Leave the Light On

**Title:** *Leave the Light On*
**Subtitle:** *A Beacon Through the Storm, Binding Past and Present*
By Haroon
The old lighthouse, which was present on Raven’s Cliff, had not been lit for decades. Its broken lens was unlit against the stormy Maine sky. But tonight, as lightning crackled and surf pounded the cliffs, Noora stood beneath it. She was holding a rusty key she had found in her grandfather’s loft. The attached note had mysterious words: *"Keep the light on, Nora. He will come back."*

At the young age of 28, she had no belief in spirits or vows, but her grandmother’s handwriting—trembling and anxious—had drawn her here, to this ignored and lost tower, on the anniversary of her grandfather’s disappearance.

The time was 9:17 when Nora unlocked the iron door, which resisted years of neglect. Inside, the air smelled of salt and old wood. The light from her flashlight danced on the staircase, each step creaking under her weight. The note said to light the lamp by midnight and keep it burning till dawn—a request without any explanation.

Nora didn’t have much connection with emotions, but the idea of her grandfather—a man about whom she didn’t remember anything except that he had been lost to the sea when she was five—felt important to her. At the top, the keeper’s room was frozen in time. There were a shadowy logbook, a broken old oil lantern, and a window that showed the upward movement of the sea.

Her phone had no service, and the storm drowned out her thoughts. She found matches—with worn heads but usable—in a tin box. The lantern was lit at 10:03, providing a fragile and weak flame that flickered as she sat on the floor, holding the note on her lap and waiting.

By 11:00, the storm became louder. The rain pounded the glass, and the blowing wind resembled whispers calling her name. Nora turned through the pages of the logbook—which had become yellow and whose color had faded. The last entry was on the 4th of July, 1997. It was from her grandfather: *"A storm is coming. She says to keep the light on. I trust her."*

Nora’s heartbeat became faster. Her grandmother had not told her about this place but only that her grandfather’s ship had been destroyed in a storm and he had been lost to the sea. Was the light she had lit what it meant? A clue, a ray of shine?

At 11:45, a sound of a crash came from below. But it was not the sound of the storm—it was something similar to the sound of footsteps on rocks. Nora froze. She called, “Hello?” but her voice was destroyed by the storm.

No answer came, but the stairs creaked. She pointed her flashlight to the doorway. A shadow showed motion—a tall but unclear shadow. Her heart beat faster. “Who is there?”

The shadow moved into the light. His face was worn, but his bright blue eyes—the same as hers—were familiar. He called her name. His voice was heavy and rough. She moved backward, and the logbook fell down. She said, “You… you can’t be here.”

He uttered, *“I followed the light. She said that you would come.”* He was wearing a wet fisherman’s coat. His hands were shaking as they reached for her. Nora’s thoughts whirled. Her grandfather, Elias, who had died 23 years ago, was standing before her—or something like him. He spoke fast, words coming out of his mouth like waves. He said that he had been stuck in a rift—a rip in reality torn open by the beam of the lighthouse or a storm. Time had not succeeded in touching him. He said, *“Your grandmother knew. She saw it once when we were young. She said that the light could bring me back if someone waited.”* Nora’s mind was in competition between doubt and the impossible. She asked, “Why now? Why me?” Her grandfather’s eyes became mild, and he said, *“Because you were the only one who came.”*

Midnight came and went. The lantern was burning. He shared parts of his story with her: an endless ocean, murmurs in a mist, flashes where he had nearly crossed over into the world but not in reality. The light was his tether, and the trust of his grandmother was his path. Nora listened to him and was caught between dread and faith. Was what she was experiencing real? Or tricks played by the storm?

By 3:00, the storm softened and quieted, but he started fading. His shadow flickered like that of the lantern’s lamp. Nora realized and whispered to him, *“You can’t stay.”* She moved her head. Elias said, *“The light only keeps the door open for one night. I just wanted to see you, to know she was right.”*

As dawn approached and the sky turned white, Elias came closer to her. He put a small and cold compass into her palm and whispered, *“Keep it. It will guide you, just as it guided me.”* His voice thinned. At 5:42, when the first ray of shine spread across the sky, he was gone. The lamp guttered out.

Nora came down the stairs. The compass felt heavy in her pocket. The storm had ended, leaving silence and the tang of salt. She was not sure whether she had seen a spirit, a memory, or something mysteriously stranger, but the note’s words clung: *"He will return."* She locked the lighthouse door, leaving the light off, but the needle of the compass was not turned to north—it was pointing to something else entirely.