The Lighthouse Keeper

The advertisement asked for "a calm, reliable person who does not mind being alone," and Elena Varga, who had just finished university and needed time to think, applied the same afternoon. Three weeks later, a supply boat left her on a rocky island two hours from the coast. Apart from the white lighthouse and the small stone cottage attached to it, there was nothing there but wind, birds and the endless gray sea.

The lighthouse had been looked after by the same man, Walter Hale, for over twenty years, until poor health forced him to retire. He had left everything in perfect order. On the kitchen table lay a thick logbook in which he had recorded every night he had spent there: the weather, the passing ships, the exact time the lamp was lit.

Elena soon got the hang of the routine. She lit the lamp at sunset, climbed the narrow iron stairs at midnight to make sure it was turning properly, and cleaned the great glass lens every morning. In the evenings, partly for company, she read Walter's logbook. His handwriting was small and careful, and every entry ended in exactly the same way: "Keepers on duty: two." She assumed that he had once had an assistant and thought no more about it. She wrote her own entries in the same style, except that hers ended with "Keepers on duty: one."

On her fifth night, she was woken by slow, heavy footsteps on the stairs inside the tower. Elena lay still, telling herself that old buildings make strange noises in the wind. When the sound stopped, she pulled on her boots, took a flashlight and climbed up to the lamp room. If anyone had been on the stairs, she would have met them on the way up. Nobody was there. The lamp was turning steadily, as it always did, but on the outside of the glass, high above the rocks, was the clear print of a hand.

The next morning, she called the harbor office on the radio. Mrs. Osei, the woman who had hired her, listened patiently. "Walter never had an assistant," she said at last. "He always refused one. He used to say he was never really alone out there." Elena laughed politely, but when the call ended, she realized that she did not want to go back up the stairs.

For the rest of the week, nothing happened, unless she counted the feeling of being watched while she worked, or the kitchen chair opposite hers, which was sometimes pulled out a little when she came down in the morning. If there had been a way to leave, she might have taken it. But the boat only came on Thursdays, and by Thursday she had almost convinced herself that she was imagining things.

Ines Ruiz, the captain of the supply boat, unloaded the boxes of food and fuel and then paused. "Tell your friend he could wave next time," she said. "I passed the island around midnight on Tuesday, and he was standing right next to you in the lamp room. He didn't take his eyes off my boat."

Elena opened her mouth to explain that she had been completely alone, but no words came out, and Ines was already starting the engine. That evening, Elena lit the lamp and sat down with the logbook. She wrote down the weather and the ships that had passed. Then her pen stopped above the last line. Somewhere above her, slow and patient, the footsteps began again. Elena took a deep breath and wrote: "Keepers on duty: two."