A lighthouse keeper is a lonely job.

Sievert used to fill the loneliness with his late husband’s voice and company. Now, he endures the loneliness so no one else would have to and he uses the space to mourn his beloved’s passing.

Sievert doesn’t think he’ll ever forget him. Sometimes, when he is months into his last supply delivery, he’ll talk to him still. He lets his mind wander, and the lighthouse comes alive. In those moments, Sievert swears he can hear the ghost of his husband respond, hear him make jokes that draw a belly-aching laugh out of him. When the moment fades—interrupted by the horn of a boat or simply disrupted by a shifting of the sun’s filtered light, the loneliness that he thinks he has gotten used to is brought back into sharp relief. Then, it’ll be another long while before he can converse with his husband again.

In the meantime, he continues to pass each day with the long list of menial chores he must complete.

Standing in the cold cramped space next to the beacon, Sievert dips the cloth he is holding into a bucket of water by his feet. His breath leaves his lips as fog, imprinting themselves onto the glass before him and dissipating. Sievert presses the cloth he is holding against the glass. It’s still warm, from his breath and the powerful light of the beacon within it moments ago. But, with each pass of Sievert’s hand, the glass cools, warmth stolen by the night air and the trickling rivulets of water flowing down its surface.

The glass is polished to shining once Sievert wrings out the towel. He takes the bucket with him as he steps down familiar stairs, a single gas lamp lighting his way. Sievert moves quickly, unwilling to waste more fuel than he has to. The next supply delivery isn’t until a month later, and he does not want to run out of his necessities before then.

Once downstairs, Sievert tidies up his supplies. Then, he sets to making a perfunctory search of the lighthouse’s perimeter.

The lighthouse sits on a small island miles away from the mainland. The waters nearby are choppy, and with the island being surrounded by an outcropping of rocks, even seasoned sailors are hesitant to make such a trip. Unless they are the next keeper in rotation or the deliverer of the next few months of supplies, no one would visit the lighthouse on their own accord.

Still, Sievert diligently checks the lighthouse’s perimeter each day.

Tonight, his search bears fruit.

There’s a person lying on the beach in front of the lighthouse.

Sievert’s heart picks up. He pats his pockets, making sure that the medicine he always carries on himself is still there. The lamp in his hand swings softly as he makes his way over to the person on the beach.

Sievert doesn’t see any blood.

Instead, with the wind pulling gently at the man’s air and the small waves of the ocean lapping at his feet, the man is the epitome of relaxed. He also doesn’t appear to have noticed Sievert yet. Sievert’s gaze drifts across the man’s surroundings, checking for hidden dangers. When he spots a seal’s pelt haphazardly hidden behind a small bush, he deigns to return it to the stranger.

Picking up the pelt, he walks back to the stranger.

“Excuse me, did you lose your pelt?”