The Watcher's Signal

PROLOGUE
Elias Rourke wrote in his journal as a storm battered the island. Lightning lit up the cliffs, and waves pounded the rocks below the lighthouse. He’d seen storms before, but this one felt wrong. The air was heavy, and the wind carried sounds that didn’t belong—low whispers just at the edge of hearing.

The light wasn’t working properly. He’d disconnected the machinery earlier, but it still flashed, throwing erratic beams into the night. Rourke noted this in his journal, trying to stay logical. But things were happening that logic couldn’t explain.

His dreams had changed. Each night, he saw his wife—long dead—waiting for him in places they’d never been together. In these dreams, shadows stood behind her, watching him. He woke up drenched in sweat, the whispers from the wind still in his ears.

The journal entries became frantic. He wrote about ships appearing on the horizon. They didn’t move like real ships. Some were broken, with torn sails. Others vanished as quickly as they came. He smashed the lighthouse lens in desperation. By morning, it was whole again.

In his final entry, Rourke wrote: "I tried to leave. The boat brought me back. I broke the light. It rebuilt itself. This place takes what you can’t bear to lose. If you see the light, turn away. Don’t let it see you."

The pages ended there. Outside, the lighthouse stood silent, its beam slicing through the dark, as if waiting for something new.








CHAPTER 1
The email was short. It came from someone named David Rhodes. I didn’t know him, but his message intrigued me.

Dr. Kane,
I’m writing to invite you to join a field study on a phenomenon we believe is connected to unexplained energy anomalies. The site is an abandoned lighthouse on an uninhabited island. I’ve read your work and believe your expertise is vital. If you’re interested, we can meet to discuss the details.
Best,
David Rhodes

I read it twice, then a third time. It wasn’t unusual for people to contact me about strange phenomena. Most of the time, their claims didn’t hold up. They’d seen something they couldn’t explain and assumed it was groundbreaking. But something about this felt different. The lighthouse’s location wasn’t listed, and the tone was straightforward. No fluff. Just enough to get my attention.
I replied the same day.

We met at a small coffee shop near the coast. David was younger than I expected, maybe mid-thirties, with a weathered look that came from too much time outdoors. He had a thick folder with him.
“Thank you for meeting me,” he said, sliding the folder across the table.
Inside were old photos of the lighthouse. Most were grainy, but a few were clear. The light beam looked strange in some of them, as if it wasn’t just illuminating the night but cutting through it.
“These are from the 1940s,” David said. “The lighthouse was decommissioned in 1937, but locals kept seeing the light. They say it’s never fully gone out.”
I studied the photos. One showed a shipwreck near the island, the hull cracked open like an egg. Another was a journal entry—the handwriting messy, the words desperate.
“Do you believe in ghosts?” David asked suddenly.
“No,” I said. “But I believe in unexplained energy fields."
He nodded, like that was the answer he’d expected.
“There’s something about this place,” he said. “I’ve been researching it for years. People see things when they get close. Ships go off course. Instruments fail. It’s like the lighthouse messes with reality itself.”
“And you think it’s connected to an energy anomaly?” I asked.
David shrugged. “I think it’s dangerous. But you’re the expert. That’s why I need you.”

We set out a week later. The team consisted of four people: me, David, a survivalist named Tom Halstead, and Angela Vega, who seemed more interested in filming everything than in the lighthouse itself.

We all gathered at Cloudy's Pub, a local pub off the shoreline from the lighthouse. The pub smelled of salt and damp wood. A soft hum of voices filled the air as locals shared stories over pints. I sat at a corner table, running my finger along the edge of a weathered map. My eyes flicked to the lighthouse’s mark on the map—a small black X surrounded by nothing but open sea and coastlines.
David Rhodes was the first to arrive. He approached the table with a leather-bound notebook tucked under his arm. His clothes were neat, though his glasses perched crookedly on his nose. He set the notebook down with care, like it contained something fragile.
“Dr. Kane, pleasure to meet you again,” he said, his voice measured and calm. “This lighthouse, it’s an enigma. Did you know that over thirty ships disappeared in its vicinity in the late 1800s?”
I nodded. “I read some of the records. But I’m more interested in the energy readings. The patterns are… unusual.”
He adjusted his glasses. “Unusual doesn’t begin to cover it. This place has a history that defies logic.”
Before I could reply, Angela Vega burst through the door. She wore a bright yellow jacket that seemed out of place in the dim pub. A camera hung around her neck, and her phone was already in her hand.
“Hey, are you Dr. Kane?” she asked, her tone light and eager. She pulled out a chair and sat before I could answer. “This is going to be epic. The lighthouse looks so creepy from the shore. My followers are going to love this.”
David frowned. “This isn’t a sightseeing trip, Miss Vega. We’re here to investigate.”
“Exactly,” she said, grinning. “And I’m here to document it. People eat this stuff up.”
Tom Halstead arrived last. He moved with purpose, his heavy boots scuffing against the floor. A backpack sagged on his shoulders, packed full of gear. He scanned the room before settling into the seat next to Angela. He looked at each of us in turn, his expression unreadable.
“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Who’s actually in charge here?”
I cleared my throat. “I organized the trip. But we’re a team. Everyone’s input matters.”
Tom raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Just don’t expect me to buy into ghost stories.”
“It’s not about ghosts,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “There’s an unexplained energy signature coming from the lighthouse. That’s why we’re here.”
Angela smirked. “Energy, ghosts, shipwrecks. Whatever it is, it’s going to make a great story.”
David opened his notebook. “The lighthouse has been abandoned for decades. But there are accounts of strange lights and sounds, even as far back as the 19th century.”
“Accounts from drunk sailors,” Tom muttered.
“Not all of them,” David countered. “Some were experienced navigators. They reported seeing lights when the tower was dark, or hearing the sound of a foghorn when there was no mist.”
Tom leaned forward. “And what do you think? That the place is cursed?”
David hesitated, then shook his head. “I think there’s something there we don’t understand.”
I looked at the map again, tracing the coastline with my finger. “Whatever it is, we’ll find out. But we need to be prepared. The island’s isolated, and the weather can turn fast.”
Tom nodded. “I’ve got the gear we’ll need. But if anyone’s having second thoughts, now’s the time to speak up.”
Nobody said anything. The silence hung heavy, charged with a mix of excitement and unease.
“Alright then,” I said. “We leave at first light.”

The boat ride to the island was unnerving. The water grew unnaturally still as we approached. The air felt heavier, like it carried more than just moisture. Angela pointed her camera at the horizon and frowned.
“That’s weird,” she said. “The lens is picking up… static? I’ve never seen that before.”
I looked out at the lighthouse. It seemed to loom over the island, taller than it had any right to be. The beam was faint, but it moved steadily, cutting across the dark water.
“It’s not running on any power source I know of,” I said.
“It’s been like that for decades,” David said. “No one’s been able to explain it.”
































CHAPTER 2
The boat rocked gently as the engine hummed. The mainland had already disappeared behind us, swallowed by the horizon. Tom sat at the helm, hands steady on the wheel, his face locked in concentration. Angela stood at the bow, her camera angled at the endless stretch of water. She was narrating for her audience, but the wind swallowed her voice.
David was beside me, flipping through his leather-bound journal. Every so often, he jotted a note or tapped the page as though solving some puzzle only he could see.
I tried to focus on the instruments in my lap. The portable electromagnetic field reader had been calibrated that morning, but the numbers didn’t make sense. The readings spiked and dropped, like a signal trying to break through static.

“It’s acting up again,” I muttered.
David glanced over. “What does it mean?”
“Nothing good,” I said. “Or maybe everything good, depending on your perspective.”
The sea stretched smooth and still, unnaturally calm. Tom leaned back and called out, “This is eerie. Where’s the chop?”
I nodded. He was right. Even with perfect weather, the ocean should have shown some resistance. A wave, a ripple, something.
Angela turned, camera in hand. “What are you two whispering about? Don’t keep the mystery to yourselves.”
“Just noticing the water,” I said.
“It’s dead calm,” Tom added, without looking away from the horizon.
“That’s perfect for filming,” Angela said, smiling. “My viewers are going to love this.” She lifted her camera again, but a frown crossed her face as she watched the playback.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“There’s... I don’t know. It’s glitchy.” She tilted the screen toward me.
The footage looked normal at first. Clear skies, smooth water, the faint outline of Tom steering the boat. But then came a flash—quick, almost imperceptible. I asked her to rewind it.
The flash came again. This time, I caught it. A shadow, tall and thin, swept across the frame. It was gone before I could make sense of it.
“Could be an issue with your camera,” I suggested.
She shook her head. “This camera doesn’t glitch.”
Tom cut the engine. “You guys seeing this?”

Ahead of us, the lighthouse emerged. Its silhouette was sharp against the pale sky. From a distance, it looked no different than the pictures I’d studied. But as we drew closer, it seemed to grow. Not just taller—larger in every way. The proportions felt wrong, like the tower was leaning toward us.

“That thing’s huge,” David said.
“It wasn’t that big in the photos,” Angela added.
I checked my compass. The needle spun wildly, refusing to settle. The GPS on my tablet displayed nothing but error codes.
Tom noticed my reaction. “What’s going on with your tech?”
“Same thing as before,” I said. “It’s like everything’s being scrambled.”

The lighthouse flickered. Its beam swept across the sea, even though it hadn’t been operational in decades. The light didn’t seem natural. It pulsed in uneven intervals, dimming and brightening as though alive.
We reached the beach a few minutes later. Rusted metal jutted out of the sand—pieces of old shipwrecks. Bones lay scattered among the wreckage, their surfaces almost polished. Too clean.

Angela stepped off the boat first, camera already rolling. “This place is amazing,” she said, her excitement masking any unease.
Tom followed, shouldering a pack of gear. “This is a bad idea,” he muttered.
David knelt to examine a bone. “Human,” he said.
I stepped onto the sand last, my gaze fixed on the lighthouse. The pulsing light was slower now, deliberate. Each flash seemed to carry weight, like a signal I couldn’t decode.
Tom looked at me. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I said, though I wasn’t sure if I believed it.

I picked up a small piece of glass and realized it was part of a lens, like the kind used in old lighthouses. It was warm to the touch.
Something about the island felt wrong. And I had a feeling it wasn’t going to get better.

“This isn’t normal,” I said, mostly to myself.
David looked at me. “That’s why we’re here.”
























CHAPTER 3
The lighthouse door creaked as Tom pushed it open. A stale, damp smell hit us immediately. The air inside was colder, heavy like it carried its own weight. I stepped in behind him, my flashlight cutting through the dark.
The space felt abandoned, yet untouched. Thick layers of dust coated the floor, but the air itself buzzed faintly. It reminded me of the charge you feel before a storm.

“Don’t split up,” Tom said, his voice low.
“No one’s splitting up,” I replied.
Angela was already filming, her camera light bouncing off the walls. “This is so creepy,” she whispered. “It’s perfect.”

David lingered near the entrance, staring at the walls. “Look at these,” he said, pointing to strange carvings.
I moved closer. The symbols were etched deep into the stone. They looked like constellations, but the patterns didn’t match anything I recognized. Beside them were diagrams—circles within circles, intersecting lines, and jagged shapes that seemed to radiate outward.
“What do you think they mean?” David asked.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But whoever made these was trying to communicate something.”
Angela’s camera beeped as she zoomed in on the carvings. “Maybe your followers can figure it out,” Tom muttered.
“I’m documenting history,” she shot back, unfazed.

Something glinted in the corner of the room. I walked toward it and found an old leather-bound book on a rusted table. The cover was worn, the edges frayed, but the name “Elias Rourke” was faintly visible.
“His journal,” I said, holding it up.
David’s eyes lit up. “That’s priceless,” he said, reaching for it.

I handed it over, and he carefully flipped through the pages. The handwriting was messy, the ink faded, but the words were legible.
“‘The light behaves as if it’s alive,’” David read aloud. “‘It calls to us, but its whispers grow louder each night.’”
Angela turned to him, lowering her camera. “Whispers? Like voices?”
“I guess so,” he said, frowning.

As if on cue, a faint sound drifted through the room. It wasn’t the wind, and it wasn’t us. It was low, fragmented, almost like a conversation just out of earshot.
“Did you hear that?” Angela asked, her voice tight.
“Yeah,” Tom said, gripping his flashlight like a weapon.
“It’s probably the wind moving through cracks,” I said, though I didn’t believe it.
Angela stepped further into the room, her camera catching something on the wall. “Wait. Look at this.”

We gathered around an old photograph hanging crookedly on the stone. The edges were yellowed, the image slightly blurred. It showed a group of men in heavy coats, standing in front of the lighthouse. Elias Rourke was in the center, his face stern and weathered.
But it wasn’t just them.
Behind the men were faint shapes, like figures caught in motion. I leaned in, squinting. My heart skipped.
The shapes were us.
Angela with her camera, David holding his journal, Tom gripping his gear, and me staring at the photo. We were all there, faint but unmistakable.

“That’s not possible,” I said.
Angela stepped back, her camera shaking. “This is insane.”
Tom grabbed the photo off the wall and stared at it. “It’s a trick,” he said, but his voice wasn’t convincing.

David flipped through the journal again, faster this time. “He wrote about time being different here. He thought the light affected it.”
“Great,” Tom said. “Now we’re part of some lighthouse ghost story?”
The whispers grew louder.
“Let’s keep moving,” I said. I didn’t have answers, but standing still wasn’t going to help.

As we climbed the stairs, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the light wasn’t just drawing us in—it had been waiting for us.














CHAPTER 4
Night fell quickly. The temperature dropped, and the silence around the lighthouse deepened. I stayed near the control panel, examining the equipment. It was outdated but strangely intact, as if someone had been maintaining it.
Angela had her camera out, filming the light’s lens. Tom stood by the window, watching the sea. David flipped through Elias’s journal, mumbling notes to himself.
Then, it happened.

The lens flared to life without warning. Its beam cut through the room, illuminating everything in an eerie, shifting glow. The light felt alive, like it was searching.
“What the hell?” Tom said, shielding his eyes.
“I didn’t touch anything,” I said quickly.
Angela pointed her camera at the lens. “It’s... beautiful,” she said. Her voice was distant, almost hypnotized.

The room began to hum. Not loudly, but enough to rattle my chest. The air felt heavy again, like earlier. But this time, it was worse.
And then the visions began.

I was in a lecture hall. It was my old university, but something was off. The walls were too smooth, the light too dim. My students sat in neat rows, staring at me. Their faces were blurred, indistinct.
I opened my mouth to speak, but the floor started to flood. Water rushed in from nowhere, rising fast. I tried to move, but my feet wouldn’t budge.
Through the glass of the lecture hall door, I saw myself. Not this version of me, but another. She stared back, her expression unreadable. Then she whispered, “It’s already too late.”
The water rose past my knees. I gasped for air—

And then I was back in the lighthouse. My breath came in short, shallow bursts.

David sat on the floor, pale and shaking. “I was on a ship,” he said, staring at his hands. “It was sinking. I was dressed like... like someone from the 1800s.” He looked at us, desperate. “It felt real.”

Angela lowered her camera. Her face was blank, but her hands trembled. “I was filming,” she said quietly. “Here, in this room. But my reflection... it was smiling.” She met my eyes. “I wasn’t.”

Tom stayed silent for a long moment. Finally, he muttered, “I was in a war. But it wasn’t like before. I wasn’t fighting. I was... the one being hunted.”

The light continued to glow, casting shifting shadows across the room.
“This is... some kind of energy anomaly,” I said, though I barely believed my own words. “The light—it’s triggering something in our brains.”
“No,” Angela said, her voice sharp. “This isn’t just in our heads. This is something else.”

The light flared again, brighter this time. The whispers from earlier returned, but now they were louder, clearer. They came from everywhere and nowhere.
“We have to turn it off,” Tom said, stepping toward the lens.
“Don’t touch it!” I snapped. I didn’t know what it would do, but I wasn’t ready to find out.
David stood, clutching Elias’s journal. “He wrote about this,” he said, flipping to a page near the end. “‘The light sees us. It shows us what we can’t hide.’”

The words sent a chill through me.
“What does that even mean?” Angela asked, her voice shaking.
“I don’t know,” David said.

The beam shifted, its glow sweeping over the walls. For a brief moment, the carvings lit up, their patterns glowing faintly. Then the light dimmed, and the hum stopped.

The room fell silent again.

No one moved.

Finally, Angela whispered, “What just happened?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But this isn’t over.”









CHAPTER 5
We decided to leave. The air in the lighthouse felt heavier with every passing minute. Something was wrong.

“Let’s get out of here,” Tom said, his voice firm. Angela and David nodded. I didn’t argue.
We headed toward the stairs, but they didn’t lead to the door. We climbed down, but when we reached the bottom, we were back where we started—on the same floor.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Angela said, clutching her camera.
“Try again,” Tom said.

We climbed down again, this time faster. The steps seemed endless. When we stopped, the same room waited for us.
“This isn’t possible,” I said. I leaned against the wall, catching my breath. “The stairs are looping.”
“Maybe we missed a turn,” David said, though he didn’t sound convinced.
“We didn’t,” I replied.

We tried other routes. A hallway appeared where there shouldn’t have been one, leading to a room that felt out of place. It was filled with strange objects: a Victorian dress draped over a chair, rusted swords mounted on the walls, and a tablet glowing faintly on a table.
“What is this?” Angela asked, picking up the tablet. It didn’t turn on.
“These things don’t belong here,” I said, running my fingers over the dress. It felt real. The sword was rusted, but sharp. The mix of objects made no sense—different eras, different places, all together in one room.
“Is this part of the lighthouse?” David asked.
“It can’t be,” I said. “This room shouldn’t exist.”

As we left the room, the shadows started moving. At first, they stayed in the corners, flickering like candlelight. But with each pass of the light beam, they grew bolder. I saw one stretch toward Angela, almost touching her before retreating.
“Did you see that?” I asked.
“See what?” Angela said, glancing around.
“The shadows. They’re moving,” I said.
Tom stepped forward, scanning the room. “You’re imagining things.”
“I’m not,” I said. But I couldn’t prove it.

David flipped through Elias’s journal, muttering to himself. Finally, he stopped. “Listen to this,” he said. “‘The light bends the boundaries. Past, present, and future bleed together. The shadows are what’s left behind.’”
“What does that mean?” Angela asked.
“It means the lens is doing this,” I said. “It’s creating a distortion—a kind of energy bridge between timelines.”

David shook his head. “Or it’s something else. Something supernatural. Sailors used to talk about soul-stealing lighthouses. What if this is one of them?”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “This is energy, not magic.”
“Can you prove that?” David shot back.
“I don’t need to,” I said. “The evidence is here. The light, the objects, the way space is warping—this is a physical phenomenon.”
“And the shadows? The visions? What’s your explanation for those?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet,” I admitted.

The argument was cut short by a loud creak. The beam of light swept over us, and the shadows surged forward. This time, everyone saw them.
“Run!” Tom shouted.
We bolted, taking another staircase. It didn’t matter where it led—anywhere was better than staying. But when we stopped, we were back where we started.

The lighthouse wasn’t letting us go.




CHAPTER 6
The stairs creaked under our weight as we climbed. The air grew colder the closer we got seemingly to the top once again. No one spoke. I could feel the tension in every step.

When we reached the chamber, the lens was there, as if waiting for us. It sat in the center of the room, glowing with a light that didn’t seem natural. The glow pulsed, faint at first, then stronger, like a heartbeat.

I stepped closer. The lens wasn’t just glass. It was crystalline, with sharp edges that caught the light and scattered it in strange patterns. Etched into its surface were symbols I didn’t recognize. They looked like writing, but not in any language I’d ever seen.
“This isn’t man-made,” I said. My voice was steady, but my mind raced.
“What do you mean?” Angela asked.
“Look at it,” I said, gesturing to the carvings. “No tool could make these cuts. And the way it glows—it’s not reflecting light. It’s generating it.”
David knelt by the walls. “There’s more,” he said.

We joined him. The walls were covered in carvings, just like the lens. Some showed ships crashing into rocks, their sails torn by the wind. Others showed figures in the water, their arms reaching out, their faces frozen in terror.
“This must’ve taken years to carve,” Angela said, tracing the lines with her fingers.
“Not if the same people who made the lens made these,” I said.

David pointed to one carving. It showed figures walking toward the lens. Their bodies became less distinct as they moved closer, until they were nothing but light.
“They’re... dissolving,” Angela said.
“They’re not dissolving,” David said. “They’re being taken.”
“Taken where?” Tom asked.

David didn’t answer.

I couldn’t look away from the image. My mind tried to make sense of it. If the lens was a receiver, like a radio picking up a signal, what was it receiving? And why did it need people?

“This isn’t supernatural,” I said, more to myself than anyone else. “It’s energy. Interdimensional energy, maybe. The carvings are just someone’s way of explaining what they saw.”
David turned to me. “Or it’s exactly what it looks like. A lighthouse that takes souls.”
“That’s not possible,” I said.
“Neither is this,” he shot back, gesturing at the lens.

The room fell silent. The light from the lens pulsed again, brighter this time. Shadows flickered along the walls, but none of us moved.

“This thing is ancient,” I said finally. “Older than the lighthouse. Maybe older than us. We have to figure out what it’s doing before it decides to do it to us.”

No one argued.
CHAPTER 7
The whispers were louder now, like a hundred voices speaking at once, their words twisting together until they became impossible to understand. Each breath I took felt heavier, like the air itself had weight.

Angela’s camera beeped, breaking the silence. She was staring at the screen, her face pale.

“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s... us,” she said. Her hands shook as she turned the screen toward me.

I leaned closer. The footage showed the room we were standing in, but it wasn’t the same. Tom was sprawled on the floor, blood pooling beneath him. Angela was slumped against a wall, her camera smashed at her feet. David was screaming, though I couldn’t hear what. And then there was me—frozen in place, staring at something out of frame.
“That’s not real,” I said.
“It hasn’t happened yet,” Angela whispered.

Tom moved toward the nearest window. “That’s it. We’re getting out of here.”
“Wait—” I started, but he ignored me.

He grabbed a chair and swung it at the glass. The sound of the impact echoed through the room. The glass cracked, spiderwebbing out from the point of contact, but before the shards could fall, they began to knit themselves back together.
Tom swung again. The same thing happened.
“It’s not letting us leave,” he said, turning to me. His voice was sharp, filled with blame. “You brought us here.”
“I didn’t know this would happen,” I said.
“You’re the scientist,” he snapped. “You should’ve known.”
“Arguing won’t help,” David said. He was crouched by the wall again, running his fingers over the carvings. “We need to figure out what this place is.”
“It’s a death trap,” Tom said.
“It’s more than that,” David said. He sounded calm, almost too calm. “These carvings—they’re not just stories. They’re instructions. Warnings.”
“For what?” Angela asked.

David didn’t answer. He kept tracing the symbols, muttering under his breath.

“David,” I said, stepping closer. “What do you see?”
“It’s all connected,” he said. “The lens, the carvings, the whispers. It’s feeding off us—our fears, our regrets. That’s how it works.”
“How do we stop it?” I asked.

He didn’t respond.

The light from the lens pulsed again, brighter this time. The shadows in the corners of the room stretched and shifted, creeping toward us. I felt a chill run down my spine.
“We’re running out of time,” I said.

Tom turned back to the window, his frustration boiling over. Angela stayed by the camera, her hands still trembling. And David... he wouldn’t stop staring at the wall.

The whispers grew louder. They weren’t just noise anymore. They were words, clear and deliberate.

“Stay,” they said.

I swallowed hard. My chest felt tight, like the room was closing in. I didn’t know if it was the lighthouse or something else, but the voice was right.

We couldn’t leave—not yet.




















CHAPTER 8
The lens loomed above us, glowing with a pulse that made the air around it hum. Its crystalline surface shimmered, the alien symbols etched into it alive with energy. My breath hitched as I studied it. It wasn’t just a piece of technology; it was a living thing.

“We overload the backup generator,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “If we push it beyond its limit, the energy surge should destroy the lens.”

Angela gripped her camera tightly. “We have to document this. People need to know what happened here.”

Tom scoffed, pacing near the doorway. “If we don’t make it out, what difference does it make?” His face was pale, his usual bravado cracked.
“We’ll make it,” I said, though I wasn’t sure I believed it.

David was silent, staring at the carvings on the wall again. He hadn’t said much since we climbed back up.
“We need to move,” I urged. “The lighthouse won’t let this be easy.”

As if on cue, the room began to shift. The floor beneath us rippled like water. The staircases spiraled in impossible directions, folding back on themselves. I grabbed the edge of a table to steady myself.
“It’s trying to stop us,” Angela said, her voice trembling.
Tom laughed bitterly. “Yeah, no kidding.”

We moved cautiously, navigating the warped geometry of the lighthouse. The whispers were back, louder than before. They weren’t distant murmurs anymore—they were screams. Voices filled with anger, pain, and desperation.
“Do you hear that?” Angela asked.
“I hear it,” I said, trying to block it out.

We reached the generator room after what felt like hours, though my watch told me it had been only minutes. The walls here were slick with condensation, the air heavy with the scent of burnt metal.
I opened the panel and started rewiring the controls. My hands shook, but I forced myself to focus.

“Is it going to work?” Tom asked, standing guard by the door.
“It has to,” I said.

Angela set up her camera, pointing it at the generator and then back at me. “This is the truth,” she muttered to herself. “People need to see.”
David stepped forward, his face shadowed. “Wait.”
“What?” I asked without looking up.
“The carvings,” he said. “They’re warnings. Destroying the lens might not end this. It might make things worse.”
I paused, my fingers hovering over the wires. “Worse how?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
“We don’t have another option,” I said firmly. “We can’t leave it intact.”

Before he could respond, the door slammed shut. The temperature in the room dropped, and my breath turned to mist.
“They’re here,” Angela whispered.

The shadows in the corners of the room stretched and shifted. Figures emerged, stepping into the dim light. They were us—or versions of us.

I saw myself first. The doppelgänger’s eyes were hollow, its movements jerky and unnatural. It smiled, but it wasn’t a human expression.
“They’re not real,” I said, though my voice wavered.

Tom’s double lunged at him, forcing him to the ground. Angela screamed, backing into the wall as her copy advanced on her, its hands reaching for her throat.
“Keep them away from me!” Tom yelled.

I grabbed a wrench from the floor and swung it at the doppelgänger approaching me. It shattered like glass, its fragments dissolving into mist.
“Focus!” I shouted. “We have to finish this!”

David tackled his double, pinning it to the ground. Angela’s camera clattered to the floor as she kicked her doppelgänger away.

I turned back to the generator, forcing myself to block out the chaos. My fingers moved quickly, connecting wires and flipping switches. The hum of the machine grew louder, the lights in the room flickering.
“Now!” I yelled.

The generator surged. Sparks flew, and the room was bathed in a blinding white light. The lens above us cracked, a deafening sound like thunder echoing through the lighthouse.

The screams reached a crescendo and then stopped.

When the light faded, the room was silent. The lens was shattered, its pieces scattered across the floor.
“We did it,” I whispered.

Angela picked up her camera, her hands trembling. Tom leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. David stared at the shattered remains of the lens, his face unreadable.

But something didn’t feel right. The air was too still, too quiet. The lighthouse wasn’t done with us yet.












CHAPTER 9
The generator was ready, humming with unstable energy. I crouched beside it, my hands trembling as I adjusted the last connection. Angela hovered near me, her camera forgotten for once.

“We’re almost there,” I said, trying to steady my voice.

The lighthouse groaned around us. It wasn’t just a sound—it was a feeling, a pressure in my chest, like the place itself was alive and furious.
“We don’t have time,” Tom said sharply. He stood by the doorway with David, their eyes fixed on the hallway outside.

It was coming.

The shadows at the edge of the light twisted and stretched, forming something too large to be real. It wasn’t a shape I could describe. It moved in ways that defied logic, a mass of writhing blackness. The whispers we’d heard earlier had become guttural screams.

Tom gripped a rusted pipe he’d picked up earlier. “Get that thing running,” he barked.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My fingers fumbled with the wires, trying to work faster.

The entity surged forward, spilling into the room like ink in water. The temperature plummeted, and I could feel it in my bones—an unnatural cold that sapped my strength.

David stepped in front of it, his body tense. “Go!” he shouted at me.
“David—” I started, but he cut me off.
“Just finish it!”

He charged at the thing with a broken chair leg, swinging wildly. It swallowed him whole. One moment he was there, and then he wasn’t.
“No!” Angela screamed.

Tom didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the remnants of a chair and hurled them at the entity. “Over here!” he yelled, drawing its attention.

The thing paused, as if it was considering him. Then it moved toward him, faster than I thought possible.

“Get it done, Kane!” he shouted, his voice strained as he swung the pipe.

I forced myself to turn back to the generator. My vision blurred, but I kept working. The hum grew louder, shaking the floor beneath us.
“Angela,” I said, my voice tight. “Help me with the switch.”

She dropped to her knees beside me, her hands trembling as she reached for the lever.
“I don’t know if this will work,” I admitted.
“It has to,” she whispered.

Behind us, Tom screamed.

I didn’t look.

“On three,” I said. “One, two—”

We pulled the lever together.

The generator roared to life, and the room filled with blinding light. The lens above us cracked, a jagged line splitting it in two.

The entity let out a sound I can only describe as a howl, deep and resonant. The pressure in the air lifted for a moment, then came crashing back.

The lens shattered completely. The explosion threw us to the ground. Shards of glass rained down, glittering like frozen stars.

The light swallowed everything.

I don’t remember hitting the floor. All I remember is the silence that followed.

And the darkness.







CHAPTER 10
I woke up on cold sand. The sound of waves breaking on the shore was rhythmic and calm, but it felt wrong, as if it didn’t belong. My head pounded.

The sky above me was unfamiliar. The stars were all wrong—constellations I couldn’t name. They shimmered faintly, too bright and too close. I sat up slowly, my limbs heavy and unsteady.

There was someone else nearby, curled up in the sand. Angela was her name. How did I know? A camera was slung over her shoulder, its lens cracked. She stirred and opened her eyes, blinking in confusion.
“Where…?” she whispered.

I didn’t know.
“Are you okay?” I asked. My voice sounded strange to me, hollow.

She nodded, but her eyes darted around, searching for answers. “Do you remember anything?”
I froze. Do I remember? The question should have been simple, but it wasn’t. My name came to me like a faint echo. Lenora Kane. That was all I had. Everything else was a blank space, heavy and suffocating.
“I don’t,” I admitted.

Angela checked her camera, her hands shaking. She hit a few buttons, then held it up to show me. Static filled the screen, buzzing and crackling. The sound made my teeth ache. Occasionally, an image broke through—Angela’s face, her eyes wide and filled with terror, her mouth forming words I couldn’t hear.

She dropped the camera in the sand and backed away from it, her breath shallow. “What is this? What happened to us?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

We sat there in silence for what felt like hours. The mainland stretched out behind us, but it didn’t feel real. The buildings looked normal, but there was something off about them, like they belonged to another world.

Angela stood first. “We need to figure out where we are.”

I nodded and followed her. My legs felt like lead. Every step was an effort.

The whispers started that night.

At first, I thought they were the wind moving through the empty rooms of the motel where we’d found shelter. But they had a rhythm, a cadence, almost like language. They came when I was alone.

I didn’t tell Angela.

One night, I stepped outside to look at the sky again. I couldn’t stop staring at the stars. They seemed alive, pulsing faintly, like they were watching me.
I found myself whispering back.

Angela caught me once.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked. Her voice was tight.

I turned to her, but I didn’t have an answer.
She didn’t press me, but I saw the fear in her eyes.

We never recovered our memories. Fragments came back sometimes—a flash of emotion, a sound, a scent—but they didn’t fit together. They were pieces of a puzzle with no edges, just floating in a void.

Angela’s camera stayed broken. She never touched it again.

Months passed, maybe longer. Time felt meaningless. I tried to focus on the present, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been taken from me.

One evening, I saw a newspaper in a shop window. The headline caught my attention: Unexplained Beacon Draws Sailors to Island.

There was a photo of the lighthouse. Its light was faint, barely more than a flicker, but it was there.

I stared at the image until Angela pulled me away. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, her voice firm but trembling.

But it did matter.

Somewhere, on that island, it was still waiting.

The whispers grew louder that night.