Mara’s fingers brushed the damp stone as she pressed herself against the lighthouse wall, her breath fogging in the cold air. The storm had died hours ago, leaving only the creak of the rusted lantern and the distant crash of waves against the cliffs. She’d followed the journal’s instructions to the letter—three left turns from the old dock, then a climb up the west face—but now, standing in the shadow of the structure that had haunted her dreams since childhood, she wondered if she’d made a mistake. The journal’s pages had been yellowed and brittle, its ink smudged by time, but the symbols etched into the margins had glowed faintly when she’d traced them with her thumb. That was the part that scared her most. Not the symbols. Not the cryptic notes about “the veil between” or “the price of seeing.” It was the way the words had seemed to shift, as though they’d been written in a language that didn’t belong to this world.
A twig snapped behind her. Mara spun, heart hammering, but the darkness offered no answers. She reached for the flashlight strapped to her belt, its beam cutting through the gloom like a blade. The lighthouse entrance lay ahead, its heavy door warped and splintered. She hesitated, then stepped forward. The air inside was colder, thick with the scent of salt and something else—burnt metal, maybe, or old secrets. Her flashlight caught the wall as she moved, revealing a series of carvings that spiraled upward, their patterns too precise to be natural. They mirrored the symbols in the journal.
“This is it,” she whispered, her voice swallowed by the vastness of the space. The floor was uneven, littered with debris—broken glass, rusted tools, a frayed rope that coiled like a snake. She kicked at a loose stone, sending it skittering across the floor. A low rumble followed, and for a moment, she thought the building itself was breathing. Then the flashlight flickered, casting the room in fits of shadow. Mara tightened her grip on the journal, its edges digging into her palm.
“Mara?” The voice was faint, carried by the wind that funneled through the cracks in the lighthouse. She turned, expecting to see Jax, but the beam only caught the empty corridor leading deeper into the structure. “Jax?” Her voice came out sharper this time, laced with frustration. He’d promised to meet her here an hour ago. She checked her watch—2:47 a.m. The storm had passed, but the sky remained an inky void, starless and heavy. She considered turning back, but the journal’s final entry burned in her mind: “The veil thins at midnight. Do not look away.”
A sudden gust of wind slammed the door behind her, sending a cascade of dust into the air. Mara coughed, waving a hand in front of her face. The flashlight flickered again, and this time, the beam caught something on the far wall—a narrow passage, half-hidden by a tangle of ivy. She approached cautiously, her boots crunching over debris. The passage was barely wide enough for her to squeeze through, and the air grew colder as she moved deeper. The walls were slick with moisture, and the sound of her own breathing echoed unnaturally. Then she saw it: a door, its surface carved with the same symbols as the journal. It was ajar, as though someone had left it that way intentionally.
Mara reached for the handle, her fingers trembling. The moment she touched it, a low hum filled the air, vibrating in her bones. She pulled the door open, and the beam of her flashlight revealed a spiral staircase descending into darkness. The journal’s final note surfaced in her mind: “Beware the eyes that watch from below.” She hesitated, then stepped forward, the flashlight casting long shadows on the stone steps. Each footfall echoed, but she couldn’t tell if it was the sound of her own movement or something else. The air grew heavier, charged with an energy that made her skin prickle. She reached the bottom, where a heavy iron door stood, its surface etched with more symbols. This time, the hum was louder, almost a vibration in her teeth.
A voice cut through the silence. “You shouldn’t have come here.” Mara froze, the flashlight trembling in her hand. The voice was low, calm, and utterly certain. She turned slowly, her heart pounding. A figure stood at the far end of the room, partially obscured by shadows. “Who’s there?” she demanded, her voice shaking. The figure stepped forward, and the light caught their face—sharp features, dark eyes that seemed to gleam in the gloom. They were older than her, maybe in their late twenties, but there was something about them that felt wrong, like they didn’t quite belong in this world.
“You found the journal,” the figure said, their voice smooth as glass. “That means you’re one of us.” Mara’s grip on the journal tightened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just wanted to—” The figure raised a hand, and suddenly, the room felt colder, the air heavier. Mara took a step back, but the door behind her slammed shut with a resounding thud. “You don’t get to run,” the figure said. “Not now. Not ever.”
The flashlight died with a soft click, plunging the room into darkness. Mara’s breath came in short, panicked bursts as she fumbled for the journal. The symbols on its cover glowed faintly, casting an eerie light that revealed the figure’s face in stark detail. They were watching her, waiting. “What do you want?” she whispered. The figure tilted their head, as if considering the question. “The same thing you do,” they said. “To see.”
The room seemed to pulse, the walls vibrating with an unseen force. Mara’s mind raced. The journal, the symbols, the voice—everything pointed to something bigger than she could comprehend. But one thing was clear: she wasn’t alone in this. And whatever was waiting for her in the darkness, it had been expecting her all along.
