Atop the lighthouse he gazed to sea, proud, lonely, his pitted face protected from wind-whipped raindrops by a knotted, salt-caked beard.
The barber had offered a free shave, but who’d ever heard of a beardless lighthouse keeper?
He didn’t realize… It was his own lighthouse, broadcasting to all, “Steer clear!”
This story was based on the prompt “lighthouse” at TypeTrigger.
The former mayor sat pouting in the gutter. “He’s hoodwinked them all with his luscious, bushy beard!” he muttered. “I must uncover his secret! But how?”
“Did somebody say ‘Butt Howe’?” wheedled a large rat wearing a silk top hat. “At your service!”
“You can help me?”
“For a price.”
This story is a sequel to this story.
He had the biggest, bushiest, amazingest beard.
People would approach him in restaurants or on the street and ask to take his picture. He was half celebrity, half tourist attraction.
The mayor accused him of using a fake beard, but testing determined that it was real.
The mayor was impeached.