of nurture’s wildness: a novella (book 5, ch. 4)

by Tom Stuckey

IV

The light wasn’t on for long before Ted noticed a problem. The arc of visibility was seriously limited so that it just lit up the immediate waters that hit the base of the lighthouse leaving the rest in darkness save some flashing that he had never seen before, far to the north, that looked like the largest fire imaginable. Ted felt angry. Why was this happening now? Was it the supply power from the mainland? he thought. Ted climbed the stairs to the upper level and fought the wind as he inspected the instruments from first the outside, hanging over the edge of the safety rail, to see if it was all intact, and then from the inside where all was well with the mechanisms. By reason of elimination, Ted thought it must be the power from the mainland, so he hurried down to the generator on the ground floor and switched it over to backup power. Then, he returned to the upper levels to see it fully working again, sending out its powerful light across the water along with the intermittent sounding of the horn, which now was in Ted’s head—even during the days, the hours—as a permanent sounding.

 Ted decided to air his frustration in the ledger,

What is the fucking point in me doing this! Are not all the vessels computerised now, self-driving fucking AI robots at the wheel! I’m out here busting myself to keep this light on and they can’t even give it the right power! It seems all that I am doing is for nothing, except I know that is not really true, Neno has told me stories of vessels that have been lost for one reason or another. Technology fails (always in the end) and then we need light, we need people who care, who feel like the ones who are lost in the dark, know that fear! COMPASSION. If everyone stops listening, then it truly will be dark.  

Ted thought, holding the sides of his head, then pressing his eyes with the palms of his hands and letting go to see Helena, naked and had written, on the page.

I need you baby, will you come with me tonight?

Ted went to get the rest of the vodka that was left and drank some. “Yes, I think I will.”

Good Teddy, also I think you should look in the black box…

“No!! I will not!”  

Ok, Teddy, how are you feeling? Want to talk to me? You can trust me.”

“I don’t want to talk about the black box, ok.”

OK, Teddy, just come with me, and I’ll take good care of you. Why don’t you get on your knees and lick my pussy first. You know you like that. My pussy is the perfect pussy, all smooth and clean and tastes like your favourite…yes that’s it. Don’t worry about the storm outside, the cold, the madness. You are not mad at me, Teddy Bear. Want me to lick your cock, too? I always lick it just right and then take you deep until you disappear…yeah that’s it. Now, fuck me until the storm and the sounds of the waves have disappeared, too. Fuck me hard, Teddy. FUCK ME UNTIL WE BOTH DISAPPEAR.

Ted fell off the stool and onto the hard wooden floor that was cool with the fire that was almost out, drunk and feeling the last threads of reality breaking, as he closed his eyes and hoped with the last breath that he might not wake again and that maybe this was it. Winter had indeed gotten the better of him and was eating him alive.

There could of been many days or weeks like this; there was no real way to tell, but one morning Ted got up to a sunny, crisp morning, maybe the first signs of spring, and decided to not drink. As he sobered to the disarray, he noticed pictures of Helena all over the walls; there were many of her pussy but also of her looking deranged and vicious, others of her crying, and very few of her laughing. He took them down; feeling sick to his stomach, and knew it would be a rough few days of staying sober.   

*Read Tom Stuckey’s next installment of Of Nurture’s Wildness (Book V) on December 23, 2025, at 6PM CST.

Photo of Tom Stuckey

BIO: Tom is a writer from Devon in England.  His work can be found at A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Bristol Noir, Nut House Press, and Pulp Magazine. He is the author of The Canary in the Dream is Dead and The Sun Marches upon Us All. Learn more about Tom Stuckey at www.tomstuckey.com.