Saul had a wife once. Her name was Mabel. She had a laugh that sounded like a creek running over smooth stones. Then she tripped on a loose floorboard in their cabin and hit her head on the iron stove. Just like that, the creek stopped running. Saul didn’t want to see the trees or the dirt they shared anymore. He took a job at the lighthouse on the jagged edge of the world. He wanted to be useful. He wanted to save people because he couldn’t save her.
He spent his days polishing the brass. It was a job for a man with heavy hands and a hollow chest. He liked the smell of the oil and the way the salt air bit at his skin. Every night, he climbed the spiral stairs. He lit the giant lamp. The light was a long, yellow finger that poked at the dark. It told the ships to stay away. It told them the rocks were hungry. It felt good to be the man who kept the world safe. He was the only thing standing between a sailor and a cold, wet grave.
The lighthouse sat on a rock that didn’t feel like a rock. It felt like a tooth. Sometimes, the whole island would shiver. Saul figured it was just the tide or the way the deep water pushed against the earth. He would sit in his small kitchen and eat his beans. He talked to the empty chair across from him. He told Mabel about the grease under his fingernails. He told her about the ships that passed by.
But the ships weren’t passing by anymore.
Saul noticed it on a Tuesday. A big steamship was coming in from the East. The light hit the ship’s hull. The ship didn’t turn. It didn’t blow its whistle in thanks. It just kept coming. It sailed right into the white foam where the reef was supposed to be. Saul waited for the crash. He waited for the screams of men and the sound of breaking wood.
There was no sound.
The ship just dipped its nose into the water. It looked like a dog sitting down to rest. Then, it was gone. The water didn’t even splash. It just opened up like a big, black mouth and swallowed the whole thing. Saul stood on the gallery. His heart felt like a bird trapped in a box. He watched the spot where the ship died. A huge bubble of air came up. It smelled like old meat and wet copper.
He went back inside. He scrubbed the floor until his knuckles bled. He told himself he was tired. He told himself the fog was playing tricks. But the next night, it happened again. This time it was a fishing boat. The light hit the sails, and the boat steered straight for the tower. It didn’t look like an accident. It looked like a puppy running to its master.
The Island shivered again. This time, it felt like a moan. The floorboards didn’t just shake. They tilted. Saul fell against the wall. He heard a sound from deep below the ground. It was a wet, grinding noise. It sounded like a giant chewing on a bag of marbles.
He realized then that the light wasn’t a warning. It was a dinner bell.
Saul stopped polishing the brass. He sat on the floor of the lantern room. He looked at the big glass lens. It was beautiful. It was the most important thing he had ever done. And it was all a lie. The people who built this place didn’t care about sailors. They were feeding something. Something that lived under the plates of the earth. Something so big that the island was just a tiny piece of its skin.
He thought about the men on those ships. He thought about their wives waiting at home. They were just like Mabel. They were waiting for a laugh that would never come back. And he was the one who lured them to the table. He was the waiter serving up souls to a monster that didn’t even have a name.
It was funny, in a way. He had come here to find peace. He had come here to be the hero. Instead, he was just a fly on the back of a beast. He was the guy who kept the monster’s teeth clean. He started to laugh. It was a dry, ugly sound. It sounded like sand rubbing together.
“I’m doing a good job, Mabel,” he whispered to the dark. “I’m the best there is.”
He looked out at the horizon. He saw the lights of another ship. It was far off, but it was coming. It saw his light. It thought he was a friend. It thought he was a savior.
Saul reached for the oil can. His hands were steady. He had to keep the light burning. If the light went out, the monster might get hungry for the island itself. It might get hungry for Saul. And Saul wasn’t ready to see Mabel yet. He was too ashamed.
He poured the oil. He trimmed the wick. He watched the long, yellow finger reach out across the waves. He watched the ship turn its nose toward the tower.
The island groaned. It was a happy sound. It was the sound of a belly being filled.
Saul sat on the cold floor. He pulled a picture of Mabel from his pocket. Her face was fading. The salt air was eating the ink. Soon, she would be gone, just like the ships. He held the paper to his chest. He felt the coldness of the ocean creeping up through the stone floor.
He was a good lighthouse keeper. He was the best. And as the ship hit the water and disappeared without a sound, Saul began to hum a tune his mother used to sing. He hummed it loud to drown out the sound of the chewing. He stayed there in the light, a small man in a tall tower, waiting for the next meal to see him shine.