The salt-kissed wind howled through the skeletal remains of the town as Mara stepped off the rusted ferry, her boots crunching over gravel that had once been a street. The lighthouse stood ahead, its white tower leaning like a drunkard, the glass of its lens shattered years ago. She hadn’t set foot here since the day her father’s body was pulled from the surf, his face frozen in a scream no one could explain. Now, three years later, the town’s abandonment felt less like a ghost story and more like a warning.
The air smelled of brine and decay, but beneath that was something else—burnt sugar and old paper. Mara’s fingers brushed the edge of her backpack, where her father’s journal lay hidden. She’d found it in his study, its pages yellowed and brittle, filled with sketches of the lighthouse and notes in a cipher she’d never cracked. The last entry was a single line: *They’re coming for the light.*
A crow cawed overhead, scattering into the gray sky. Mara pressed forward, her breath visible in the cold. The town’s buildings were hollow-eyed, their windows like empty sockets. She passed the shuttered diner, its sign rusted to a mangled mess, and the closed library, its doors sealed with chains. No one had lived here since the fire. No one except her father, who’d stayed until the end.
The lighthouse door groaned as she pushed it open, the smell of mildew and old wood filling her nose. The spiral stairs were slick with condensation, each step creaking like a living thing. At the top, she found the beacon room—empty except for a rusted metal box beneath the platform. Her hands trembled as she pried it open. Inside was a bundle of letters tied with frayed twine, and a key shaped like a crescent moon.
She unfolded the first letter. *If you’re reading this, they’ve already begun.* The handwriting was her father’s, but the words were different—urgent, panicked. *The light isn’t just a beacon. It’s a lock. They’re not coming for the town. They’re coming for the key.*
A noise behind her. Mara spun, her heart slamming against her ribs. The door slammed shut. The room plunged into darkness, save for the faint glow of the moon through the broken window. She fumbled for her phone, its screen casting a pale light on the floor. Something was moving in the shadows—too large to be a rat, too fast to be a man.
The key burned in her palm as she fled down the stairs, the thing behind her gaining. The town’s streets were a labyrinth of ruin, but Mara knew the way. She’d grown up here, memorizing every crack in the pavement. The fog thickened, swallowing the world in white. She could hear it now—footsteps, not her own, echoing through the alleys.
A door slammed. Mara ducked into an alley, pressing her back against the cold stone. The footsteps stopped. She held her breath, willing herself to disappear. Then a voice, low and rasping: *You shouldn’t have come back.*
She froze. The voice was familiar, but impossible. Her father’s voice, but older, worn down by years she’d never known. The fog thickened, and when she looked up, the figure stood there—a man with her father’s eyes, but his face was a mask of cracks, like the lighthouse glass.
*You don’t understand,* he said. *The light keeps them out. Without it, they’ll take everything.*
Mara tightened her grip on the key. *Who are you?*
The man smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. *Your father’s shadow. And now, yours.*
The fog surged, and when it cleared, the man was gone. The key felt heavier in her hand, its crescent shape glowing faintly. Mara ran, not knowing where, only that the light was still burning somewhere, and she had to find it before it was too late.
The next day, Mara stood at the edge of the cliff, the wind tearing at her clothes. The lighthouse loomed ahead, its tower now intact, the beacon spinning with a steady pulse. She’d found the hidden chamber beneath the tower, a vault of old machinery and blueprints. The key fit into a slot in the wall, and when she turned it, the room came alive—lights flickering, gears grinding. A map spread across the wall showed the town’s layout, but with markings she didn’t recognize: symbols etched into the earth, pulsing with a faint blue light.
Her father’s notes explained it all. The lighthouse wasn’t just a guide for ships—it was a prison. The light was a barrier, holding back something ancient, something that fed on darkness. The key was the only way to activate it, but it required a sacrifice. *The keeper’s blood,* the journal read. *A life for the light.*
Mara’s hands shook. She’d always thought her father had died in an accident, but now she saw the truth: he’d stayed behind to keep the prison sealed. The thing in the shadows wasn’t a ghost—it was a remnant, a fragment of the thing they’d trapped. And now, it was hungry.
The beacon pulsed again, and Mara knew what she had to do. She climbed the tower, the key clutched in her fist. The wind howled, and for a moment, she saw her father standing at the edge, his face calm, his eyes filled with something like pride.
*You’re stronger than I was,* he said. *But this isn’t your burden.*
Mara reached the top, the key trembling in her hand. The beacon’s light was fading, the prison weakening. She had seconds to decide. The journal’s final page had a single line: *The light must be fed.*
She plunged the key into the slot, and the tower shuddered. The light flared, brighter than the sun, and Mara felt something inside her break. The shadows screamed, the world tilted, and then—nothing.
When she opened her eyes, she was back at the cliff, the lighthouse silent. The town was gone, replaced by a vast expanse of ocean. The key lay in her palm, empty. She’d done it. The light was sealed again. But as she turned, she saw a figure on the horizon—a child, small and alone, walking toward the sea.
Mara ran after them, but the wind carried the child’s voice: *You’ll come back one day.*
And she knew, with a certainty that settled in her bones, that she would.
