Eliot’s boots crunched over frost-kissed gravel as he climbed the lighthouse steps, each wooden riser creaking like an old man’s sigh. The North Sea wind howled outside, carrying salt that stung his cheeks, but inside the tower, there was only the soft glow of a kerosene lamp and the steady tick-tock of a brass clock—leftovers from the keeper who’d vanished three weeks prior.
Mr. Hale had been the lighthouse’s guardian for 40 years. He never missed a night, never asked for help, until one morning his rowboat was found adrift, empty, and the lighthouse’s lens had gone dark for the first time in decades. The village whispered about storms, about ships that never returned, but Eliot—hired to temp until a new keeper arrived—suspected something quieter. Something left unsaid.
He reached the top and knelt by the lens, running a finger over its dusty glass. That’s when he saw it: a small, leather-bound journal tucked beneath a pile of tide charts. Its pages were worn, filled with Mr. Hale’s scrawled handwriting—notes on gales, on seagulls that nested on the balcony, on a girl with “hair like sunlight” who’d visited every summer when he was young.
Then, on the last page, the writing changed. The ink was shakier, the lines uneven.
“The light doesn’t just guide ships,” it read. “It guides the ones who wait. She’s coming back tonight. I can feel it in the wind. If I’m not here when you find this, tell her—I kept the light on. Always.”
Eliot looked up. Through the fog, a faint glow flickered on the horizon—a small boat, cutting through the waves. He hurried to relight the lens, twisting the crank until the glass began to spin, casting golden arcs across the sea.
An hour later, a knock echoed at the lighthouse door. A woman stood there, her coat damp, her hair streaked with gray, but her eyes bright as she asked, “Did he… wait?”
Eliot held out the journal. “He kept the light on,” he said.
She smiled, tears spilling down her cheeks, and stepped inside. Outside, the wind died down. The clock ticked on. And somewhere, out in the dark, the sea seemed to breathe a little easier.