I waited for the sun to set into the sea as the old man had instructed me. I trimmed the wick and filled the basin with oil. When I reached the top, I wiped clean the glass panels. It was hard to imagine the old man climbing these each morning. The wind whipped off the sea as I made the first of many treks to the tower. No matter what cloak I donned or how many fires I burned, it would cling to my bones, turning them brittle and bleached like driftwood. I knew then that I’d never be rid of that cold. The gulls squawked as they flew from the sea. He left me his life and took nothing with him. I nodded and watched him hobble off down the abandoned lane. “Are you certain this is the life you want?” Tending a lighthouse was something only the loneliest souls were tasked with. It wasn’t the sort of job you need interview for. “So, boy,” He held the keys out to me, already knowing my answer.
#The lighthouse keeper short story how to
I suspected he’d forgotten how to look a man in the eye. It’s a lonely life, but you’ll save thousands.” The old man looked out to the ocean. It’s just you and that light, guiding the men home safely. His cheeks were wrinkled and leathered by decades of facing the winds.
They darted from the sea to his gnarled hands, twisted with age and exhaustion. His eyes were the grays and greens of storm. We had sat at the foot of the lighthouse, the waves crashing into the rock face sixty feet below. I was alone, just as the old man had promised. I moved to the kitchen, and the wood nipped at my toes. The bed was as hard as frozen hay beneath me. The sunlight fell in through the window and it was moments before I realized where I was.
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