I left the prison that night without the warden’s permission and walked along the beach in the pale moonlight, struggling to keep a good pace, because I weighed 100 pounds heavier, due to the silver bullets and gun I carried.

The thought of being killed in the open wasn’t that bad, because the waves were strangely peaceful and I could follow the lighthouse home, but then I heard blood-curdling howls, and I wished I had stayed within the walls of that prison, like the Children of Israel bemoaning their Exodus from Egypt.

The snarling sounds, were a pack of wolves. They had found my scent. I couldn’t walk into the ocean for fear of drowning and I didn’t have enough ammunition, to kill them all. So, I resigned myself to becoming a monster, like a murderer, who finally finds himself.

But just as I was sure I would see them and be cut down, I found a rowboat moored to the shore, and I prayed I would have enough time to put distance between myself and that unknown terror.

The tide was not in my favor and the beasts came over the hill, with their hair sticking out of their backs like mohawks—eyes ready to kill. I had one hand on an oar and the other on my gun.


Hair and blood littered the sand, and the dogs went for the wounded one, ripping that squealing mutt to shreds.

Blood smells salty in the sea air and looks black in the moonlight.

One wave and then another, and I was carried away without capsizing.

Then, I was home, and the waves were calm, and the wolves left the shore, as I made my way to the lighthouse.

To be continued…

2 thoughts on “The Lonely Lighthouse Becomes My Friend

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