Thomas hadn't seen another soul in three months. The supply boat was late, the radio gave only static, and the gulls had taken to circling the lantern room like they were waiting for him to fall asleep. The storm that had been threatening for a week was finally on the horizon, a bruise spreading across the water.
He found the phone on Tuesday.
It was wedged between rocks at the base of the tower, where the tide never quite reached. An old rotary phone, cream-colored, its cord frayed and ending in nothing — no jack, no wire. And it was ringing. He told himself the isolation was finally getting to him.
Thomas picked it up before he could think better of it.
A woman's voice, thin with distance, said, "Hello? Is anyone finally there? Listen, you have to turn the light off. Now."
Below him, the sea began to glow — and something inside it was rising toward the light.