The Matchmaker Is a Haunted Lighthouse

How it begins

The lighthouse found Ellis before I did.

Its beam swung across the harbor, ignored three fishing boats and settled on his launch with the confidence of an elderly relative pointing at somebody's weight gain.

I switched the mechanism off.

The beam continued.

"Really?" I said.

From somewhere above the stairs came the sound of a man clearing his throat.

I had been back for twenty minutes.

The estate agent had promised the building was empty.

At the dock, Ellis raised one hand to shield his eyes.

Then he looked toward the lantern room.

Even from that distance, I knew the moment he recognized my silhouette.

I had once been very good at knowing what he was about to say.

It had not helped us.

By the time he reached the station, I had found the secondary switch, the maintenance log and a note written in a hand I did not recognize.

DO NOT SELL TO THE MAN WITH THE BLUE CAR.

The estate agent drove a blue car.

Ellis stood in the doorway carrying survey equipment.

"Your light is out of alignment."

"Yes."

"By about forty degrees."

"Apparently."

He followed my gaze to the note.

"New instructions?"

"Old-fashioned management."

He smiled despite himself.

Above us, the ghost cleared his throat again.

Neither of us looked up.

The last time Ellis had asked me to leave this coast, I had said the station needed me.

He had said that was not the question.

Ten years later, the station was being sold and he had been hired to decide whether its foundations would survive another winter.

The beam moved across the wall between us.

A line of damp stone shone beneath the paint.

Ellis stopped smiling.

"Has that crack always been there?"

I looked at the place I had spent ten years refusing to leave.

"No."

The ghost went quiet.

For the first time, I suspected the light had found Ellis for a reason that had very little to do with us.