There was a Lighthouse. A tall stone Lighthouse set upon the top of a rocky, shrubby mountain. A raised bridge led to the Lighthouse as it stood proudly. silhouetted against the sky, guiding ships to shore in the dark hours.
Every Day, at exactly 7:45 , a man came and lit the Lighthouse’s light. Then he stayed up in the tower and drew perfect pictures of the ships that came to the shore, the people that got out of the ships, the sea and the sky.
The people never saw the Lighthouse. They only saw its light. It was invisible to all but the Man for he, and he alone, was worthy of lighting the Lighthouse of Mystic Magic.
The Lighthouse loved its Man. It thought it was the best Man in the world and that it was a lucky Lighthouse to have such a nice Man.
Years past. And the Man, like all humans do, grew old. He had no children and so he drew a picture of the Lighthouse and put it in a bottle and flung it out to sea. Then he went away and faded from all but memory.
The next Day the Man did not come and the Lighthouse was puzzled. The Man always came. This was the first time he had not come. He wondered where his Man was.
The next day came. Still the Man did not come. Ships washed up on reefs and sank for there was no light to guide them safely to shore in the dark hours.
Weeks passed. The Lighthouse grew lonely and miserable without its Man to come and light it at every 7:45.
Meanwhile, the bottle floated across the sea, tossed by waves and storm. Finally it washed up at the feet of a lonely young orphan.
Upon opening the bottle, he found a shredded, wet, soggy picture of a Lighthouse set up on a rocky, shrubby mountain with all the sky behind it and the sea below it and a raised bridge leading up to it.
To the orphan, The Lighthouse looked like an inviting place, some where he would like to visit.
And so he crept aboard the next ship and hid himself in one of the life boats. There he stayed for three days until as stormy night came and the ship was tosses about like a feather on the wind.
Screams arose from the sailors as the reefs tore holes in the ship and, like all the other unfortunate ships, the ship filled with water and sank deep down into the foamy wild waters to become a home to the sea creatures.
The young Orphan remembered nothing after the waves engulfed him and he thought he was surely going to die.
But he woke up, washed up onto a sandy beach and still clutching the shredded remains of the picture of the Lighthouse he had risked his life to come and see.
All around him was the wreckage of the ship and the sailors of the ship to. as he turned to look up at the mountain, he saw, silhouetted against the sky, the Lighthouse.
The sailors, he noticed looked in the same direction but did not seem to see the majestic image of the Lighthouse of Mystic Magic.
He pointed it out to them and they said he was crazy. There was nothing there but a shrubby mountain and sky. You must still have water in your brain, they said.
The Orphan was awfully puzzled but he said nothing.
That night he slipped away and started up the mountain, determined to get to the Lighthouse.
He did. The Lighthouse was covered in vines and stones were crumbling out. It no longer stood proudly against the sky but looked rather stooped over. To the Orphan, it looked like it was weeping.
He walked over the bridge and entered the Lighthouse. He climbed to the top and looked out. He could see for miles around. He could see the sailors down on the shore and the sea and sky. He did not remember the Lighthouse being lit that terrible stormy night. He wondered why it had not been lit.
That night he stayed there and lit the Lighthouse’s light.
Almost immediately the Lighthouse creaked and groaned and straightened itself up, the vines falling from it along with its misery.
The Orphan was terribly afraid and wondered what he had done. Then two eyes in the wall opened and looked at him.
“You are not the Man!” It said in surprise, peering at him closely, “And how did you get in here? No one but my Man can see me. I”ll burn you up if you do not tell me!”
The Orphan backed away in horror.
“I-I do not know,” He stammered,”I found a picture and got on a ship. Then the ship sank on the reefs and i woke up on the shore. I was the only one who could see you so i came up here and lit you. I am so terribly sorry and i will go now since i have disturbed you.”
He turned to go but the Lighthouse said, ”Let me see that picture, boy.”
Two arms sprouted from the wall and took the shredded picture. Upon inspection, the wall smiled.
“AH. I should have known,”it said.
“Known what?” Asked the Orphan.
“That the Man sent you to me to bring back my joy. You are now my new Man and it is your duty to light me every 7:45 so i can guide ships safely to shore,” replied the Lighthouse.
“Oh,” said the Orphan,”So you mean i can stay?”
“Yes, you have to so you can light me,” sad the Lighthouse, “Although i do feel tempted to throw my inexperienced Man out of my tower. But i suppose you will learn over time.”
So the Orphan stayed in the Lighthouse and lit the Lighthouse every 7:45 under the Lighthouse’s careful instructions of course.
No more ships sank on the reefs and over time, the Orphan became known as the Man that lit the Lighthouse every 7:45 and painted perfect pictures of the ships that came to the shore, the people that got out of the ships, the sea and the sky.