The Lighthouse That Forgot the Sea

When the sea receded from the coast of Darnmouth, it left the old lighthouse standing alone on dry, cracked earth. No one visited it anymore, except for Elias, the last keeper. He refused to leave.

Each night, he still climbed the spiral stairs and lit the lantern, its beam slicing across an empty desert of salt. “For the ships,” he would whisper. But there were no ships. The ocean was gone, a memory devoured by time.

Then one fogless night, he saw something in the distance — a shimmer, like water. As he focused, the light revealed the faint silhouette of sails gliding across the horizon. Impossible. He blinked — and they were gone.

The next night, the same. Faint horns, waves crashing, gulls crying. Ghostly echoes of what once was. Elias realized the light didn’t guide the living anymore — it called the dead. The sea’s memory had come to reclaim him.

When they found the lighthouse empty months later, the lamp still burned — though the fuel tank had long run dry. And at night, if you stand on the cracked shore, you can hear waves again.