Abslod thought back to his arrival on Beezie’s rock. The lightkeeper he replaced looked pale and withered. A year alone miles from shore had taken their toll.
‘Did ya see the Zenolob?’, Abslod had asked. It was a joke. Such a thing could not exist.
‘Nope, only birds out here. They often crash into the lighthouse. Ya learn to ignore the knocks.’
Something about the way he said ‘knocks’ spooked Abslod.
Enough to nervously open the door on that misty first night.
‘Are, are you …the Zenolob?’
‘Indeed, pleasure to meet you, that last lad was deaf as a post.’