The Lights-Out Lighthouse
Lighthouse keeper Ezra discovers his beacon is tired, not broken. With a magical jellyfish's help, all sea creatures share their own light to guide each other home.
- 6 min read
Every evening at exactly eight o’clock, Ezra the lighthouse keeper climbed the spiral staircase to turn on the great beacon at the top of Moonbeam Point Lighthouse. Round and round he went, counting each step—one, two, three, all the way to fifty-seven—until he reached the lamp room where the enormous light waited to shine across the dark sea.
But tonight, something peculiar happened.
When Ezra pulled the brass lever, the light flickered once, twice, then went completely dark.
“Oh my!” exclaimed Ezra, adjusting his round spectacles. “This has never happened before!”
He checked the gears—they were fine. He checked the glass—it sparkled clean. He even checked his watch—yes, it was definitely nighttime. But no matter what he tried, the lighthouse simply would not light.
Down below, Ezra heard worried voices. He peered out the window and saw a family of dolphins swimming in circles.
“How will we find our way home?” they called up. “We always follow your light!”
Then a flock of night-herons flew past, looking confused. “We navigate by your beam!” they squawked. “Without it, we’ll get terribly lost!”
Even the fishing boats far out at sea began to honk their horns. “Lighthouse! Where are you?”
Ezra felt terrible. Everyone was counting on him, and he didn’t know what to do. He sat down on the cold floor of the lamp room, his head in his hands, feeling very small and very worried.
That’s when he heard the tiniest voice.
“Ahem. Excuse me?”
Ezra looked around but saw nothing.
“Down here!” squeaked the voice.
There, sitting on the windowsill, was a small, glowing jellyfish in a bubble of seawater. Her name was Pearl, and she shimmered with a soft, silvery light.
“I saw your light go out,” Pearl said gently. “And I thought you might need help.”
“But you’re so small,” Ezra said, not meaning to be rude. “How can you possibly light up the whole sea?”
Pearl smiled, and her glow pulsed a little brighter. “I can’t. But I know someone who can help. The thing is, your lighthouse hasn’t gone out because something’s broken. It’s gone out because it’s tired.”
“Tired?” Ezra gasped. “But lighthouses don’t get tired!”
“Everything gets tired,” Pearl said wisely. “Your lighthouse has been shining every single night for a hundred years without a single rest. Even the brightest lights need to close their eyes sometimes.”
Ezra had never thought of that before. He, too, got tired every night and went to sleep in his cozy bedroom at the bottom of the tower. Why shouldn’t the lighthouse need rest too?
“But what about everyone who needs the light?” Ezra asked, looking at all the worried creatures below.
Pearl’s eyes twinkled. “Follow me, and bring something soft.”
Puzzled, Ezra grabbed his favorite blanket and followed Pearl down the stairs. She led him outside to the rocky beach, where the waves whispered secrets to the shore.
“Now,” Pearl said, “call everyone together.”
Ezra cupped his hands around his mouth. “Dolphins! Night-herons! Fishing boats! Please come close!”
They all gathered near the lighthouse, curious and concerned.
“Our lighthouse needs to sleep tonight,” Ezra announced. “Just like all of you sleep, and just like I sleep. It’s worked so hard for so long, and it needs one peaceful night to rest.”
“But how will we find our way?” asked the littlest dolphin.
Pearl floated up higher, and her glow grew stronger. “Tonight, we’ll help each other. I’ll light the way for the dolphins. And dolphins, your splashes make bioluminescence—that glowing sparkle in the water—which will guide the night-herons. And night-herons, you can call out to the fishing boats and lead them safely home.”
“We all have a little light inside us,” Pearl explained. “When we share it, no one has to shine all alone.”
The dolphins began to swim, and sure enough, their movement created beautiful glowing swirls in the dark water. The night-herons called out with their distinctive cries, creating a sound-path through the sky. The fishing boats followed, helping each other navigate by their own small lamps.
Ezra climbed back up the fifty-seven stairs—he was tired too—and gently draped his softest blanket over the great lighthouse lamp.
“Sleep well, old friend,” he whispered. “Thank you for all your bright nights.”
Then Ezra did something magical. He began to sing a lullaby—the same one his grandmother had sung to him when he was small:
“Close your eyes, the day is done, Rest your light, you’ve helped everyone. Dream of waves and sailing boats, Dream of all the ships you’ve kept afloat. Tomorrow you’ll shine bright and new, But tonight, the dark will care for you.”
As Ezra sang, something wonderful happened. The lighthouse began to hum—a deep, contented sound like a cat’s purr or the ocean’s rumble. A soft, warm feeling filled the tower, like a smile made of bricks and mortar.
Down below, all the creatures stopped to listen to Ezra’s lullaby. The dolphins stopped their worried swimming. The night-herons settled their ruffled feathers. Even the fishing boats’ crews found themselves yawning.
Pearl floated up to join Ezra. “You see? When we take care of the things that take care of us, everything feels better.”
That night, everyone found their way home safely by sharing their lights and helping one another. And up in the lighthouse, the great lamp slept peacefully under Ezra’s blanket, dreaming of sunny days and gentle foghorns.
Ezra climbed down the stairs one last time and got into his own bed. As he pulled his covers up to his chin, he looked out his window at the dark sea, which didn’t seem scary at all—just peaceful and full of stars.
“Good night, lighthouse,” Ezra whispered. “Good night, Pearl. Good night, dolphins and night-herons and boats.”
And from somewhere deep within the tower, he could have sworn he heard the lighthouse whisper back: “Good night, Ezra. Thank you for understanding.”
The next morning, when the sun rose and painted the sky pink and gold, Ezra climbed the fifty-seven stairs once more. He gently removed the blanket from the lamp, folded it carefully, and smiled.
The lighthouse hummed happily, refreshed and ready for another night of shining.
That evening at exactly eight o’clock, when Ezra pulled the brass lever, the light blazed brighter and more beautiful than ever before. And every creature who saw it knew—whether you’re a lighthouse, a person, or anything in between—that rest makes even the smallest light shine its very brightest.
The End
Good night, little one. May your dreams be as peaceful as a sleeping lighthouse, and may you wake up tomorrow shining bright.