The Last Lightkeeper

On a remote island where the sea whispered secrets to the shore, an old lighthouse stood against time. Its keeper, Elias Voss, had tended the beacon for forty years, guiding ships through treacherous storms. But the world had moved on—automated lights now ruled the coast, and Elias was the last of his kind.

The authorities sent letters, then men in stiff suits, demanding his retirement. "The light doesn’t need you anymore," they said. Elias only smiled, polishing the lens as thunder growled in the distance.

Then, on the eve of his forced departure, a storm unlike any other descended. Waves clawed at the cliffs, and the power failed, plunging the modern lights into darkness. A distress crackled over Elias’s radio—a cargo ship, blind in the chaos.

With a flick of his wrist, the old lighthouse roared to life. Elias climbed the spiraling stairs, his hands steady as the wind screamed through the cracks. For one last night, he was needed.

By dawn, the ship was safe. The suits arrived to find the lighthouse dark again, its keeper gone. Some say he vanished into the mist. Others swear they still see his light on stormy nights—a ghostly glow guiding the lost home.