When the time came for my passing, my family called the town voodoo doctor. As he looked at my injuries with clouded eyes, he told me he could do nothing for the living nor the dead.

“I can only offer my counsel,” He said, “Should you encounter a lighthouse on your journey to worlds beyond, know to turn way. Many are drawn to its comforting beacon, but a lighthouse is a stark warning– venture this path at your own peril.”

I did of course, not know what a lighthouse was. I had never seen one. There were no lighthouses in Mali. When I was finally laid to rest, I found myself in a desolate desert devoid of sand under a starless sky. I walked aimlessly for time unknown until I reached a beach, where an endless pier stretched over an endless shore.

My heart stopped when I saw the lighthouse on the jagged rocks. I had never seen one but I knew what it was. Vast whispers beckoned my heart forward and compelled my mind to abandon reason. A spider weaves a web. A hunter lays a trap. Who built this lighthouse?