The Lightkeeper

The wind shrieked, and the rain thrashed the lighthouse like a hundred whips, mirroring the storm brewing inside Elias. After three decades as a lightkeeper, he had seen more than his share of Nor’easters on this rugged coast. But tonight felt different, as the storm raged with an ominous roar that sent a foreboding chill down his spine. 

He looked at the wall clock. Past dinner time, but he wasn’t hungry and hadn’t eaten all day. He couldn’t remember his last hot meal. 

Flashes of lightning through the window illuminated the ghostly silhouette of a three-masted ship near the rocky shore, losing the battle with the waves. He blinked twice to be sure he hadn’t imagined it. It was still there, closer. There was no time to waste. 

He grabbed a lamp and rushed out the door toward the churning sea. A sickening crash and splintering of wood filled the air as the doomed ship dashed itself on the rocks. 

He reached the beach and scanned the waves and nearby rocks for survivors. The lantern failed to pierce more than a few feet into the darkness, and he fought with every ounce of strength to remain upright in the howling storm. 

“Hello!” he shouted, holding the lamp high. “Is anyone there?” He cupped his hand to his ear and listened. Nothing. “Hello?”

There — a sound! What was that?  “Is anyone there?” he called out again. 

“Help!” came a faint cry from somewhere in the darkness. “Please help me!” 

Elias rushed into the foaming surf and saw a dim shape flailing in the water. “Take my hand!” he shouted as he pulled the drowning man ashore. The man coughed and sputtered seawater through his mouth and nose as he struggled to breathe.

Elias peered at him in the lamplight, and his blood ran cold. It couldn’t be. The face was his own! Younger, water-logged, battered, and bruised, but undoubtedly himself from a lifetime ago.

The man’s eyes opened, and when he saw Elias, they widened with surprise and fear. “No,” he wheezed. “Don’t stay. You must leave…now!”

Elias stared, perplexed. Who was this stranger who wore his face? His voice? His fear? He reached for the man’s hand, icy and stiff, and squeezed it. 

The lamplight flickered and died, as did the light from the man’s eyes, and with a gasp he was gone. 

At that moment, Elias knew the awful truth. Deep down, he had always known, but it was too painful to admit such a terrible thing.  

It was he who had died on this very shore many years ago. It was he who had tended the lonely lighthouse ever since — ever watching, ever waiting — to ‌give hapless souls the rescue not given to him. 

And tonight, in some strange way he could not explain or understand, the ghost of his past came to tell him to move on. His shift was over. His time as lightkeeper was done. After thirty long years, he could finally rest in peace.