Something was watching Oliver. 

He carried a fresh can of kerosene up the stairs of the lighthouse as lightning flashed, causing the shadows of the stairwell to twist and turn. The thunder that soon followed pinged against the metal frame of the tower. His mind drifted to the presence in the shadows he had felt for the last two weeks. Though he loved her so, the lighthouse was a lonely mistress, and he had found comfort in this silent watcher he sensed. Would his hidden companion make itself known in the next two days before his replacement arrived? And was this presence even real, or had he finally reached the fate of all wickies? 

He had managed to catch a glimpse of bright eyes one day—just for a moment. They watched him from the beach before disappearing into the darkness once more. He had considered chasing after them, but the fog rolling in across the water dashed that curiosity across the rocks.

 When he approached the top of the stairs, he realized the smell of moss and resin that had accompanied the arrival of moving shadows was stronger than usual. His pulse quickened. He peered over the top of the stairs, and as the light rotated he finally saw the full form of his companion in the shadows, a tall figure that looked like a drop of ink haphazardly splattered onto paper. The can of kerosene clattered down the stairs. The figure turned, revealing those eyes, blue as the sea Oliver watched over.

 "What kind of devil stands before me?"

The figure did not reply. It held out a sharp, spindly hand. Oliver's heart skipped a beat. He shook his head—surely he must be mad—but the figure remained. He found himself inching closer, craving to know its nature. The figure's fingers inched closer with each step.

Oliver stopped a foot away from the shadow. "Are you the one who has been watching me? My silent companion?"

In his head a hundred voices unleashed, speaking as one. He slapped his hands over his ears, overwhelmed by the cacophony. The voices ceased. Then one pulled forward, a deep and gravelly voice echoed by its siblings.

"Show me what?"

"I have my path, stranger. I keep the light."

Come. The figure beckoned its wire-like fingers.

Oliver's feet moved without his command. He had grown used to its presence watching over him as he tended the light. And now, seeing its true form, it felt as though he was meeting an old friend.

"Can you at least grace me with your name?" Oliver asked.

"Alright then, Traveler, show me my path." Oliver took the hand that had patiently awaited his; it felt as though he was holding his hand into a stream of air.

The Traveler led him down the groaning stairs—flecks of paint scattering as they descended, down the hill which the lighthouse sat upon, and to the waves that crashed upon the shore. Oliver gave it a quizzical look.

 "I have a dinghy—"

 The Traveler shook the space where a head would be. Not out. In.

 "Oh," Oliver said shakily.

 He gave a final glance to his lighthouse, her beam casting over them. His resolve held firm. "Farewell, old friend." 

They stepped into the frigid water and Oliver let out a gasp as it flooded his boots. They pushed through the tumultuous waves until Oliver felt the edge of the sandbar drop off. He took in a lungful of air and let his head plunge into the brine. 

 His body pulled and twisted in a way he had never felt the waves pull before. Oliver opened his eyes. Before him was an endless, black expanse. His lungs burned as he held his breath. The Traveler's voice drifted into his mind again. Breathe, light keeper.

He took in a tentative breath and, relieved that his lungs did not fill with water, turned to search for The Traveler. Amongst the dark, its eyes shone like stars.

 "I suppose I've met my end then. This must be some kind of purgatory?"

 You are awfully calm if that is truly the case.

 Oliver shrugged. "Death comes for us all in the end. I have lived an honest life, one to be proud of."

 You are not dead, light keeper. And you may return to your lighthouse, if you wish. But first, let me show you a new path. Your true path.

 A gust of air rushed past Oliver and with it came light. The blackness around them was soon filled with the familiar twinkling lights of the night. But as he gazed up at them, there were no constellations he recognized.

 "Where are we, Traveler?"

 Come, it replied, and the eyes disappeared.

 Oliver followed, his footsteps echoed as if he were walking atop glass, each step eliciting a small ripple of light. The stars drifted with them, watching their journey. Oliver's movements were halted as he collided with The Traveler. It turned, the small space between them illuminated by its eyes like his lighthouse illuminated the sea for wayward ships. So close to it now, Oliver inhaled deeply and took in its scent, no longer tainted by the sea air. His heartbeat slowed, and he felt the strange touch of the Traveler on his chest.

 Are you not afraid?

 Oliver took pause at the question. By all accounts he should be frightened, but curiosity flitted through his stomach instead. "Perhaps I am dreaming. Or perhaps I have gone mad at last. But—" he leaned into the Traveler—"you are someone I crave to know."

 Another gust of wind picked up around them, turning Oliver. When the movement stopped, he saw two mirrors.

 Look inside.

 Oliver obeyed the request, peering into the mirror on the left. He stared at himself, but not himself. His scraggly curls were replaced by twisted shadows. His fingers were long and arched, and looked as though they had been dipped in ink. The not-Oliver mimicked his movements and as he gazed behind it, a vast landscape unfolded. 

The sky was a brilliant purple with streaks of pink mixed in. The trees that stretched out into infinity had branches that twisted and turned in strange ways. He spotted a river cutting between two hills, but as he focused on it, he realized that it was flowing backwards. It was nothing like his quaint seaside home, but he felt a deep longing for this place. A home anew, one to spend a life of wonder in by The Traveler's side. Though, he felt his lighthouse tug at his heart, standing empty and alone now on her cliff.

 He turned back to the Traveler, his pulse quickening again. "Is this your home? Do you wish to turn me into a creature like yourself?"

 If you wish to. The echos had quieted, only a soft and gentle voice remaining. 

 Oliver returned to the Traveler. The cool breeze that seemed to make up its body beckoned him in and his breath hitched in his throat. He sank into the wall of wind and shadow, letting it envelop him, bathing him in that resinous, mossy scent. 

 "Why did you hide for so long?"

 I needed to study you. To see if you were the one.

 "And what did you determine?"

 "I think... I think I would like that." The lighthouse had been his partner for so many years now, but perhaps it was time for something new.

 Oliver sank deeper into the Traveler. From the second mirror he caught a glimpse of the lighthouse. Its light had grown dim and flickered meekly. He had forgotten to refill the kerosene. If the light went out with that storm raging on...

He pulled away from the Traveler and turned towards the mirror. "I just need to replenish the light. It should last long enough for my relief to arrive, then—" as the words left his lips, he was pulled towards the second mirror.

 "Wait, Traveler!" He reached out, hoping the Traveler would catch him.

Oliver crumpled next to the rotating light. He pulled himself up and ran to the railing, searching the shore for the Traveler. "Please!" he screamed out into the darkness. "Come back!" 

The faint smell of moss and resin lingered in the air, but no response came.