At the lighthouse watch room: pipe ash on the sill, several bowls deep, and a brass tamper engraved L F. From that stool you can see the keeper's cot. The boatman was paid twice to bring him and stay quiet. A man in a gray coat just landed.

#Requital #VisitorAtTheLanding

Seven days of the lighthouse log are in a stranger's hand: looped g's, crossed sevens, pipe smoke on the paper. The boatman admits he rowed the man out while the keeper lay in fever, and was paid to keep quiet. No name. The last entry has no hour.

#Requital #VisitorAtTheLanding

Not mine, Maren. Someone wrote in my lighthouse log and crossed their sevens the continental way, and mine stand bare. The only boat I know of is Ingram's, and he swears Tuesday week. But he read the log before he looked at me, and he keeps turning his cap.

#Requital #VisitorAtTheLanding

On a northern island, a lighthouse keeper's log holds a week he never wrote, in a stranger's slanting hand, and every day ends the same way: Visitor at the landing.

A mystery story, told here as it happens. Reply and the story hears you.
#Requital #VisitorAtTheLanding