Seguin Light: The Keeper’s Last Piano

September 7, 2025

A campfire story from Maine

Off the coast of Bath, Maine, Seguin Island rises from the Atlantic like a lonely tooth of rock. At its crest stands Seguin Light — the second-oldest lighthouse in the state, first lit in 1795. By day it’s a postcard: white tower, green grass, sweeping views of the sea. But by night, when the fog drapes low and the waves batter the cliffs, Seguin has another story.

They say one of the lighthouse keepers once hauled a piano to the island for his young wife. It was meant as a gift — something to soften the isolation. The problem was, she only knew one song. And she played it. Over and over. Day after day. The same melody echoing through the damp stone rooms, through the windows, out over the crashing sea.

At first, the keeper begged her to stop. Then he pleaded. Finally, madness took hold. One night, the story goes, he smashed the piano to pieces with an axe. And when the silence finally fell, he turned the blade on his wife. Then himself.

Long after their bodies were taken from the island, the sound remained. To this day, visitors claim to hear faint piano notes drifting through the fog. Coast Guard crews stationed there have reported it too — music carried on the wind when the island is otherwise still. No one can ever place the tune. No one can ever find the source.

It’s said that if you hear it, you should never follow the sound. The cliffs are steep, the fog is thick, and Seguin Light has a reputation for keeping those who linger too long.