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They get milkshakes in town, and Elias makes it last — sipping down to the dregs, even as the heavy cream and sugar sits in his stomach like cement. It’s a pleasant sort of heaviness. It anchors him.
“Someone likes Oreo,” Noa teases. She’s long since finished her strawberry shake; now, she’s sitting on the stone wall, arms braces behind her. The girl’s mass of dark curls shiver in the breeze, the sun bringing out auburn highlights amidst the rich brown. Noa’s hair always fascinates him; sometimes, when they’re both sleepy, snuggled up together, she lets him twine his fingers through it. If he tried now, though, she’d bat him away. Not the time, Elias.
He’s got time now. That’s… a new thing. One of the many changes, since Noa came along.
When she and her family moved into Oyster Cottage at the beginning of the summer, they brought… light with them. For so long, Elias’s existence had been dark and stagnant. He tended the lighthouse; he climbed on the rocks, looking out to sea; he stood at his post, and waited. Always waiting, an endless cycle of dawn and dusk, which had long lost any meaning to him. He rose and fell with the tides, fading back into the shadows… falling through cracks in time. When he opened his eyes, he never knew when it was… only that he was home, and he had a single purpose. Tend the lighthouse.
Sometimes, a few brave teens would come out to the light, giggling and hushing each other as they pushed open the ancient metal doors. Most locals never ventured near the light; it was out-of-the-way, a long walk along the beach and a steep climb up the rocky slope, and its reputation preceded it. Even folks who’d never heard the story still knew the bare bones. There’s the lighthouse where a kid died in ‘47.
The eager ghost hunters would trek up the rocks and creep into the abandoned lighthouse, hoping for a scare. Elias would stand right in front of them… and they’d walk straight though. They didn’t see him. The lighthouse was known for its ghostly glow, radiating light on dark evenings, though its lantern has long-ago been sniffed out. It shouldn’t beam. There was no one to tend to it. Except… perhaps there was. On the rocks, people sometimes glimpsed a lone figure, sitting pensive at the very edge of the cliffs… but they only saw him from a distance. Once they got close, he was always gone. Something about people forced Elias behind the curtain of time. He could only look out, hollow-eyed and uncomprehending, as they turned his lighthouse into legend.
By the time the Barzilai family rented the beachside cottage, the story was already well-known. Stonybrooke Light is haunted, you know, the realtor warned, gazing far up the beach; the lighthouse towered in the distance, decrepit and crumbling, a relic from a different time. And the houses are so old, anyways… this might not be the place for a family. Why don’t I show you some lovely properties in town? They’re more suitable…
But the family in question didn’t want “suitable”. They wanted isolated, picturesque, a tad strange. Colleen Barzilai, a prolific novelist, was seeking peace-and-quiet to write her next book— and her three children came along for the ride. Yael and Aden were nine years old, mischievous and precocious, as children always are. Their older sister, Noa would rather be at home with friends, not stuck on a secluded beach all summer. When she wasn’t reading or journaling in her room, she spent her time chasing after her siblings.
That was how they met. The twins spotted a dark figure on the rocks, sitting perilously close to the sea.
The boy was… strange. The word immediately came to Noa’s mind; the sight of him sent a chill through her, a ripple of certainty that he did not belong. Like… peering through a crack in time, and glimpsing something on the other side. For some reason, the boy frightened her. It wasn't like he'd done anything…
But he’d been sitting there for hours. Just there on the rocks at the base of the lighthouse, not even flinching when the waves crashed near him. One of their rules for staying in the beach house was, never play on the rocks. Noa’s mother must have said it a million times, ‘til it was drilled in her head… but this boy didn’t have the same rule, apparently. The amount of times the waves crashed close to him, and Noa was sure he’d be washed away…
But the boy held out, every time. A tiny figure on the shoreline, hunched forward, staring out at sea.
Noa didn’t want anything to do with him, Of course, her little sister disagreed.
As the three kids approached the rocks, Elias noticed. He had to notice them; they were an anomaly in his world, something alive and vibrant in this place of desolation. He studied them from the corner of his eyes for a long time… and then, as they drew closer, the little girl began to skip. The little boy swung his bucket at his side. Closer and closer to the rocks, to him…
And realization set in. They saw him.
He couldn’t believe it at first. It wasn’t possible. It had been so long since someone spoke to him, smiled at him…
But here was a sunshiney little girl, grinning up at him and holding out a bottle of Sprite.
“We brought you a drink! Cause, y’know, you been sitting up there forever, and you looked real hot,” Yael declares, standing on her tiptoes. She tries to scamper up the closest rock; the older sister holds her back, hand fisted in her t-shirt. Absolutely not on her watch.
Elias remained wary, but… a little curious. A tiny smirk ghosted over his lips. This shouldn’t be happening; it hadn’t happened in years. Yet somehow, this family, these children…
“Thanks kindly, Miss.” With a deftness which astounded the siblings, the strange boy scaled the rocks, easily descending towards them. He wasn’t hesitant at all, like it was second-nature.
He took the Sprite from Yael with a nod… but he couldn’t help staring at the older girl. She was all tense and shy, peeking up at him behind her wire-rimmed glasses. Elias couldn’t help himself. His smirk deepened in a way that made her cheeks go hot. “Are y’all staying in Oyster Cottage?”
“Yup!” Yael popped her ‘p’ sound, grinning. (Did she always have to act like such a… kid? Noa couldn’t help cringing.) “We’re gonna live here all month! Our mom writes books, and looking at the sea all day gets her… ‘creative juice’ flowing.”
“So we’re on vacation,” Aden added, sloshing his bucket. “D’you know any cool tide-pools?”
“Aden,” his big sister scolded — it wasn’t nice to ask this guy to be a tour guide before even asking his name. But when the stranger caught Noa’s eye again, his smile turned her insides to water.
“There’s some pretty neat tide-pools down the beach. They fill up whenever the tide goes out. Y’could find a whole bunch of crawlers in there.”
Her little brother lit up at the notion of crabs and plankton, bouncing on his heels. Aden didn’t stick around long; he fled down to the shore, with Noa keeping a wary eye on him.
“We’re having a picnic,” Yael reported, bouncing on her heels. The older sister — burdened with the picnic basket in question — offered Elias a sheepish smile.
When his dark brown eyes met Noa’s grey, connecting behind her glasses… it was like the world slipped into alignment. Like all of a sudden, time became a bit more real. So did he.
“A picnic, huh?” he’d said in his slow coastal drawl. “Sounds like fun.”
“Sounds like a good way to get sunburn,” the older sister countered. Her voice was soft, level… nice to listen to. “And bug bites. And sand in our food.”
Elias bit back a grin, holding the soda can close to his chest. It was the first thing he’d been given in a long time. Given. His. It belonged to him. He could touch it, feel it, when he wouldn’t have been able to before. Those were the Rules.
“You wanna try up near the Wellie shoals,” he retorted, pointing to a grassy area, not far from the shoreline. “The bugs are real polite up there, promise.”
The girl blinked at him, incredulous. Elias offered a crooked grin.
That was the start.
It didn’t take much to charm an outgoing nine-year old. Within minutes, he was Yael’s new best friend, and she was hanging off his arm like a limpet. (It felt so strange to be touched.)
“Why don’t you come with us?” she chirped. “To our picnic — you can tell stories ‘bout the lighthouse. We got plenty of food!”
“Yael,” her sister exclaimed, in the same instant Elias replied, “oh, I don’t eat much.”
Not at all, actually. He hasn’t needed sustenance in… ages. As he clutches the Sprite can in his hands, though, Elias considers. If it’s been given to him… surely he has to use it, right? That’s one of the unspoken Rules. He can never refuse a gift; once accepted, the gift belongs to him; and he has to take advantage of what the gift offers. In this case… what was he going to do with a soda can?
Elias popped it open, enjoying the can’s brisk fizz. He’d never seen anything like it before. For a moment, as the sisters bickered, he just stared at the can in pure fascination.
Little Yael’s voice jolts him out of his reverie. “He can be our friend!”
“Our friend?” Noa’s voice was practically a squeak. “We don’t even know his name!”
Elias’s expression softens into an outright grin. He leaned forward, pressing against the boundaries of her space. “Well, since you’ve asked so nicely,” he drawled, and extended a callused hand. “The name’s Elias.”
His grip was strong and confident. He shook her hand with purpose, clasping her fingers for a few seconds too long, as though trading something more tangible than names. Something that would linger, long after the sound of their voices died away. Noa managed a nod, and even held his gaze for a second… before lowering her head again. As soon as they parted, she folded her arms, painfully self-conscious.
“Noa,” she said quietly. “We’re, uhh… renting the old cottage for the summer.”
Elias whistled low, glancing far down the beach. “Them cottages ‘ve gone empty for a long time.” He shrugs, raising his brows at Yael. “Except for the spiders. You mind them?”
“I love spiders,” the little girl declared. A laugh rumbled like thunder through Elias’s chest.
“Well, guess that makes us neighbors.”
The little girl’s eyes widened as realization hit her, but it was Noa who blurted out: “You live here? In the— uhh—“
They both gaped up at the old lighthouse, the crumbling brick and mortar, the ancient lattice over the door. It looked like something forgotten by time, torn from the pages of a history book. Not a place someone actually stayed, and tended to every day.
A dull thrum of pride rippled through him. Elias couldn’t do much anymore, but he tried. He took good care of the old girl.
“Aye,” he confirmed. “I live up there. Tend the light every night.”
He may as well have told them he was Humphrey Bogart. The girls’ eyes lit up, like twin flames shining in the dark. Yael squealed, barely able to contain her excitement — but Noa was quieter about it. Her expression was soft, intelligent… and so curious, it almost took his breath away. She wants to know me, he recalls thinking… and, hell, he didn’t know what to do with that.
So, he wound up getting sucked into their small family unit. It began with the picnic. Elias let himself be reeled in, coaxed into sitting with the Barzilai kids on the grassy bluffs. They gazed down at the beach while the young kids chattered — Yael about her favorite TV show, Aden about the “specimens” he was finding in the tide pools. Noa kept quiet… but she made their guest at home. Elias ended up with a sandwich on his plate, three cookies, some chips, and the can of Sprite.
“Really…” His voice wavered a little. “I’m not hungry.”
“You don’t have to eat it,” Noa replied — but she’d handed the plate to him, and the silent implication was, he was expected to eat. Again, the Rules rang in his head; he couldn’t turn down something he’d been given.
Hesitantly, Elias turned to the plate. After so many decades of emptiness, he had no idea if he could eat.
As it turned out, yes, he could.
By the time the picnic came to an end, he was sprawled out in the grass, hiccuping in short, sharp bursts. The meal entirely did him in. Between the sandwich, filled with hearty meat, and the cookies, and that strange bubbly soda which made him feel like he was vibrating… Elias was bowled off his feet. All the flavors… all the fullness. He’d been helpless to resist, devouring every crumb.
Noa sat beside him as the kids ran off to wade in the tide pools. Her attention was ostensibly on them, but… she couldn’t look away from the boy. He was so strange, a solitary creature tending that ancient lighthouse. Not to mention… he looked hollow. From the narrow of his limbs, the concave of his chest, the way his clothes almost hung off him… the boy was grubby, washed out, thoroughly uncared-for.
And Noa… didn’t like that.
She was an older sister by nature, compassionate to her core. She took care of people. Not because she enjoyed it, really, but it was second instinct. The idea of Elias alone in the lighthouse every night, eating crumbs and probably showering in bilge water… made something uneasy turn over in her gut.
Elias’s gut was just full. He settled back in the grass, breathing heavy. Noa was momentarily captivated by the sight of him. He rested both hands over his stomach without an ounce of shame; his lips were stained with crumbs, and his entire body was so tense. Like he wasn’t used to being full — and didn’t know how to handle it.
“You okay?” she asked softly, settling in the grass beside him.
It took him a moment to answer. “Mmm,” he managed. “Just— tryin’ to— hiIIC! Oh…”
He attempted to cover his mouth… then caught Noa’s muffled grin, and chuckled instead. “It’s not funny! I’m swollen like a whale.”
“You didn’t have to eat everything.”
“I did,” he retorted without thinking. He couldn’t explain the Rules to her, though… she wouldn’t understand. (Wouldn’t look at him the same way. And a part of him wondered if, by explaining it, the magic making this possible would shatter — like Cinderella‘s carriage turning back into a pumpkin, he’d feel dead once again.)
Instead, Elias squeezes his eyes shut, sighing heavily. “It was all so tasty. ‘Course I had to eat it all.” He massaged circles into his overpacked stomach, relishing how good digestion felt.
Noa rewarded him with a pleased flush, and Elias grinned back. She was pretty when she smiled.
He was handsome when he was full.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
And that’s… how is happens, really. He seems so hungry. Noa just wants to… take care of him.
During her morning run, she sometimes sees him on the rocks, a tiny form silhouetted against the rising dawn. When she and her siblings are exploring the tide pools or making sand castles on the beach, Elias will just… appear out of nowhere. Always barefoot, his sandy hair shaggy, his clothes dirty and reeking of sea-spray. He knows so many things about the island, the town, the lighthouse… and he’ll gladly join the little ones in their rowdy play. Elias shameless about his shabby appearance… and never complains, even though living in that old lighthouse must be desolate.
Noa worries. She can’t help herself.
“You need a drink,” she insists, and passes a can of soda to him. The boy never refuses; he always drains the soda down to the dregs. Even though it makes his stomach ache, his chest rumbling with deep belches — he really can’t handle soda. When they have extra food (a bag of chips, an ice cream sandwich) she’ll give it to him, insisting with a soft, “you can’t forget to eat today.”
Elias always obeys. Like he can’t help himself. He’ll grumble and roll his eyes — “not even hungry, the last thing I need’s a ham and cheese…” — yet he never refuses. When she gives him something, he eats every bite. When she invites him somewhere (like to her cottage, for family breakfast) he always goes.
Noa becomes accustomed to feeding him. Elias gross used to being full. It’s painfully obvious how not accustomed he is to a heavy stomach. The boy sits stiffly, clutching his gut and trying to stifle hiccups. Almost subconsciously, he slips a hand under his shirt, cradling his stuffed gut.
“You only had a waffle today,” Noa observes softly, taking a seat beside him.
Elias scoffs. “And the fruit. And the bacon. And the whipped cream on top of the waffle…” He trails off, then hiccups — a heady near-belch that rumbles up his throat with a vengeance. Grimacing, he covers his mouth a second too late. “Ugh. Sorry. More than I usually eat, that’s for sure.”
Noa’s eyes are dark and earnest behind his glasses. “What do you… usually eat?”
Elias meets her vase, undaunted. “Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner.”
“Yeah, but what— in the lighthouse, what—“
A loud groan from Elias’s belly cuts her off. He grimaces, leaning back against the couch. “Uhh. So damn much. Feels like I can’t even… breathe…”
There’s a solution for that. Noa swallows hard… and reaches. Her hand moves slowly, enough for Elias to bat her away if he wanted to. Instead, the boy allows hers to unbutton his pants. As his swollen stomach surges out, Elias groans in relief.
“Ohh…” His voice trembles a little. He gazes up at Noa, expression so soft… so needy…
It does strange things to her. In all her eighteen years, she’s never felt like this.
“I ain’t been fed like this in ages,” Elias murmurs, his voice thick and syrupy. “Didn’t know it was possible… to feel this full. Shouldn’t be. But… you make it so. You care for me, I think… care too much.“ He swallows thickly, stifling a belch. His eyes flutter in mingled relief and agony.
“You’re amazing,” he finally murmurs. His voice is so low, Noa barely hears it. “Wonderful girl. Dunno… where I’d be without you.”
That’s what settles it, for Noa. As long as she’s here, Elias is her best friend… and she’s going to make sure he’s looked after.
She’s a big sister, after all. It’s her job.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
The trouble with Noa is, she’s too generous. She perceives too much: the outline of Elias’s ribs beneath his shirt, his thin cheeks, his slender frame. After so many years of not being seen, it’s daunting to suddenly have someone’s eyes on you. Someone who cares.
Elias accepts the sodas, even though they make him burp. He comes to family breakfast and acts like it’s normal, like sitting down for waffles and juice is something he does every morning. He accepts the sandwiches she gives him, the chips, the leftovers…
And one day, when she shows up with an entire basket of food, he can’t refuse. The Rules won’t allow it.
“You need something healthy,” Noa insists as they meander down the beach. “Some actual food in that old place of yours.”
Together, they blink up at the lighthouse — towering and broad, cutting a dark figure against the night. Elias exhales, leaning against the door. He’s not afraid of the lighthouse — it belongs to him, it thrums in his blood.
“This is my stop,” he quips, still holding the wicker basket. Inside, he can see fruit preserves, sandwiches, a ton of coffee grounds… Noa has a funny definition of “healthy”.
She’s never been inside the lighthouse, though. That… will never happen.
Between one blink and the next, Elias… fades. One moment, he’s standing there in front of the lighthouse… and the next, he melts away. The lighthouse swallows him up as if it owns him. As if he isn’t allowed to exist in the world outside at all. Noa blinks again, then steps forward, trying the lighthouse door. It’s… locked.
In a daze, she wanders back down the shoreline to her secluded cottage. It doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t be possible. And yet… it’s perfectly Elias.
For the first time, Noa truly wonders if he’s human.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
So, the town. Milkshakes. Wandering until their feet ached, then treating themselves with a sweet delight. The sun beating down on their faces, the cobblestones beneath their feet — Noa’s flip-flops clopping along the pavement while he teases her. Running ahead to peer in shop windows. Gazing at ATMs, at passing cars, at traffic lights in amazement. It’s been so long since he visited town. He could never be away from the lighthouse for long… but being around Noa lessens that pull in his chest, reducing it to something nagging, not urgent. When he’s with her, Elias can breathe. He hasn’t done that in a long time.
The townspeople regard him with wary stares, keeping their distance. Instinctively, they know he is wrong — something out-of-place, that shouldn’t be. Noa has bought him new sneakers, and forces him to comb his hair. He wears a borrowed sweatshirt, which ought to be big on him, but… nowadays, he feels like the big one. His pants have grown very tight. The clothing he has worn for eighty years, lingering along with him like a second skin… is too small for him now.
He ought to be terrified. This shouldn’t happen — it’s against every single Rule, defies any sort of logic. Elias isn’t alive… but ever since meeting Noa, he feels so much more tangible. No longer out of place, tucked in a single pocket of time. It feels like… he’s living again. When he’s sitting beside Noa, their bare toes digging in the sand… when he’s making sandcastles with the twins… when his stomach is so full, he can barely sit up, and he’s slumped against Noa’s side in a sleepy haze...
Food is the best. Flavors are so vivid to him… each bite sends a burst of glorious color behind his eyelids. He feels like he could eat forever. When there’s food in front of him… he will just eat and eat until someone reminds him to stop.
“It’s cute,” Noa tells him, after he sheepishly apologizes — the family was saving a pie for dessert, and Elias decimated it in fifteen minutes. “Don’t feel bad. You… enjoy things so much more than a normal person.”
He arches a brow, a smirk tugging at his custard-stained lips. “I’m not normal, huh?”
It’s her turn to go sheepish. “I mean— you’re great! You’re really… you.”
It’s the best compliment he’s ever gotten. At least, he thinks it’s a compliment.
They kiss for the first time on a rainy Sunday afternoon, holed up in the garret of Oyster Cottage. Elias is already full from breakfast… but Noa brings him a package of Oreos, and he just can’t resist. By the time he pops the last cookie into his mouth, he feels fit to burst; his breaths come short and shallow, eyes fluttering shut. He unbuttons his pants without any shame nowadays; Noa’s used to it.
She guides his head up, and Elias’s gaze locks with hers. It’s like magnetism, the way they’re drawn together. A giddy teenage crush mixed with something impossible… but when Elias’s chocolate-stained lips find Noa’s, he doesn’t worry about death. Doesn’t remember he’s not supposed to be here — not meant to experience this sort of happiness.
Noa’s lips are the only thing that matters. That, and his full stomach.
Now, as they wander down the pier, he dips at the dregs of his Oreo milkshake. Once it’s done, Elias tosses the cup into a trash bin. His stomach feels heavy, but it’s nothing compared to what he’s used to lately. He slips a hand underneath the sweatshirt, fondling his stomach. He’s gotten… softer, these last few weeks. Already, he has a tiny gut; when he presses into the soft swell, a belch rolls up.
“‘Scuse me,” Elias mutters, flashing Noa a sheepish smile… but she’s just sitting there, her expression impossibly fond.
“I think,” she murmurs, crossing her legs at the ankles, “you like this, actually. Being full.”
He doesn’t bother to deny it. Why pretend the obvious isn’t happening? “You like feeding me.”
Noa doesn’t deny it either. “I like not being able to count your ribs. I used to worry a strong wind would blow you away.”
Elias is still fondling his stomach. He gives it a resounding pat, then steps forward, thighs brushing together as he moves. “And now?” he teases. “Considering I’ve outgrown my clothes?”
A tiny smile twitches on her lips. “Now… I think you’re a lot happier.” She pauses, some of that old Noa timidness returning. “I hope so.”
His gaze soft, Elias settles down on the stone wall beside her. Without a word, he leans into her side.
“Mmm, you’ve got me fat and happy,” he replies. There’s no rancor in his voice. He doesn’t know what he is anymore, ghost or mortal (or something in-between) but he can at least admit he’s gaining weight. It doesn’t bother Elias — not after looking the same for eighty years. Some folks chop off their hair for a fresh start, or buy a new car; he eats entire pies, apparently.
Turning his head slowly, he regards Noa with soft eyes. “Is this how you want me?”
The girl swallows hard, braces herself… and turns to look at him too. “I always want you,” she admits softly. “If… you’ll have me.”
It’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. A bark of laughter escapes him… and the ghost leans in, finding those honey-sweet lips once more. Noa tilts her head into the kiss, like opening a door and inviting an old friend in.
Somehow, she has opened a door. To the afterlife. To Elias’s eternity. And he’s slipped right through, led by the hand into… life.
Or something like it.
All he knows is, he’s happy. For the first time in ages, long before he died on those rocks… Elias can finally say, he’s content.
If it’s against the Rules, well… he can live with that.