By the time I saw the weak beam of the lighthouse I was drenched and nearly deaf; The raging roar of the ocean and torrential rain shouted over each other in unceasing argument. My skin stung from the pelting raindrops, like miniscule lashings across the backs of my hands. It was all I could do to keep my little boat aimed true at the silent, cyclopean shadow rising above the churning gray water. The slowly swiveling light was faint, slowly dying in the night, as I feared I might be. The storm tossed my trawler around like a toy in a child's bath, and it took all of my dwindling strength to steer toward the rocky island on which the lighthouse sat. I could barely see through the thick, heavy raindrops pattering against the windows like pebbles, but on the top of the cliff, at the base of the lighthouse... some kind of yellow object. I squinted through the rain at it... a yellow rain coat! The figure moved, disappearing backward, out of sight, into the tower. It must be the lighthouse-keeper, thank God!

It was a long struggle bringing my boat up to the rotten, dilapidated dock at the edge of the island. The rough stormy waters threw my boat up against the dock over and over. With no chance for a safe disembark, I leapt from the edge of my boat onto the jetty, slipped and crumpled in a heap on the pulpy wooden planks. There was no time to catch my breath, with waves surging over the dock. I scrambled to my feet and escaped the water-logged dock to rush to the small cabin attached to the side of the lighthouse. My foot slipped on the wet stone and I stumbled forward, hitting the door before I pulled it open and hurried inside.

The roar of the rain disappeared the moment I closed the door, replaced by a dull, welcome silence. Where outside it was cold and hostile, this cabin felt positively inviting; deep red wood-panel walls, white molding, some antique chairs and a small table, and a few lovely pictures hung on the cabin's windowless walls. From my position in the small den, I could see no windows, hear no rain upon glass panes anywhere else in the house. I slowly removed my raincoat and turned to hang it on the coat rack next to the door, but stopped short at the sight of a second yellow raincoat, identical to my own, already hanging on the hook. The mysterious lighthouse-keeper.

“Hello?” I called out, taking a few hesitant steps forward. “I'm sorry to disturb you, I'll be gone as soon as the storm has passed!” There was no response as I walked through the den, tracing my hand along the wooden back of the green-padded sofa. This was definitely an antique piece - at least fifty, sixty years old - but it looked brand new, not a scratch or scuff that I could see. In fact, all the furniture in the room looked as if it had never been touched, though there was not a single speck of dust to suggest disuse. I crossed the room to the mantle to examine the photos hung above the unlit fireplace: A man and his wife, standing on the rocky outcropping of this very island; a beautiful, blue sky behind them. Judging by the angle, the picture must have been taken from the dock. And one of them must be the lighthouse-keeper.

There was seemingly only one other room to this cabin: a small kitchen with a cast iron stove, a full set of copper pots and pans, and a small table in the corner.... With a plate of eggs and fat bacon, still steaming hot as if made only a moment ago. The pans, however, were immaculately clean; the sink was completely dry - no one had been in here to use these instruments. The hairs on my neck stood up. I crossed to the drawers and, without any searching, found a slender, perfectly sharp knife that I decided would be my defense, should I need it. My gaze was drawn once again to the hot meal on the table. It was prepared for me, I could feel that. The wooden floor made no sound as I walked to the table; no boards creaking, even my own footsteps sounded muffled. The food only seemed to look more delicious, more vibrant and succulent as I took my seat. All I could think about, all I could see, was the food in front of me. My own rations had depleted at least a day ago; I could barely remember how long I'd been at sea. The food called to me. It wanted me. I wanted it. Eat. Eat.

A shadow moved on the ceiling. I whipped around so fast I fell out of the chair, knife clutched in my hand as something dropped from the ceiling. I pounced on it in a wild frenzy, stabbing at it with the knife, puncturing the yellow skin. Yellow. Not skin - vinyl. A raincoat laid limp on the floor, now riddled with slits from my knife. A sudden thumpthumpthump of foosteps running overhead; footsteps on the roof? The noises traveled across the roof and I turned to follow them. In turning I saw the food again — the eggs were green and grey with thick mold and curled up at the edges. The bacon had shriveled up, with fat maggots eating away at it. The wallpaper was peeling away from the walls, and the wood beneath was old and rotting.

I didn't notice in my panic that I could hear the rain again.

Rainwater leaked through the roof, as if it had always been this way. Brandishing my knife again, I decided to leave and try to get into the lighthouse itself. Braving the storm for a moment would be harrowing, but I'd feel safer in the stone fortress of the tower.

The coat rack was empty. The attacking slicker was still laid out on the kitchen floor, but the second one was nowhere to be seen. I wasn't even sure whether the one I'd stabbed was my own or not. With a deep breath, I unlocked the door and the wind yanked it open, nearly tearing my arm off as it pulled me out into the downpour. I looked up for a moment to see the light, then ran across the wet rock toward the base of the lighthouse, feeling my way across the stone wall until I found the door and pulled it open, with some difficulty, to get inside. Unlike the cabin, the sound of the rain only seemed to be amplified in here as it pelted the metal roof and echoed down into the stone body of the lighthouse. I started up the long, encircling metal staircase, with knife in hand and my stomach crying out in mourning for the food I'd left to rot.

Every muscle in my legs burned by the time I reached the top; it felt like it I'd spent hours climbing the stairs. I was tired and hungry and lurched to the final landing, starting to lose my sense of balance as I neared the open trap door leading into the light room. Weakly I climbed up into the room right as the massive light swung around. Everything went white. My knees hit the floor hard, my hands grasping blindly at the air and crawling on my knees to find a handhold.

“Why didn't you eat?” a voice came from seemingly all around me, as I found a railing to hoist myself to my feet. It was distinctly female; it seemed old and tired. And hungry. “I've been so lonely, waiting for you to return. I even made your favorite supper just for you...”

I stood still, clasping the railing til my hands ached. My knees quaked and shivered, but there was nothing I could do. After seemingly minutes, my eyesight slowly began to return. Looking ahead, I could see the rain slamming in sheets against the huge glass panes of the light room, and my reflection staring back at me in the darkness.

“And look what you did to your raincoat.” The voice chided. My yellow raincoat was draped loosely over my shoulders, full of jagged slits from a thin steak knife. In the reflection, over my shoulder, a faint vision... her. Janine. My dear Janine.

“I didn't make it,” I croaked. My throat hurt, sore and dry from drinking sea water and shouting her name at the heavens, at the God who'd taken her from me. “I tried to find the mainland, find you a doctor, I did...” She deserved a better end, than that of a poor lighthouse-keeper's wife, wasted away in the prime of her life on some Godforsaken rock.

“It's all right,” she whispered, in that familiar, comforting tone. “We'll be together now, forever, on our little island in the sea....” She was right of course. She always knew best. Even through the rain I could look down at our little dock, see my boat trapped as the waves dashed it against the rocks. There was no leaving now. The storm would never end. It would be so much easier to hurl myself over the railing, through the glass, to the rocks below. I could join my Janine forever. I felt her weightless hands against my back, slowly gaining more form and presence. She always knew what to do. Always there to show me the way. All I needed was a little push...