stake it : 1u1
’Tis the night before Christmas, and the old lighthouse at Crow’s Beak has gone dark. A freak ice storm cut the power, leaving the coast in a dangerous, ink-black shroud.
Silas, the aging keeper, knew the backup generator was dead. Thinking of the ships at sea and the tradition of the "Christmas Guide," he hauled a crate of old beeswax candles up the narrow spiral stairs. He lined them around the Great Lens and struck a match.
The gears were frozen, so Silas grabbed the iron manual crank. With a grunt of effort, he pushed. The massive glass began to groan and turn. The candlelight hit the prisms, exploding into a warm, golden beam that swept across the crashing waves.
He stayed there all night, cranking the light by hand. As dawn broke and the first Christmas bells rang from the village, Silas looked out to see a single set of sleigh tracks imprinted in the snow on the gallery railing—where no reindeer should have been able to stand.
