The phone was ringing inside the wall.
Elias heard it between the foghorn’s blasts: a thin, patient trill, stopping whenever he held his breath and beginning again when he moved. At midnight he took a hammer to the bricks beneath the stairs. Behind them sat a black rotary telephone, furred with salt, its cord ending in a frayed curl of copper.
There had been no telephone at Gannet Rock for forty years.
He lifted the receiver.
Static. Then the slow wash of the sea, though downstairs every door was barred against it.
“Keeper?” A woman’s voice, very faint.
Elias looked through the stairwell window. Beyond the glass, the beam swept over black water, over the rocks, over something pale standing where no boat could moor.
“Yes,” he said.
The woman began to sob. “Then listen carefully. When the light comes back around, don’t look at me.”