"The Torch-Keeper"

The panes of the old glass windows shuddered as yet another crash of thunder sounded outside the lighthouse. Marlin held his cigar firmly between his teeth as he watched raindrops begin hitting with a light trickle.

By the time he brought the lighter to his cigar, the raindrops had surged into a storm.

As expected, the boots thumping overhead reacted to the sudden downpour. The steps increased rapidly into what Marlin knew was a run.

He took a pull on the cigar as the footfalls eventually found their way to the stairs outside the window.

Seconds later, the door to the gangway flew open with a slam that echoed through the comfortably furnished sitting room.

Marlin lowered his cigar and smiled, “Don’t like the rain?”

A tall, bearded man stomped in, glaring at Marlin, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Marlin set the cigar down and rose to greet him, “Oh thoroughly! Retirement is nice, Pierce. I remember when I used to walk those stairs.”

Pierce slid on a thick coat. "One day in retirement and you have already gotten old—now can you put your comfy retirement on hold? I need help securing the Grapples.”

Marlin gave a fake dramatic sigh, “I suppose…”

He held his coat tight against the storm as he followed Pierce.

On the second deck, Marlin grinned at the familiar sight of the foglight rotating sluggishly on its pedestal.

So the lad was still keeping the bulb awake?

Good for him.

Marlin positioned himself and gripped the steel Grapple.

Pierce's voice rang over the thundering rain, “Ready?”

Marlin held up a thumbs-up.

Pierce returned it.

Marlin yanked the Grapple downwards.

The sound of massive overhead gears scraped and clinked. He waited for the signaling clunk from the mechanism, but none came.

Marlin blinked.

Two huge sails were folding inwards, but they stopped halfway through.

They got stuck?

That's never happened before.

Climbing a ladder into the top story, Marlin immediately spotted the issue.

Jammed in the master gear set was a red shoe.

A children's shoe.

Marlin tore the shoe free and peered down the ladder at Pierce. “Hey, has the Torch-Keeper gotten any breaks?”

“The lad? Didn’t he take one an hour ago?”

“You don’t know?!” Marlin blurted, panic setting in.

Marlin drew out his torch and inspected the room carefully.

The lit beam of his torch drifted round until it landed on a discarded blue coat.

He scrambled over to it, and lifted it.

In its pocket Marlin found a crystal the size of a baseball.

He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his stomach drop.

“Oh no,” he muttered, holding the crystal aloft.

Pierce's voice sounded from the ladder, “Is the Torch-Keeper ok?”

Marlin did not answer.

In silence, he walked over to the trapdoor opening.

Pierce gazed up at him, confused until his eyes landed on the usually bright blue crystal, now a shade of grey.

His expression visibly fell.

Marlin blinked away tears. “Signal the homeland, tell them we lost another one.”