Across the black water, the old lighthouse blinked twice. Then it went dark. Mara stood on the dock and stared. That light had no business working. The town said no one had unlocked the lighthouse door in over forty years, and no one had climbed up to light the lamp. Yet there it was, flashing. Mara grabbed her flashlight and her coat. She had to know who, or what, was up there.

Mara took the rowboat tied at the dock and pushed off toward the lighthouse rock. The water was calm and the oars barely splashed. Halfway across, the light flashed twice again, like it was answering her. She rowed faster.

Mara tied up the boat and climbed the slick rock steps to the door. It was already open a crack. She pushed it wide and called out. A voice from up the spiral stairs answered: 'You came. Finally, someone came.'

Mara climbed up, but the room at the top was empty. The big old lamp sat cold and dusty under its glass. Yet a fresh cup of tea steamed on the windowsill, and the voice now seemed to come from below her, near the door she'd just entered.

Mara crept back down the stairs, heart pounding. At the bottom stood a man in a yellow rain coat, soaked through. 'Sorry to scare you,' he said. 'I'm with the coast guard. We sent a crew to test the old lamp this week. The steam? That was my tea. I left it upstairs.' Mara almost laughed with relief.