He was looking right at me, and I realized that I wasn’t myself at all. My feet barely touched the kitchen floor, and I could feel emotions that weren’t mine.

“All right, Papa.”

The words came from my throat, but it wasn’t my voice. I was inside Conall’s body, seeing everything from his eyes. Which meant that the man in front of me must be his father, Finn Lewis – or Finn Jackson. He went on to say that there was a secret room inside the lighthouse, and Conall would have to stay there when the other keeper arrived. He’d bring food and supplies as often as he could, but they had to be careful because the only entrance was in the kitchen, and they couldn’t risk the other keeper seeing.

Finn repeated that Conall must never, ever come out of the room. The only exception was if it flooded, which it might do if there was a storm. Conall knew the rules, he knew them, and he stuck to them for a while – as long as he could – but as the days and 305weeks passed by, it got harder and harder. It was cold and dark and lonely in the basement. It made his skull hurt, and I could feel that same ache inside my own head as Conall remembered it.

Being all alone in the dark made dark thoughts come to him too, the darkest thoughts he’d ever known, and having them in my own mind now made me feel dirty and damaged, and like I’d never be truly myself again. He couldn’t stop thinking about how everything had been fine before the other keeper had arrived and ruined it all. So one night he sneaked out. The carving knives had been left out for cleaning, and Conall looked at them, and a plan formed in his mind.

The clock on the wall said it was three in the morning. He knew his papa had the late shift that night, which meant the other keeper would be asleep in his bed. Conall took the largest knife from the worktop, then made his way up the spiral staircase. He wasn’t sure where the other man might be but eventually he found it was the same room he’d been using himself until he’d had to go to the basement – the beautiful one right near the top of the tower, so ornate and comfortable. When he crept in, the 306moon shone brightly through the window, clearly illuminating the Strangers’ Room as it had been in its heyday, with fine oak furniture, a library of leather-bound books and soft Turkish rugs upon the mosaicked floor. The moon also illuminated the man in the bed.