The one who shines

The lighthouse seems eternal, as if it has always stood on the shore. But every lighthouse has two birthdays. The first occurs when the final stone is laid; the second is when the light is first lit in the lantern. Sometimes, years pass between these events. Near the entrance to Berdyansk Port stand two lighthouses. The lower one was built on a sand spit right by the water, while the upper one was raised on hills above the city. For the older, lower lighthouse, both birthdays occurred in the same year. Back in 1833, merchant Nikolay Kobozev erected a wooden pole with a lantern on the spit, and on April 22, 1838, construction began on the stone tower according to the design of Karl Tomassini. On September 3, the tower lit its beacon—fifteen kerosene lamps with reflectors shone for ten miles. Every sailor remembered the paint scheme—white top and bottom, red in the middle.

However, one light was not enough. Rounding the cape, the ships proceeded toward the port through the bay, lacking any clear landmark. In 1877, construction began on the second lighthouse atop the hills—the Upper Light. Its first birthday arrived quickly, but its second required waiting. The tower stood dark for about five years. During the day, sailors took bearings on it; at night, it remained silent. The lighting equipment was only installed in 1883, and on October 1st, the lighthouse sent its first signal.

In the same year, its older brother was also reborn. The Lower Light was converted to electric power, becoming the empire’s second electrified lighthouse after the Odessa Light. The twentieth century dimmed both flames. The Lower Light sustained damage during the First World War and was restored in 1923. During the Second World War, both lighthouses were extinguished, and the Upper Light’s equipment was disassembled and hidden so as not to provide orientation for the enemy. The Upper Light relit in 1945, and the Lower Light was fully operational by 1956. Starting in the autumn of 1945, a single family of keepers maintained the Lower Light for decades until it was automated in 2005.

In 1977, the growing city began to drown out the Upper Light’s beam with streetlights, prompting the construction of a new thirty-three-meter tower just a hundred meters closer to the sea. The old building was not demolished—it now houses a kindergarten.

The cold wind whipped under her sweater; droplets clung to the wool and her skin, prickling her with chills, while her face burned. A flush spread from her cheeks to her earlobes, pinching her nose and tracing the line of her neck. The shell in her hand cracked, splintered, its string dangling between her fingers. She stopped. She leaned against the gust of wind, twitched her nose, and tried to push a stray strand behind her ear, but it escaped again, swirling before her eyes. The sand was wet, and there were no tracks. She turned around deliberately, looked down—her lip trembled, tears streamed from her eyes, mirroring the cold drizzle. «This… ” she sobbed, tilting her head back slightly, „this can’t be true.“ One step. Then another. And another. She stared at the sand, where nothing remained, feeling utterly betrayed. She pressed her fist, holding the shell, to her chest—the sweater immediately stung her chilled skin; her fingers were pale, purplish at the tips. And nothing else. Her knees buckled. She crumpled, wrapped her arms around herself, opening her mouth in a silent scream. „Lost?“ a voice called from above. The light from the lantern blinded her for a few seconds. She covered her eyes with her palm and flinched back. The man loomed over her as a dark silhouette—it seemed the light bent around him. „No, ” she lied. „It’s obvious.“ The man smirked, a smile sliding beneath his mustache that instantly rejuvenated his face by several years. He nodded, as if beckoning, and moved on. The light in the lantern flickered, casting playful glints across the sand—and his boots left no tracks either. She swallowed, gripping the shell tighter; a sharp chip dug slightly into her soft skin. „Wait!“

A man with a lantern turned from the beach toward a house standing further down the coast. Tall grass, overgrown from the shore itself, seemed intent on invading his face—scratching, impeding his path. He brushed aside one blade, and another instantly appeared out of nowhere, rustling with a faint sound that was actually the hiss of a whip. Only the light helped him discern his direction—a guiding star shone ahead but never seemed to approach. The man’s silhouette was obscured by the darkness and the fluttering, fluffy tails of beach grass.

The white house greeted him with a coolness of stone, but something felt wrong about it. She raised her head, finally leaving the tall undergrowth behind. The lighthouse. It was built into the structure itself, lacking a familiar gallery. Silent and extinguished, it stood above the guests, its shaft encircled by red bands.

«Do you live here?» she mumbled, turning toward the man, but a young woman stood before her, gripping the lantern handle with her fingers directly in front of her face. The same lantern. The same copper rim. Only the hands were different—slender, pale.

«No, ” the stranger said, turning with surprise toward the lighthouse. „Everyone lives here.“

Her soft voice caused him to retreat.

„What do you mean, everyone?“

„Like this, ” the girl shrugged and suddenly burst into bright laughter.

She winked, opened the lantern’s shutters, and blew into it. The light flickered, shot outward, scattered in beams in every direction, danced across the white stone of the lighthouse, ran upward into the tower, slipped behind the glass, and vanished. She closed her eyes as the sound of waves splashed right near her ear—her hands instinctively covered her ears, and a seashell recalled memories of the past. A distant cry pierced through the noise, breaking off mid-sentence. Cold fingers rested on top of her palms, but their chill was different—it penetrated beneath the skin.

Svet looked at the shard in his palm, then at its chip, frowned as if something had struck him, and tucked the piece back into his pocket. He scratched the back of his head. «Difficult, ” he pronounced, turning toward the beacon.

Small spirits huddled near the windows, intently watching the two people frozen by the house. Some were left with only faint outlines; others still retained their form. „Dead?“ someone whispered. „Not exactly, ” replied another from the opposite side of the windowsill. „But she doesn’t look alive, ” the third coughed from somewhere in the middle. „And she doesn’t look dead either, ” a voice hissed from nearby. „In-between, ” the top voice stated professionally. The spirits turned and stared at the man who was smoothing his mustache. „There were no traces of her, ” he explained. „And yet she made it this far. Something is not right here.“

She stood hunched over, her hands trembling, her eyes fixed on his trouser pocket, where the second shell casing had slipped away. The Light did not notice: he raised his head toward the beacon in a silent question, awaiting a miracle or a clue, while the sound of the sea, the rustling of the sandgrass, and the rattling of the windows—to which shimmering lights adhered from within—served as his answer. «Where am I? Why don’t I remember my name?» she squeezed his hand to draw his attention. The Light frowned. The truth stung from within, itching on his tongue. «You need to remember, ” he said, lowering his gaze. The drawstring swung like a lifeless thread, coming loose with every gust of wind. „Why?“ „It has to be done.“ „Why?“ „You just have to remember.“ „Why?“ „To go back.“ „Where am I?“ she repeated, like a stuck record. The Light shook his head: „Not home.“ „Who are they?“ „I can’t…“ He raised his head, paused, and turned back toward the house. Silhouettes were clearly visible through the windows: there was the girl who had blown out the lantern, and there was a man with a mustache and a calm smile beneath it, while the others were shimmering figures, woven from light. „Don’t look!“ Light shouted and turned her away from the house. She stumbled, nearly falling, her feet sinking into the sand. „Who are they?“ she asked again. „Souls.“ She looked over her shoulder.

She did not resist, obediently going along with her head bowed. Circles danced before her eyes from the lighthouse stairs. The steps were worn and slippery; every step had to be precise, or she would stumble and fall. She was no longer afraid of falling, but she still stepped carefully, as if hoping for something. The massive lens displaced the air, towering in the center like a mute giant. Silhouettes stood on both sides like guardians. In the darkness, it was impossible to make out who they were. The Light stopped, hiding the otherworldly presence behind its back, and took a shaky step back. One of the silhouettes shook its head. She recognized him as a man holding a lantern. «You don’t remember, right?» His voice was velvety and low. The Light shook its head in response and pushed the otherworldly presence further away. «But the Lighthouse remembers, ” he said. „The Lighthouse remembers everything. Everyone. That’s why people are drawn to it, ” the girl also emerged from the shadows. „But you can’t do this. You know it yourself.“ Her voice sounded sorrowful, yet it did not match the smile frozen on her face. „It is not for you to decide…“ „And who else, but the keeper?“ The man stroked his mustache with his fingers. The girl shook her head. „We cannot let her go, ” she said smoothly. The Light’s eyes darted around—small sparks trying to find a solution.

He had neither past nor future. The keepers changed one after another; the legend of the living light was passed down with each shift and a new contract. At first, he saw only fear in the eyes of strangers. Every new keeper was afraid of what dwelled in the lighthouse, crossing himself at the entrance, rushing downstairs, trying to slip on the stairs. Over time, the fear subsided, replaced by acceptance and brutality. The keepers themselves began to approach the deceased, beckoning them into the house, and then forcing them to touch the Light for certain. Now, he felt the warmth of life. It beckoned behind him, contrasting with the familiar chill of this place—and for some reason, it felt familiar. He had long stopped counting the keeper and his wife as alive—they had brought in too much light.

The keeper clicked his tongue, his heavy steps echoing through the room as they struck the lens. The light flickered, his eyes glinted, and a spark within them trembled.
«My dear, ” the girl extended her hands toward the boy, „we are trying for you.“
„She is alive, ” he mumbled.
„Not so…“ the keeper started.
„Alive!“ Свет repeated much louder.
The keeper and his wife exchanged a look.
„Out there, ” she gestured toward the sea, „there are many more living things who need the lighthouse’s light to stay alive.“
The smile vanished from her face, and in an instant, not a trace of feigned youth remained. Wrinkles etched her face, her graying hair intertwined with still-black strands, yet clearly dulled by time. She slightly stooped, narrowing her eyes.
„Do not resist the will that sends souls to you, ” the keeper pressed. „Now, give her to me.“
Свет flinched, his hand darting to his pocket, his fingers gripping a seashell through the fabric.

The glow faded, and twilight once again enveloped everything. She opened her eyes. Her feet were planted firmly on the floor—it looked like the same floor, but something in it had changed. Opposite her stood a boy resembling Sveta, like a slightly distorted reflection of her: a little taller, his shirt was dry and tucked into his pants, and he wore bulky boots.

There were two lighthouses. The upper one, perched on the prominence, was slightly younger than the lower—it was built as an assistant. It had never seen the light of its brother, but it knew he existed: their beams combined into a single path for those viewing from the sea. So similar. And so different.
The younger one also took souls—mostly the elderly and those who never ventured down to the coast. It burned capriciously, confused the boats, created mirages: here the lighthouse lights lined up in a row, and a second later the upper one shifts away, laughing at the established route.
It towered over two motionless guests. Its eyes are slyly narrowed, glittering with a stellar pattern, its head tilted, hands in its pockets.

«What brings you here?» Luch lingered near the otherworldly figure, scrutinizing her from head to toe. «Alive, I suppose?» «Partially, ” Svet mumbled. „And right now, half of her is dead, ” Luch nodded gravely. „Why isn’t the watchman escorting her back?“ „He’s not supposed to.“ „How is that possible?“ „It is.“ „Interesting.“ Luch walked a circle and stopped in front of them again. „And what do you want from me?“ „I can’t remember a name…“ Svet dropped his gaze, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. „Am I supposed to remember? Excuse me, brother, I just recall things, I can’t actually remember.“ „Not you, lighthouse!“ „Aah, ” Luch sighed, scratching the back of his head, and glanced at the lens. „How is that?“ „I don’t know, ” Svet sighed. The three of them sat on the floor. Four, if you counted the lighthouse itself. Luch swayed back and forth, staring at the ceiling, freezing for a second, frowning, shaking his head, and then starting to sway again. Svet, in contrast, sat still, hypnotized by the wooden floor, only his fingers picking at a hole in his pants. The otherworldly figure pulled her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them, her eyes flickering between the two brothers. „What if you’re from this side, and I’m…“ „How do we get over there?“ „That’s true, ” the younger one mumbled.