This is one of my stories from Suppose: Drabbles, Flash Fiction, and Short Stories.

Satellites. Computers. GPS. What next? Drones? Old Man Saufer intends to save the day in spite of political shenanigans.

—

Old Man Saufer grumbled as he climbed the spiral staircase to the lighthouse lantern room. “Satellites. Computers. GPS. What next? Drones? They can’t stand up to the fury of a gal like Hanna.”

As if to prove his point, the wind wailed, buffeting the tower with rain and barraging it with plunder wrested from land and sea.

The government had declared lighthouses obsolete, but this newly laid-off keeper didn’t care about political shenanigans. He had stayed at his post, even when Hurricane Hanna hit. With lots of beer of course. German lager. The darker the better.

“Stupid fancy pantsies. That newfangled electronic gear don’t work when the electricity’s out. How they supposed to save that ship out there if the new stuff ain’t got juice? Maybe the captain’ll see my lantern when I get up top.”

Saufer paused halfway up to catch his breath. He peered through the tiny window and the driving rain. His gaze wandered over the treacherous waves until he located the ship. It was sailing dangerously close to the rocks, its lights appearing and disappearing as it navigated over crests and valleys. He wiped his eyes. Wiped them again.

“What the —” The beam of the deactivated beacon pierced through the rain. The familiar bass of the foghorn overpowered the roar of the wind as it vibrated stairs and walls.

“Well, I’ll be danged. Gotta see what’s makin’ the light and make sure it stays on.” He wheezed. “Ain’t gettin’ any younger. This is gonna kill me one of these days.”

The light grew brighter as Saufer climbed. He squinted when he reached the last step. His eyes widened. The glare wasn’t coming from the lens, but from several lanterns positioned around the outer edge of the room. He stumbled backward and almost lost his footing.

A gnarled hand grabbed his elbow. “Careful, watch your step.” A stranger with a Van Dyke beard and a scar above his right eye tipped his hat. “Guy’s the name. Guy Wyatt.”

Saufer blinked. “I ain’t never seen lanterns so dang bright.”

“Special lanterns, they are. Brighter than a locomotive light. Suppose we can keep them going until dawn, old boy?”

Saufer leaned against the wall. He pinched himself. Then he pinched Wyatt.

Wyatt grinned. “Flesh and bone, just like you.”

“I’m in. Let’s save that there ship.”

—•—

The two men maintained vigil, swapping tall tales and refilling the lanterns with acetylene, until the sea calmed and the sun broke over the horizon. Saufer succumbed to exhaustion. When he woke, Wyatt and the lanterns were gone.

He descended the stairs and hobbled to the pub, mumbling all the way there about hangovers. “Gotta give up drinkin’.” He ordered a soda.

While he sipped, he gazed at the framed photos of previous lighthouse keepers. He set down his glass and shuffled closer. There, in black and white, was a man with a Van Dyke beard and a scar above his right eye. The inscription: Guy Wyatt. 1858-1932.

Saufer gulped. “Hey, Nick, gimme a beer!”

—

You’ll find more short fiction like this in Suppose: Drabbles, Flash Fiction, and Short Stories.