Rain beat against the outside of the lighthouse and lightning flashed with some regularity, illuminating the tiny space inside. The thunder that followed would shake the whole structure and threatened to break the glass in the windows. Mikhael checked on the lamp once more, ensuring it remained burning bright so anyone caught out in this weather would have at least some chance of avoiding the rocky shore here. Of course, anyone out in this storm had the waves to worry about, more than the rocks.

The lighthouse was set up on a spire of rock that jutted up from the surf. All told, the top of the lighthouse was a good hundred or so feet above the water on a calm day but tonight the waves were crashing almost as high. It was a testament to the builders that the lighthouse could withstand the beating waves.

The oil reservoir that fed the lighthouse lamp was still full so Mikhael closed it all back up and descended back into the living quarters of the lighthouse, such as they were. In the past he’d had various companions who’d come to help him tend the lighthouse but few lasted very long. It was a lonely and cramped life up here in the lighthouse. He was happy to be alone. He didn’t get lonely here like some people did, and the tight spaces were comforting to him like a hug, rather than confining.

He added another log to the small stove and set the kettle on top beside the boiling pot where he had a stew cooking. He had a long night ahead of him and he wasn’t likely to get any sleep. He needed to stay awake to make sure his lighthouse stayed lit.

Through the small porthole window, a flicker of light caught his attention. At first he thought it was a reflection of the lighthouse on the waves but as he turned to study it, he realized it was a signal lamp from a boat. It was calling for help.

Mikhael hurried up to the middle level of the lighthouse where his own signal light was. He scanned the horizon in every direction through the windows up here but couldn’t see any other vessels. He wasn’t surprised but still needed to check.

No other vessels in sight, he flashed with his signal light. Safe harbor four miles due east.

In weather like this, four miles was a terribly long distance but it was all he could do.

Too far, the ship signalled back. Taking on water. Pumps broken.

Mikhael hated these sorts of moments. There was very little he could do for them, but what he could do, he would do. He grabbed a sheet of paper and set up his ink pot and quill.

Send me names, he signalled to them. I will notify next of kin.

This was part of the job they didn’t really talk about but it was one of the more important ones, at least to Mikhael it was. His own father had gone down at sea within sight of a lighthouse and the keeper there had done this very thing. He’d been able to relay Mikhael’s father’s final words to his family. It was a gift beyond measure.

One by one, names were given along with details for where to find their families. Mikhael wrote it all down with a steady hand, noting down any specific good bye messages. Notes for wives and children left behind, for parents, for lovers and friends.

They kept signalling Mikhael for as long as they could until, all at once, the signal light vanished and did not return. Mikhael stood there for nearly an hour, just in case it reappeared, but no other lights pierced the night. Finally, he went upstairs to check on the main lamp. It was all in proper order and he made his way back down to his waiting stew and whistling kettle. The kettle was nearly dry and he had to refill it.

The stew was overcooked but he didn’t think about that while he ate bites of too-soft potatoes and carrots. He sipped at his coffee and read over the list of names again and again along with their final words. Mikhael wondered at what he would say if he were ever in that situation. Then again, it was because of what happened with his father that he’d chosen his particular occupation and hadn’t gone off to sea.

He saw no other ships that night and by morning the storm was passed.