Lindsay
Schopfer

By Lindsay Schopfer

Eric breathed in the mountain air heavy with rain. His brass lantern rocked in the wind, splashing light over the sodden gravel pathway. He withdrew his free hand from his long coat’s deep pocket and fastened the final button above his soft turtleneck sweater. The flash of lightening revealed for an instant the entire path to the lighthouse weaving its way along the cliff side.

Uncle Garret said that some of the more experienced operators claimed to know the twists and turns of the path so well that they could make the treacherous journey to relieve the midnight watch without a lantern. Eric wondered if he would be stuck up on the mountain long enough to be one of those old veterans. He hoped not.

The lighthouse loomed above him in the darkness, its signal light facing out and away from the craggy peaks surrounding Darrow’s Pass. Even at this distance and angle, Eric could see that the light was not as bright as it should be. Usually the tower was outlined with its own brilliant luminescence, giving the tall dark structure a golden outline that would have shimmered in the rain. But there was no halo of light tonight, and only the reflection of light in the driving rain directly ahead of the beacon told Eric that the warning light was operating at all.

Quickening his pace, he took shelter from the driving rain in the shadow of the silent pinnacle. As he passed through the weathered door at the tower base, he found that it wasn’t much brighter inside the entryway. A squat stove in the corner gave off a welcome heat however, and he shed his long coat and soaked woolen hat before ascending the winding spiral staircase. The warmth from the stove in the entryway soon evaporated in the chilly staircase and Eric considered going back down for his coat, but dismissed the idea. Uncle Garret was still waiting to be relieved of his watch, and Eric could always go back down to get his coat once he was alone.

 The ascent up the staircase took several minutes, but the four months of working as a lighthouse operator made the familiar climb easy for Eric. The glass-enclosed beacon house at the tower’s top was surrounded by thick, double-paned glass and was bitterly cold. Rain pelted the windows, its muted hiss blending with the howl of the driving wind.

“Glad you made it up safely,” Uncle Garret’s voice came from somewhere behind the light of the beacon.

Eric was careful to avoid looking up until he’d passed the glare and could see the dim figure of his uncle sitting behind it.  

“Bitter night for a stroll,” the old man said dryly.