Keeper of the Light

A lonely lighthouse stood on a jagged cliff. A solitary point in a vast sea, weathered by time. The structure, tall and grey, seemed abandoned during the day, a mute witness to the water’s treachery. But every night, as the sun disappeared on the horizon, the light inside the tower came to life. Within its crumbling walls lived a girl.

For as long as she could remember, the girl had lit the beacon each night, though no ship had passed in years.

She spent her nights watching the Fresnel lens capture the light and turn, casting it through the fog and toward the angry sea. She found companionship in the wind and the stone. Most of the time, the wind howled at her, but sometimes, it whispered its secrets. Cracked stone groaned its complaints beneath her feet, and she listened but offered no complaint in return.

The ocean crashed against the shore, chipping away at it, as the moving lens painted the water glittering gold. Wind carried salt to the top of the tower, which stung the girls' lips. Far inward, buried beneath seaweed and mud, lay the skeleton of an old ship. It had been there since before the girl became the lightkeeper. Yet, the sight grieved her as if she held some responsibility.

At the first sign of dawn, the girl extinguished the flame, casting the room into darkness, and quietly descended the stairs. Her hand slid along the cool stone, its grooves familiar as she felt the slick, worn steps beneath her feet.

Halfway down the winding staircase, the space opened into a closet-sized room with a single bed where an old, tattered book lay. The room was quiet except for the sound of the wind gently pressing on the glass, like it wanted to come in and sit with her. She sat on the bed and opened the book. Only the last entry was legible. She’d read it countless times.

November 12

I haven’t seen a soul in months. Maybe longer. The supply boat stopped coming, and the radio is busted.

I’ve still lit that beacon every night, but I’m tired. For a while, I thought it was important. Even told myself it could save lives. That one day, a ship would appear on the horizon, and I would lead them away from the rocks. To safety. It’s not true.

No one is coming. No one will miss the light.

I’m taking my ship out of here first thing tomorrow morning.

David

The girl traced her fingers along the words, wishing she could’ve met her predecessor. Told him it wasn’t all for nothing.

From the nightstand, she picked up the hand mirror and blew away the dust. It was cold against her palm. The light streamed through the window, reflecting in her ocean-blue eyes and illuminating her pale skin. A royal blue ribbon held back her long red hair. Gazing at her reflection, she became lost in the moment. Until something shivered within her like a reminder, the sun had begun its descent once more. The girl stood and walked back up the stairs.

Again, she lit the wick and watched as the light danced across the sea. The wind was whispering this time, an indistinct murmur filling her ears. As the light approached the shipwreck, the whisper turned into a roar. It was then that she realized it was not the wind howling at her that night but the ship itself. Its mournful cry, like a foghorn echoing across the water, beckoned her closer, urging her to uncover its mysteries.

For once, she heeded the call and slowly descended the stairs, passing the bedroom and reaching the exit at the bottom. Her toes curled when her feet touched the sand. Wind whipped her hair and dress in all directions. She’d forgotten what it felt like. It was as though she was floating, the silhouette she cast as she moved along the bank, toward the wreckage.

The broken ship lay where it always had. But now, in the moonlight, the pieces aligned. Fragments she’d seen countless times before became whole. Her fingers scraped over splintered wood, slick with algae. The hull gaped open, revealing its decay. The scent stung her nose. Ropes tangled and clung to the ship’s skeleton like the hair of a drowned woman. A tattered sail flapped in the wind, as if it were still trying to keep the vessel afloat.

A satchel lay on the rubble, worn by time and nature’s elements. Inside, a diary remained, its pages crisp and untouched, bearing the name Anastasia. Her fingers brushed the cover, a tremor running through them. Wind pricked her cheeks as tears welled. For a moment, the light illuminated her skin and then moved across the coast. The name echoed in her mind, an ache blooming in her chest as she sank to her knees. Why does she know this name?

She flipped through the pages. They held sketches of waves, ships, and lands that she didn’t remember but that felt so familiar.

Her eyes landed on a royal blue ribbon, flapping from beneath a plank. She grabbed at it with desperate hands and clung to it like it could float her all the way home. It didn’t. David’s words flooded her mind.

No one is coming.

The ribbon slipped from her grasp.

No one will miss the light.

She ran back to the lighthouse, feet pounding the sand but leaving no footprints behind.

Her name echoed across the ocean as the wind mourned, and the sky wept for her. The lighthouse waited, still and cold. She topped the stairs, where the beacon still spun in the night.

For a while, I thought it was important. Even told myself it could save lives.

It could have.

It’s not true.

It was true.

The girl didn’t extinguish the light. She would never. Not like David.

She would stay and be the keeper of the light. She would guide those lost in the dark.

One day, someone would find her. Someone would take her home.