped me along in that I used it sparingly, never developing the film I had used since I was too afraid to use the room. But once I realized that technology had evolved drastically since that camera was made. I began to use ones that the school had on hand. Recognizing a talent in me and an eye for photography, Mrs Brown all but forced me to apply for program. I didn't tell my parents at first because I knew how the conversation would go. Money was tight and we couldn't afford to send me away, especially since my father had an incident at the factory the year before which left him unable to work. He was currently on disability and spent his days in his rual spot in the study. But when I was accepted and the prospect of being somewhere else grew more real I formulated a plan. I saved my own money from working at the local grocer over the past few years, and researched bank loans. I was confident I would be able to do it on my own, and now that I was eighteen, I realized I didn't need their blessing. I was an adult. I had the ability to make my own decisions, make my own way, and despite whatever they said, I was leaving. In a rare instance where I was able to get my father out of his study, I sat both him and my mother down to present my plans. When I was done, my father merely grumbled something that sounded like don't expect any help from me, and left the room. But my mother, I could tell by looking in her eyes that she was heartbroken. Though the years had not been kind to her and she was a mere shell of the strong, confident woman she was, she was still my mother, and she loved me dearly. The thought of her firstborn moving away out from under her supposed protective wing was devastating, but deep inside I think she saw it for exactly what it was, an escape. Three weeks later, I found myself climbing into a taxicab, two suitcases full of belongings in the trunk, ready to start my new life. The time flew by in a heartbeat, and though I tried my best to spend those last few days with my family to regain some semblance of what we once were, things were just not the same. A part of me felt pained pain that I was leaving my family, especially leaning in an unsafe situation. I don't know why, but I had fared better than all of them by not falling into the clutches of lighthouse and yet a part of me felt bad because of that. I tried my very best to help them climb out of that hole, but they just seemed to dig themselves deeper despite my best efforts. My father did not acknowledge my goodbye. I couldn't tell if my mother's tears were of joy or sadness. And Leni, well, our relationship had declined since she found a friend in Abiil. She wasn't fond of my leaving, so she hit away and refused to accept it. A soft rain began to fall as I closed the taxis door, the droplets creating a hazy view of lighthouse. As the driver began to pull away, I looked through the rear window one last look at the place I had called home for six years. How stood out among the dark clouds, the lighthouse looming in the distance like a guardian keeping watch. Regardless of all its ups and downs, it was still home. Leni appeared on the porch, teddy Bear in hand, staring at me as the cab made its way down the driveway. A sad smile formed on her face as she raised her hand goodbye. I waked back, matching her sad smile with my own. In a sudden flash of lightning, the Teddy Bear was gone, replaced by another figure at Leaney's side. In my rapidly shrinking view of the porch, I could see that whomever it was was younger than Leaney, closer to eight years old, wearing a pale blue dress and pigtails. Her eyes stared hard at me as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. This figure was Abigail, and the smile she gave me chilled me to the very core Lighthouse is a production of I Heart Radio and Bamford Productions. Chapter three featured the voice of Ali Trasher, written and directed by Jeff Himbuck audio engineering, an original musical score by Corey Celeste. Production assistance by Alex Gona. Executive produced by Holly Fry. Questions comments, you can reach us at the Man in the Hat is Watching at gmail dot com. Thank you for listening.

Warning. This episode contains descriptions of domestic violence. Listener discretion is advised. Lighthouse is a production of I Heart Radio and Bamfor Productions. For six long years after the night of my twelfth birthday, I lived in a constant state of fear. After we opened the dark room, the man in the hat made more frequent appearances. He didn't visit every night, but I was always afraid he would. I tossed and turned in my bed, restless, afraid that every creak of the settling house, every banging of the pipes, every gust of wind outside was him coming for me. On the nights he did come, the ritual was always the same, his shadow blocking the tiny bit of light spilling into my room from under my door. He would turn the knob, jiggling the handle, trying to open it. When the lock prevented him from doing so, he tried to force his way in, banging against it with such force that I was sure he would tear from its frame. I cried myself to sleep those nights, often curled up with my sister by my side, eyes closed tight, slowly counting to five over and over again, wishing him away. However, the man in the Hat was only the beginning. Though his presence was often seen. He was nothing more than a malevolent spirit that used us as ponds to unleash something else upon our house that had long since been sealed away. We did not realize it at the time, but when we opened the dark room, we freed something from a prison that should not have been unlocked, something that was set loose upon the halls of Lighthouse once again, and we my family or its prey, pray that it toyed with and tormented endlessly. For six long years. Lighthouse became my prison. The darkness that lived within its walls had us in its grasp, and it wouldn't let us go until it tore my family apart. Lighthouse Chapter three. Conditions in the house steadily declined over those six years, not only mentally but also physically. The first time I truly realized how bad things were getting was when I was thirteen. Yes, the nightly torment from the man in Hat was gnawing away at my nerves, and things we set loose from the dark room were slowly beginning to make their presence known. But things took a turn for the worse the first time my father hit my mother. Since moving into Lighthouse, my father began to transform into someone else. Though his initial hesitation about moving in went unheard by my mother, it was beginning to become apparent that it was for a good reason. He never shared much about his childhood and his family home with us, but it was clear that his time in the Lighthouse was not a pleasant one. Being surrounded by his past memories of a place he once escaped but was now trapped in again took a toll on him. Once we settled into Lighthouse, he took a job at a local factory that manufactured plastic products. With most of the inheritance from my grandmother's passing now gone, used to pay off their outstanding debts and for living expenses over the past years, we desperately needed money to survive again. How they had dwindled away so much so quickly was lost to me at the time, but my mother's lavish spending habits were likely part of the problem. She only wanted the best for our family, though, and now that she was finally able to provide that, who can fault her for some extravagant spending. It fell on my father, though, to pick up the slack, hence his job. A naturally thin man, the job demanded a lot of physical labor that he was just not suited for. But a job was a job, and he took it in stride. Every day, he left early in the morning before we awoke, and didn't come home until after nightfall. All evenings and week ends used to be reserved for family time. He now spent his free moments sitting in his study, staring at his old family portrait hanging above the fireplace, drinking. He started to deteriorate, and all the time alone in his study was not helping. One evening, when dinner was ready, my mother called out to him from the dining room. Leaney and I were already seated, awaiting the oka to begin eating, but my mother insisted we wait for him. When he still didn't respond after the second and third time, she stood up to fetch him. Leny and I waited and waited and waited, But then they're raised. Voices began to float down the hall toward us. We couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but as curiosity got the better of us, we both got out of our seats to see The study door was cracked ajar, but we stayed out of sight. We used the tiny crack between the door and the wall so we could peek into the room without risk of being spotted. What we saw was my father, still slumped over in his chair, drink in hand, while my mother stood over him. It was obvious from their body language and their voices that their conversation was heated and my mother was upset. The exact specifics of what they were saying have long been lost in my memory, but what is forever etched there was the moment when my mother, in an impassioned flash, knocked the drink out of my father's hand. The sound of shattering last stunned both my sister and I as we froze as still as statues. We watched intensely to see what would happen next. We could see my father finally rise from his chair. As my mother began to apologize, she was caught off mid sentence by the unmistakable sound of flesh striking flesh. He hit her so hard, the back of his hand connecting with her face, that she fell to the ground. The sound echoed within the house, Hanging in the air for what seemed like an eternity. The silence was only broken by the gasp that escaped her lips. My father didn't say anything else after that. He merely stared hard at her, rubbing his old scar before sitting back down in his chair. My mother, stunned, slowly got back to her feet and walked out, holding her face, where a red mark began to form on her cheek. She didn't register our presence as she stormed away towards her bedroom. Leaney took off a few secon games later in the opposite direction, sobbing. That night, I saw the dim glow from atop the lighthouse again, the first time since the night we had moved in. I watched it from my bed and fell asleep while wondering what it was. While the opening of the dark room may have set the darkness loose upon the house, what my father did to my mother emboldened it. The man in the hat had friends, and they wanted to make themselves known. The first did so in a most unexpected way. During one of my many many sleepless nights, I laid in bed staring at the ceiling. Thankfully, the man in the hat did not pay a visit that evening, but something far worse did. As I tossed and turned, I heard the music box in Lini's room begin to play. What was once a comforting sound for me had since turned into a waking nightmare. I found that the haunting melody was often a precursor to a visit from the man in the Hat. With the music wafting from my sister's room into mine, I decided I was in no mood to listen to his assault of my doorstep that night. Instead, I opted to do something I started a few weeks prior. I gathered my blanket and pillow, opened my balcony doors, and created a makeshift bed out there. My hope was always that the night air would drown out the cacophony of noise caused by the man in the Hat, and while that theory didn't always work, being out there did calm my nerves a bit. As I stepped out on to the balcony, I felt an immediate chill run through me as wind from the ocean blew in my direction. I didn't mind, just held my night gown around me closer to fight some of it off. The dark shape of the lighthouse loomed in the distance. The glow not making an appearance. That night, clouds blanketed the sky, allowing only small slivers of light to touch the ground. In these small patches of moonlight, I could see our vast yard stretching out in all directions. I leaned against the railing and I breathed in the cold air, stinging my lungs. For a moment, it was quiet outside, more so than usual. Crickets usually saying their symphony by this time, helping me to block out other noise, But this night was devoid of life. I thought nothing of it, though, just glad to be out of the house for a few brief moments. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, they fell upon the red oak tree. I wondered how long it had been there. It's massive and gnarled branches sprung off in many directions, creating its own labyrinth maze of limbs. As another soft gust of wind blew, I noticed an odd shape, something I had never seen before, swaying among the shadows of the tree. I assumed it was a dead branch, hanging on its last vestiges of life, soon to become another stick in the yard. The clouds above shifted, allowing more moonlight to shine through, and the shadowy thing came into a clearer view. It was a body hanging from the trees limbs. I stumbled backwards, shocked by the sight. I tried to turn away, but my eyes would not listen to my brain. Instead, they continued to stare as every gruesome detail came into focus. An old knotted noose was wrapped around its neck. The body swayed in the light breeze as I could see that the clothing was nearly unrecognizable, rotted away, as if he had been hanging there for some time. The flesh peeking out from behind it hung loosely, giving it a sickly appearance. Thankfully, I burn up bag covered the face, saving me from seeing anything worse. I could only imagine the face decomposed over time, the empty eye sockets burning in whatever direction they faced. I saw the head begin to turn in my direction. It was too much for me to bear. I quickly ran back into my bedroom and closed the balcony doors as fast as I could. I jumped into my bed, and I pulled the covers over me. When I did finally sleep, I had a nightmare about its dead lifeless eye is trying to see through the gaps in the burlap to catch a glimpse of me, before somehow cutting itself loose and hurrying down the tree to get me. I never used that balcony at night again. Lighthouse will return after these messages, and now back to lighthouse. As my father began to drink more and more over the years, the beatings he laid upon my mother got worse. What started as a slap across the face here and they are soon turned into a black eye or a broken limb. Though these things were never done. When Leaney and I were present, we often saw the immediate aftermath. Sometimes one of us would come across her, laying at his feet, victim to a recent strike. Other Times it would be her hiding her injury as best as she could, though we could always see right through her reception. He never struck us like he did her, but we felt his wrath in other ways, mostly when he yelled. His temper became short, and his tolerance for his family grew thinner by the day. The smallest thing would irritate him, sending him into a tailspin of anger that resulted in us running off to cry. As these instances increased, my sister began to change, not in the prepubescent sense that everyone goes through, but in mannerism send the way she held herself. She used to run into my father's arms when he came home from work, anxious to tell him about her day. Now she ran in the opposite direction, often hiding somewhere in the house for hours before making an appearance again. It was months before I discovered her secret hideaway, and I was shocked when I realized where it was. It was late one summer afternoon and I was hungry, so I went to check the pantry for snack. To my surprise, I found the basement door open. A bit worried, I started to close it when I heard a voice make its way up from its depths. It sounded suspiciously like Lini. I hadn't been down there since we discovered the dark room, but I was a bit worried that if it was Lini, she could be in trouble. Against my better judgment, I crept down a few steps and looked into the basement. The light was on down there, so I assumed that one of my parents had replaced the burnt out bulb At some point. I listened intently again, and there was no mistake. Leoni was down there somewhere. I made my way through the basement carefully, even though the light was shining bright. My previous experience was not one I wanted to relive. I followed the sound of her voice as I continued to get closer. It sounded as if she was talking to someone. What did you use it for? I heard her ask. I stopped and tried to listen for a response. Instead, she started giggling. A few seconds later, my heart dropped as I turned a corner and realized where her voice was coming from the dark room. I hurriedly walked to the small doorway to find Lini sitting cross legged on the floor, facing the back wall under the glowing red light. Lini, I called out, startling her and immediately feeling bad about it. She turned toward me and smiled. Dara. She squealed, did you come to play too? What are you doing down here? I asked her. It's dangerous. No, it's not, she told me matter of factly. I always come down here now, it's my secret spot. I was surprised by this, of course, because I had avoided the dark room and the entire basement since the day we found it. I was under the assumption that she did as well. I pushed the memory of my first and only visit out of my head for now, though, for fear of conjuring any unwanted attention. While I was down there still, Who are you talking to, Lini? Oh, it's my friend, Abigail, she said. My heart dropped and my blood ran cold. There was no one else with her but an old, dirty, teddy bear. When she held out to me in greeting, I immediately recognized it as the one that once sat on the top shelf in this very room when we first opened the door. It was too far out of reach for either of us to grab. Then I silently wondered how Leni got her hands on it, and also wondered if that is who she meant as Abigail. The implications of her making a new friend down in the dark room were too much for me to comprehend in that small, darkened space at the moment. Very nice to meet you, I stammered, starting to feel a bit dizzy. A familiar feeling of unease washed over me. And look what she found, Lenie exclaimed, as she showed me something else. It took a moment for it to register in my brain, but she held an old hunting knife in her hand. My eyes grew wide, and I quickly snatched it away from her. Lee that's dangerous. It's not a toy. You shouldn't be playing with that. Sorry, she said, looking sheepishly at the floor. Abigail said it was okay. The dizziness was getting worse, and this Abigail was making me nervous. Who was she and why was LINI treating the teddy bear like a person? Regardless, this was not the place to discuss it. Come back upstairs, please, I told her, we have chores. That was a lie, but I had to get out of there, and the thought of leaving her alone in the dark room was not one I was going to entertain. Reluctantly, she got up, brushed the dirt off her dress, and grabbed the teddy Bear. Come along, Abigail, she said, moving past me into the basement. Before I followed, I took the knife I had taken from her and looked for a good hiding spot for it. Taking a quick glance under the bench, I saw a small alcove in there, one that someone wouldn't normally see unless they were looking for it. I placed the knife there, hopeful that it would be enough to keep it out of Linie's hands. I took one last look inside the dark room before reaching for the chain and turning off the red light. I couldn't get out of the basement fast enough. H Lighthouse were returned after a word from our sponsors, and now Lighthouse continues. Despite my protests, Lenie began to spend more and more time in the dark room. Her own bedroom was often neglected in favor of it, and, much like my father with the study, she would disappear for hours at a time down there. Her continued insistence on playing with this Abigail was worrisome for me, but my mother didn't seem to mind. In fact, if Lenie was occupied elsewhere, that meant less work my mother had to do. It also meant more time for her to be alone with her thoughts, which in turn left me alone with my own. The man in the hat, the person hanging from the tree, Abigail, all of them were just a small portion of the things I saw lurking in Lighthouse. There were so many more things I saw once or twice, things I only caught the briefest of glimpses of things that were almost as common as the man in the hat. One of those things was the maid in the kitchen. I often saw her hurrying herself in there, perhaps preparing phantom meals. Dressed in a simple black dress with a small ornamental apron. She only registered my presence once, when I bumped the table and knocked a fork from its place setting. She turned to me as I saw tears of blood staining her porcelain cheeks. There was also the servant in one of the spare bedrooms upstairs, wearing dark gray trousers a high buttoned black coat with a dark tie. He busied himself with keeping the room tidy, awaiting orders from the master of the house. There was a rust colored stain that spread on the back of his coat as he worked. An old sailor, likely a pirate from the early days of sailing along the bluff, occasionally made appearances on the grounds. That gaping hole where his right eye socket used to be dominated by his face. In the attic, there was an old woman who sat in a darkened corner, rocking back and forth in her chair, her face covered in a shawl. She didn't do anything else but sit there day in day out. Whenever I saw her, there was a man with some sort of file, maybe a doctor, paying attention to her comings and goings, writing down notes about what he was observing. There's a little boy often seen outside on the grounds, who moved with an unnatural gait and whose teeth never stopped chattering. Not all of the entities made their physical presence known. Some of them were content to open doors and cabinets, move valuable objects to different places, and just generally cause unseen havoc. And Lighthouse one waited until the dark early hours of the night to whisper indiscernible words to me in a chorus of gentle saying song voices from the events. There were many things slowly tormenting us in Lighthouse, but none of them were as terrifying as the shadowy thing. Whatever it was, I had never actually seen its full form. I named it for its black, shadowy shape that kept its form nebulous, often appearing just out of the corner of my eyesight, but making it known that it was present. I was certain it was the very same thing that chased us from the dark room on the day we opened it, less person and more thing. I came to think of it as the very darkness living in the heart of lighthouse. I mean it quite literally when I say it was living within the walls of the house. I sometimes saw it slithering behind the wallpaper, a bulging shape protruding from the hallway, giving the appearance that the house itself was alive. I tried to avoid it at all costs, especially after the night I saw it with my father. Unlike the rest of my family, I didn't try to avoid him like they did. Despite his temper, I made a concentrated effort to try to keep connected, to make sure he knew that I was there for him and that he was loved. One relatively calm evening, where I had gone an entire day without seeing or hearing from one of the many inhabitants of the house, I had an uneasy feeling that I was overdue for a visit. As my bedside clock struck three am, I realized how right I was when the whispering voices began to call out from my vend again. I tried not to listen to their hushed words, But sometimes the more you try to block something out the more your brain allows it. In this time, instead of just words, I could not make out, there was something else coming through the cacophony. They were calling out my name. I was immobilized because this was the first time that anything had addressed me by my name. It knew who I was. My fear overtook me, and every rational part of my brain told me to stay where I was, But my body was not my own. Then it was in some sort of trance against my will. I found my legs swinging over the edge of my bed and then walking along the floor outside my bedroom. I supposed, despite all my terror, the lizard part of my brain could not resist the call of whatever it was out in the hall. It continued, much like the music box. I followed it down the stairs and onto the first floor of the house. It beckoned me, the voice drawing me towards my father's study. As I got closer, I found the door jar again, the light spilling into the hallway like a beacon night. The closer I got to the door, the more my anxiety grew. My footsteps slowed as another part of my brain was fighting against whatever was calling out to me in that room. But it was too late. I was too close to the doorway, and I had no choice but to give into my instincts and look inside. Was a scene I had laid eyes on many times before. My father sat in his favorite chair in front of the fireplace and family portrait, with his back towards me. In his hand was a glass of whiskey, with a nearly empty bottle sitting on a table nearby. But as my eyes grew accustomed to the bright light of the room, there was a dark spot in my vision that refused to go away, a shadow that was cast in the room by an unseen object. My brain tried to make sense of it, but there was no sense to be had, because this was not something that human eyes were meant to see. It wasn't a trick of the light. It was a piece of living darkness that had lodged itself in the middle of the room, sucking all the light and life away from where it stood. The shadowy things stood tall over my father and leaned in close, whispering to him. But these whispers were not the same ones that lured me here. These whispers were dark and full of malice. Whatever brought me here, it wasn't one and the same. Whatever it was, it wanted me to see this. It wanted me to see this malicious thing leaching into my father and filling his head with dark thoughts. It wanted to show me what was happening. I took a step back, and a floorboard creaked. Almost immediately, the shadowy thing turned its rough approximation of a head toward me, hissing in anger. My father sat unmoving as the shadow coiled itself up like a compressed spring and then leapt in my direction. I took off at full run, my trance broken, and made for the stairs. I could hear it behind me, hissing and fury because I had interrupted its carefully planned interaction with my father. When I reached the top of the stairs, I chanced to look over my shoulder, only to see the darkened creature wrapping its slithering form around the banister as it raced up after me. A dark appendage reached out to grab me and just barely gray my arm. As I picked up speed, I ran down the hallway toward my bedroom, the shadow jumping from the stairs to the walls, its form bulging from the wallpaper, scurring beneath it like an oversized cockroach. I didn't let up until I was back within the safety of my room, slamming the door shut behind me. I thought myself safe. For a moment, I was. It slammed into my door, forcing me away from it and down to my knees. As I crawled across the floor backwards, the shadowy thing wasted no time in trying to get through my door, the wood distending inward towards me in an unnatural way. It seeped out of the wood, forming its black in shape in the middle of my room, its form becoming less nebulous and more beast like. It hissed and ungodly sound as I screamed and it swirled around me. It covered me in its darkness, the blackest black that I had ever seen. As it felt I was no longer within my room, but within a dark, never ending void of her I screamed and screamed and screamed, but the world was gone, and all that was left was me and the everlasting darkness. I awoke the next day in my bed, my body drenched in sweat and my energy depleted. I didn't leave my room for three days. But worse was that I didn't know what was scarier the fact that the thing attacked me, or that no one seemed to notice. I was confined to my bed for so long. My father stayed in his study whatever dark secrets that thing whispered to him in casing his mind. My mother, beaten down by my father both physically and mentally, was not even aware. And my sister, my little LENI, was too busy spending her days in the dark room to know that her sister needed her. I do not know what the shadowy thing did to me, but I knew after that moment I had to do everything in my power to leave Lighthouse. And when I was eighteen, I finally got my chance. Desperate to start my own life out from under the oppressing nature of the house and my family, I applied for college. He was on a whim at the encouragement of my guidance counsel or at school, who saw potential in me. I had taken quite a few photography classes during my high school career, and the camera I found in the dark room helped me along in that I used it sparingly, never developing the film I had used since I was too afraid to use the room. But once I realized that technology had evolved drastically since that camera was made. I began to use ones that the school had on hand. Recognizing a talent in me and an eye for photography, Mrs Brown all but forced me to apply for program. I didn't tell my parents at first because I knew how the conversation would go. Money was tight and we couldn't afford to send me away, especially since my father had an incident at the factory the year before which left him unable to work. He was currently on disability and spent his days in his rual spot in the study. But when I was accepted and the prospect of being somewhere else grew more real I formulated a plan. I saved my own money from working at the local grocer over the past few years, and researched bank loans. I was confident I would be able to do it on my own, and now that I was eighteen, I realized I didn't need their blessing. I was an adult. I had the ability to make my own decisions, make my own way, and despite whatever they said, I was leaving. In a rare instance where I was able to get my father out of his study, I sat both him and my mother down to present my plans. When I was done, my father merely grumbled something that sounded like don't expect any help from me, and left the room. But my mother, I could tell by looking in her eyes that she was heartbroken. Though the years had not been kind to her and she was a mere shell of the strong, confident woman she was, she was still my mother, and she loved me dearly. The thought of her firstborn moving away out from under her supposed protective wing was devastating, but deep inside I think she saw it for exactly what it was, an escape. Three weeks later, I found myself climbing into a taxicab, two suitcases full of belongings in the trunk, ready to start my new life. The time flew by in a heartbeat, and though I tried my best to spend those last few days with my family to regain some semblance of what we once were, things were just not the same. A part of me felt pained pain that I was leaving my family, especially leaning in an unsafe situation. I don't know why, but I had fared better than all of them by not falling into the clutches of lighthouse and yet a part of me felt bad because of that. I tried my very best to help them climb out of that hole, but they just seemed to dig themselves deeper despite my best efforts. My father did not acknowledge my goodbye. I couldn't tell if my mother's tears were of joy or sadness. And Leni, well, our relationship had declined since she found a friend in Abiil. She wasn't fond of my leaving, so she hit away and refused to accept it. A soft rain began to fall as I closed the taxis door, the droplets creating a hazy view of lighthouse. As the driver began to pull away, I looked through the rear window one last look at the place I had called home for six years. How stood out among the dark clouds, the lighthouse looming in the distance like a guardian keeping watch. Regardless of all its ups and downs, it was still home. Leni appeared on the porch, teddy Bear in hand, staring at me as the cab made its way down the driveway. A sad smile formed on her face as she raised her hand goodbye. I waked back, matching her sad smile with my own. In a sudden flash of lightning, the Teddy Bear was gone, replaced by another figure at Leaney's side. In my rapidly shrinking view of the porch, I could see that whomever it was was younger than Leaney, closer to eight years old, wearing a pale blue dress and pigtails. Her eyes stared hard at me as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. This figure was Abigail, and the smile she gave me chilled me to the very core Lighthouse is a production of I Heart Radio and Bamford Productions. Chapter three featured the voice of Ali Trasher, written and directed by Jeff Himbuck audio engineering, an original musical score by Corey Celeste. Production assistance by Alex Gona. Executive produced by Holly Fry. Questions comments, you can reach us at the Man in the Hat is Watching at gmail dot com. Thank you for listening.