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 decided not to go alone. She ran to wake old Pete, the only person in town who had actually known the last keeper. Pete opened his door in his robe, took one look at her face, and sighed. 'You saw the light too, didn't you,' he said.

Pete refused to go near the lighthouse. Instead he handed Mara an old brass key from his drawer. 'I kept a copy all these years,' he said. 'If you're going up there, go alone. Some things only show themselves to one person at a time.' Mara took the key and headed for the water.

Mara rowed out, unlocked the heavy door with Pete's key, and climbed to the lamp room. Inside she found stacks of letters, all addressed to the town, never sent. The last keeper had written to them every single year, telling them he was fine and still keeping the light. No one had ever come to read them.

Mara carried the letters back to town and read them aloud in the square. People cried hearing the old keeper's words after all these years. They rowed out together that very day and found him still up there, frail but smiling. He'd waited forty years for someone to finally answer. Now the whole town visited, and the light shone on.