Chapter Three: The Storm

The storm arrived on Thursday afternoon. By four o'clock the ferry had stopped running, and by six the rain was coming sideways off the ocean in long gray sheets. Nora watched it from the cottage window, wrapped in her grandfather's coat.

Just after midnight she saw it: a small white light moving slowly across the water, far out past the point. It rose and fell with the waves, but it did not drift the way a buoy would. It seemed to be heading straight for the rocks below the lighthouse.

Without stopping to think, Nora pulled on her boots and ran out into the rain. The path to the lighthouse was slick with mud, and twice she nearly fell. When she reached the tower, she found the door unlocked and swinging in the wind.

She began to climb. Her flashlight threw jumping shadows on the curved walls as she counted the steps out loud, just as she had when she was a child. Somewhere around the ninetieth step, she heard footsteps above her.

At the top of the stairs she stopped to catch her breath. The lantern room was cold and full of wind, and through the broken glass she could see the light on the water, much closer now. Beside the great dark lens stood a figure in a long coat, holding a lamp of its own.

"You're late," said a voice she had not heard in eleven years.
