The Lighthouse at Dawn

Eliza had always loved the ocean. She couldn't recall a time when the pound of the waves and the salt in the air hadn't thrilled her with life. Each summer, Eliza's family would take their yearly pilgrimage for a week to Brinecliff, this small coastal town, where a massive lighthouse stood guard against the edge of a broken cliff. Though she never used it again, the lighthouse had become a beacon of determination for the townspeople-a monument to stand up against storm after storm, guiding sailors safely into shore.

The visits to Brinecliff continued to become less and less as she grew older. Life began to take over. College, work, love, and loss. But when her grandmother died that spring, leaving her the old cottage by the shore, Eliza knew she needed to return.

Taken From Pexels

Coming to Brinecliff was coming to a forgotten dream. Everything was different yet remained the same; the worn lighthouse stood valiantly as though it had waited all these years for her return.

Eliza spent her days cleaning the cottage and rediscovering the town. But every evening she ended up at the foot of the lighthouse, staring up at its stone walls, thinking what stories they could tell. The locals used to say that the lighthouse was haunted, that a ghostly light sometimes flickered on from its tower in the darkest nights. Eliza dismissed those tales as olden folklore—until it happened.

It was a cool evening with a clear sky. Stars filled the heavenly space, and the sea was eerily calm. While Eliza sat sipping her tea on the porch, she saw a faint glow coming from the lighthouse. At first she thought that was a trick of her eye until it grew stronger and she stood up to approach the cliff.

The closer she drew to the spot, the brighter it became. It was almost blinding. She brought herself to a stop just short of the edge of the cliff. She was trembling all over. The light pulsed like a heartbeat, and then went out.

Such silence fell that one heard only the soothing lapping of waves. Eliza breathed deep and then turned to go back to the cottage. But then she saw something—a figure, standing at the edge of the cliff as if looking out to sea.

It was old, his back to her, in some tattered sailor's coat. His hair was white, stooped. He did not stir, did not acknowledge her. Eliza's mouth dried up.

"Hello?" she said in a voice she could hardly hear.

He never moved or spoke, but she inched forward, her hand stretching out for him, only to blink and see him gone. Instead, there was the steady beat of waves and now the lighthouse light blinking on again.

Eliza stood there for what seemed hours, staring at the spot where the figure had been. Then, with a shiver, she turned and walked back to the cottage. That night she couldn't sleep. The next morning she asked around town, describing the man she had seen.

Ah, that's Old Jonah, that woman said at the bakery, opening her eyes wide. They say he was the lighthouse keeper long ago. He just simply disappeared in a storm one night and was never found. But sometimes, people claim they see him keeping watch, just like he used to do.

That sent a chill running down Eliza's spine. She went back to the lighthouse that night. Never again did she see the light flicker, but she never forgot that night. Then she realized that Brinecliff had more to it than just what lay on the sea–stories yet untold, and perhaps a ghost or two watching over it.