Bill Williams stopped his pickup truck at the top of the hill. He stepped outside and looked down on the tiny village that would be his new home.
"Absolutely beautiful," he gasped.
"Almost postcard like."
Tuckamore Bay was indeed beautiful.
A quaint little village built on the northwest coast of Newfoundland. It was situated about an hour and a half from the town of Deer Lake and forty-five minutes to the west was the city of Corner Brook.
According to the video and information Dave Well had given him, the village boasted a general store / gas station and 4 room motel. There was also a small community center that housed a small pub and the municipal office. There was also a small fish plant, that at one time had been the main employer of the village.
The village had a population of about 250, who lived in colourful houses that were spread out alongside the main road. A beautiful cobblestone road that had been built several years back, in hopes of drawing more tourists to the village.
And the focal point of the village, the Tuckamore Bay lighthouse. A real working lighthouse.
"My lighthouse," Bill spoke aloud, proudly.
"My beautiful lighthouse."
Tuckamore Bay
Bill laughed slightly, at the irony of the situation. Here he was, a 33 year old, single man, who on the spur of the moment, decided to pack up, move across the country, to a small secluded village and to top it all off ...
buy a lighthouse.
It was a question he had asked himself, many times, on his trip across the country.
Why hadn't he just stayed in Edmonton?
To Bill, it was a matter of survival.
Born and raised in a small town in Alberta, Bill was forced to move to Edmonton, after his mother and father were killed in a freak accident, while skiing in Lake Louise.
They had somehow managed to roam off the main trail, through some rugged forest and then unfortunately they both plummeted over a 250 foot high cliff.
Their naked bodies were found several days later. There was never any real explanation as to why they were both naked. Bill passed it off to the fact that both of his parents were sex freaks, in the true sense of the phrase.
And apparently they were also terrible with money. They left him nothing, apart from a double mortgage on their house, payments on two trucks, credit cards maxed out to the tune of $40,000 and a $50,000 line of credit.
When all was said and done, 15 year old Bill was left with nothing but a few personal items, a photo album and the clothes on his back.
The only living relative of his parents was his father's brother Fred. So off to Edmonton Bill went to live with his Uncle Fred and his 5th wife Longsgramella.
The living arrangement lasted for only 7 months, until the day Bill turned 16. The day that kindly Uncle Fred kicked him out into the street.
Uncle Fred had decided at 16, Bill was a man and the night before he got kicked out, Auntie Longsgramella had made him a man. Sort of.
He stayed at a Salvation Army group home, in Edmonton, so that he could finish high school. At 18 they decided he was a man and once again he was out in the street.
With just enough money to pay first month's rent on a tiny one room apartment, Bill found a job at a local burger joint, whose name began with a uppercase 'M'.
And that was his life for 14 years.
Bill was never a gambler. Never went to a casino, never bet on the horses and never, ever, ever ... ever, bought lottery tickets.
He not only did not believe in gambling, he never had enough money left over, after paying his bills, to afford such a vice.
Until that fateful night, at the local 711, when he decided, on the spur of the moment, to buy a $5 ticket on the Lotto Max. The jackpot was $70 million dollars.
A couple days later, when Bill went toward, all the talk was about the fact that someone in Edmonton had won the jackpot for the Lotto Max.
"Lucky fuck," Bill sighed, completely forgetting he had bought a ticket.
Four months passed.
One night Bill was looking for a receipt in his wallet, when he found the lottery ticket. The winning ticket had still not been turned in.
Bill went on line and checked his numbers.
Then he checked them again.
And again and again and again.
Then he nearly shit his pants.
He had won. He had the winning numbers.
He had won $70 fucking million dollars.
The next few months were a blur of pictures, interviews, relatives he had no idea that he had, and others who he was pretty sure were not related to him in any way.
He was overwhelmed with telephone calls, people knocking on his door at all hours of the night. Shysters, schemers and people who wanted him to invest in all kinds of wild schemes and others who simply wanted him to give them money.
It was an overwhelming situation for an introvert like Bill, who had barely even had a romantic relationship in his 32 years.
Finally, one night, Bill could take no more. He took what little he had, got into his new pickup truck and left Edmonton. He drove and drove until he could drive no more and ended up in Northern Ontario. There he booked a room and for the next three days basically did little more than eat and sleep.
While there, a realization hit him. No one there knew or cared who he was. He knew what he had to do. He had to find somewhere where no one cared about him or his money. Where he could be anonymous and live his life in peace and tranquility.
He spent days scouring the internet looking for the perfect place to live. There were lots of interesting locations and he kept returning to a condo retreat in Jamaica.
Uncertainty was his constant friend, until one night he was watching a documentary on the devastation of the fishing industry in Newfoundland.
It was then he saw it.
Bill crawled to the edge of the bed and stared at the television screen.
"A lighthouse," he sighed, almost in tears.
He searched real estate listings all over Canada. It was not exactly the hottest commodity. He found a couple, but they did not have the appeal that he was looking for.
Then, on a ReMax site, in Corner Brook, Newfoundland, a real estate agent named Dave Wells, had exactly what he was looking for.
A beautiful lighthouse, with attached cottage, in a small village on the coast of Newfoundland.
The cost; a mere $1.5 million.
He watched the video tour of the lighthouse and village, online and then got in touch with Mr. Wells.
They talked for about an hour and Bill transferred him $250 thousand dollars, in trust, compliant to signing of the final papers.
The lighthouse was now Bill's to own or reject.
Bill took the ferry from North Sydney to Port-aux-Basque, drove to Corner Brook and met with Dave Wells.
Mr. Wells explained to him that everything was in order, as far as the paperwork was concerned, but the owner of the lighthouse, Matilda Dove had not been able to get to Corner Brook, but had agreed to meet with him, in Tuckamore bay, to sign the papers.
Bill thanked Dave Wells and drove to Deer Lake, spent the night and the next morning drove the hour and a half to the half hidden road that would take him to the hidden gem known as Tuckamore Bay.
Twenty minutes later, he was parked at the top of the small hill that led to the cobblestone road that led to Tuckamore Bay.
Bill's breath was still shallow as he looked at the beauty spread out in front of him.
A feeling overtook him. A feeling he had not known since he was a teenager.
He was home.
He took a deep breath and wiped a tear from his eye.
A smile slowly came to his face.
The sudden sound of a truck's horn quickly took the smile away and made Bill nearly shit his pants.
He turned to see an old tree Ford truck stopped behind his truck.
The smile returned to his face, as he started to walk toward the truck, ready to meet who he was sure would be one of his new neighbours.
The man behind the wheel leaned on his horn, yelling, "fucking mainland tourists. Git dat piece of crap out of me way, so Ise can git past."