The deep blue waves of the storm, so dark they were almost black, were crashing against the rocky shoreline in the wee hours of the morning. From the fading yellow light of the ancient lighthouse on the coast of the isle I could see the outline of what appeared to be a woman draped in a flowing white gown while standing on the deck of my boat. She stepped to the edge with her arms spread apart, the wind howling at the open cliff face beneath her feet, and then in the time it took to take a breath she jumped from the cliff. I watched in horror as she fell from the top of the isle onto the rocky sea below but at the last second a flash of light burst forth so blindingly strong I was forced to shield my eyes. When I opened them again she was gone, all that was left was the white dress floating gently atop the tides.

           The next morning as the sun emerged from its hiding spot under the horizon I docked my boat at shore. I walked up the rickety old stairway leading to the quaint village of Ireton, my great grandfather had been born here and after becoming a seaman I decided to trace my roots back to this little village. The bell tower in the town was made of old grey bricks, many of them crumbling and falling apart, with a door once painted bright red and blue but now was faded and peeling; this was where I was to meet my guide. Samantha was her name, she said that I would be able to tell her apart in an instant, she was right, the bright green hair really gave her away. It was like emeralds had been mashed up with the green of a ripe kiwi.

            “Well Hi there, you must be who I’ve been waiting on since I’ve never seen you in town and I know everyone” Samantha said with a pop of her gum.

            “Hello, sorry for being late, I had a bit of a long night” I replied sheepishly, still thinking I had imagined the last night’s events.

            “No worries, everyone has a rough night now and again. Come on I’ll give you the ‘grand’ tour” she chuckled.

            “Lead the way” I said.

She lead me down an old worn down road through the village, red clay pact down from the footsteps of the townsfolk for the past 100 years. I didn’t catch much of what she’d been saying I was too caught up in my own mind, thinking of how my great grandfather must have felt walking down this road every day, wondering if my feet were stepping where his were, wondering if he would have returned here if had been able to. Maybe he would have been able to if I wasn’t so selfish in his final years. As I was thinking about the ghosts in my past I hadn’t realized Samantha had stopped, I ran straight into her back.

“You good back there?” she asked sarcastically, she must’ve seen my mind leave the present.

“Yeah, sorry, I was thinking about…well nevermind, where are we now?” I asked.

As she went to answer the smile she wore grew dark and her face appeared to take on a sunken shape.

“This was the house of Sebastian De Ire and his wife Marie. They were the founders of Ireton back when it was still a colony of France. That’s why their last name was De Ire it means of Ire and Sebastion was the closest thing we had to a king you could say. He was kind and nurturing, especially to his poor Marie.”

“What do you mean poor?” I asked.

“Marie was beautiful of face and heart yes, but her mind was weak and rattled with demons. Some days it was said she would wake up standing on the edge of the briar cliffs with no idea how she got there. That’s when Sebastian put up the lighthouse, to try to wake Marie out of her spells safely. It became more serious after Marie fell pregnant, Sebastian did not want anything to happen to Marie or the baby so he locked her up in the top room or the house, and that’s where she gave birth to Marcel, their only child.” AS she spoke a sudden realization came over me.

“My great grandfather’s name is Marcel, are you telling me he is their son? I was practically screaming as surprise shook my body.

“Well that would be impossible Marcel left Ireton 70 years ago and no one has heard from him since. Everyone assumed he died on the sea” She spoke so assuredly.  

“My great grandfather’s name was Marcel D’Ire, but we always thought it was pronounced ‘Die-er’ and I am his grandson Lucia D’Ire” I spoke.