the day, the superhero passed away

“The next year they built a new lighthouse, but by that time I had a job in the little town and a wife and a good small warm house that glowed yellow on autumn nights, the doors locked, the chimney puffing smoke.  As for McDunn. he was master of the new lighthouse, built to his own specifications, out of steel-reinforced concrete. “Just in case,” he said.

The new lighthouse was ready in November.  I drove down alone one evening late and parked my car and looked across the grey waters and listened to the new horn sounding, once, twice, three, four times a minute far out ther
by itself.

The monster?

It never came back.

“It’s gone away,” said McDunn.  “It’s gone back to the Deeps.  It’s learned you can’t love anything too much in this world.  It’s gone into the deepest Deeps to wait another million years.  Ah, the poor thing! Waiting out there, and waiting out there, while man comes and goes on this pitiful little planet.  Waiting and waiting.

I sat in my car, listening.  I couldn’t see the lighthouse or the light standing out in Lonesome Bay.  I could only hear the Horn, the Horn, the Horn.  It sounded like the monster calling.

I sat there wishing there was something I could say.”