She showed up in a taxi. The sort that trawl the train station picking up tourists and children making brief prodigal returns. She took from the taxi a re-purposed cardboard box. Its four flaps were folded closed rather than taped shut. Her only other luggage was a hard plastic case on wheels.

She introduced herself to the receptionist as Shona Omara. The receptionist, who was also the proprietress Mrs Headle, told her how to find her room.

Shona pulled her case up three flights of carpeted stairs to the third floor. Along the walls of the staircase Shona noticed scuff marks, presumably made by other guests dragging their own luggage. She made a second trip to the lobby to collect the cardboard box.

Mrs Headle told her, ‘Breakfast is seven to nine, through there.’

‘Thanks,’ Shona said. ‘By the way, is there a remote control for the video player in my room please?’

‘Well aye, but what do you want to use that thing for? There’s a DVD player in there if you want to borrow a film.’

Shona opened up the box. It contained ten or so video cassettes. ‘It’s for my research,’ she said. ‘Why I’m here. These and the lighthouse.’

Mrs Headle bent to open the drawers under her desk. As she opened one after another she said something that Shona couldn’t catch.

‘Pardon?’

‘Here you go.’ Mrs Headle handed over a remote control tufted with dust,

Shona watched tapes late into the night. Although she’d kept the volume low, blue light seamed beneath her door.

The next morning Shona came down for breakfast. Three doors led from the lobby, all of them shut. She tried each of them to find that they were locked. Mrs Headle spoke from behind Shona, ‘Are you looking for the dining room? It’s through here.’

The dining room was busy with other guests eating toast, cereal with milk, fruit, or a combination of these things. Shona sat at a table already occupied by an older couple.

The older woman poked at half a grapefruit. ‘Shall we go to the lighthouse today Ted?’ She asked the man.

‘It’ll rain,’ said Ted. ‘We should go into town instead.’

‘Excuse me, I haven’t seen the weather report today. Will it rain a lot?’ Shona asked.

Ted and his wife looked at one another. ‘Well yes dear,’ said Ted, ‘it’ll be torrential.’

‘Are you in 306?’ asked the wife, using her spoon to point at Shona. ‘I was up half the night with the noise from 306.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Shona said, ‘I’m in 301. It’s up the corridor from 306. Can’t have been me you heard.’

The wife puckered her lips. She returned to her grapefruit while Ted snapped open a newspaper.

It did rain. Sluices of it heaved down. Shona went to the lighthouse anyway.

She came back drenched, water pooling in her wellington boots. Mrs Headle wasn’t behind the reception desk. A young man wearing a suit was on duty instead. He was setting the desk top leaflets at right angles.

‘Can I help you?’

‘I’m staying in room 301.’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You know, you could’ve borrowed an umbrella.’

‘Right, thanks, I didn’t know,’ Shona said. She took off her boots and climbed the stairs in sodden socks.

Shona showered and changed her clothes. Rain remained steadily pouring. Guests were only provided with breakfast, and must find their other meals elsewhere so Shona put her damp wellies back on and descended to the lobby. The desk was abandoned. Shona looked behind it, but there were no umbrellas.

She tried the first of the three doors leading from the lobby. It swung open in to a dark room. Stumbling against furniture shapes in the room’s gloom she began to make out shelves stacked with objects. Taking down a cup from a shelf she saw that it was filled with sand. She ran a finger along the shelf. The entire length of it was sandy. Her feet whispered as she moved. She looked down: the floor was piled with sand as well. The door to the room closed.

In the new darkness Shona called out, ‘Are you there? Are you there?’ without hearing a response.