The Lighthouse

“The light can never go out,” explained the old lighthouse operator. “Ships don’t need us. Haven’t in quite some time. It’s the people here on land who’ll suffer if that light ever goes out.”

Jakar watched with pinched eyes as the old man wet his lips with another beer.

“Those lights were built to never go out. I don’t think anyone has ever seem them dark.” Jakar said. The old man wiped his mouth the back of his forearm.

“When I was I lad I saw it. Pitch black it was.” He shook his head and brought the beer up to his lips once more. Jakar knew he wasn’t going to get much more out of him. All the man wanted to do now was wash away his day with alcohol. Jakar slipped into his jacket and left.

The sun had disappeared while he had been inside the bar. The chilled night air cut through his jacket and was heavy with the scent of sea salt. In the distance Jakar could see the lighthouse. It was one of the oldest still standing in the region the old man had said. He began to walk down the wide open streets to keep himself warm. Only a few people were out but the ones he passed nodded to him and bid him a nice evening. Jakar clenched his fist each time someone passed.

Unconsciously he was drawing nearer to the lighthouse and now approached the outskirts of the small town. He continued. He couldn’t stop himself from being drawn to white tower with its light revolving around its peak. Yet with each step closer to the lighthouse Jakar felt his emotions rise like a storm.

“Can I help you?” said a deep voice, shattering the silence of the night and calming Jakar down some.

“I was speaking to an older man at the pub. I believe he used to work at one of the light houses around here. He mentioned one of them may be looking for a helping hand come the winter.”

“Aye, you speak of Mr.Taylor do you?”

“Yes. I believe that was his name.”

“What did you say your name was boy?” the man in the darkness asked from a distance. He was standing behind a waist high fence about twenty yards off. His voice sounded like the rumblings of a storm itself.

“Jake.” Jakar said walking closer.

“Well Jake, if you take another step, that leg’s going to be gone.” Jakar stopped. In an instant the man had raised and leveled a gun at him. He couldn’t make out what kind of weapon it was but something about the mans hands told Jakar he knew how to shoot.

Jakar raised his eyes up to the white tower residing a hundred yards off. Waves crashed in the distance but they did nothing to drowned out the man’s voice.

“There has never been a Mr. Taylor in this town. Now turn around and leave Jake.”

“I wish I could.” Jakar said flatly. His eyes fixated on the light. He started to walk forward.

The crack of a gunshot split the night. Jakar collapsed. Tendrils of smoke rose from the shotgun.

“Honey?” A woman screamed with concern from the lighthouse. A moment later a blade of light flashed erratically in the night.

“Stay back darling. Let me see the light though.” Jakar had been silhouetted by the lights of the town and the moon but no more. He shone the light on Jakar. A velvet red pool was quickly growing around the boys mangled leg. As the light hit the boy’s face, the man saw teal blue blood seeping from the boys pores and eyes. The blood sizzled like oil in a frying pan as the light revealed it.

“Inside. Call the police darling. Quick.” said the man giving the light back to his wife. She took off sprinting through the thigh high grass. A screen door slammed. Two sets of teal blue eyes sparked to life in the darkness like shooting stars.

“You have made a grave mistake land walker.” A voice whispered and then the eyes were gone.