Mara’s boots sank into the wet sand as she trudged past the rusted gates of the abandoned pier. The air reeked of brine and decay, a scent that clung to her like a second skin. She hadn’t meant to come here. The town of Hollow’s End had been a mistake—a desperate escape from the city, from the memories that clawed at her ribs when she slept. But the letter had arrived three days ago, scrawled in her mother’s looping script: *I left something for you. At the lighthouse.*
The wind howled, tugging at her coat. Mara glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting to see someone following her, but the road behind her was empty. The pier stretched ahead, its wooden planks groaning under her weight. She paused at the edge of the water, watching the waves churn against the rocks. The lighthouse stood in the distance, its white stone glowing faintly in the afternoon light.
She didn’t know why she felt it—a pull, like the tide itself was guiding her. The sand shifted beneath her feet as she moved, each step heavier than the last. When she reached the lighthouse, she found the door ajar, as if it had been waiting. Inside, the air was colder, thick with the smell of old paper and mildew.
The stairs creaked as she climbed. At the top, a single room opened up, its walls lined with shelves of yellowed books and rusted tools. In the center stood a desk, its surface littered with notes in her mother’s handwriting. Mara’s fingers trembled as she picked up a page, reading the words that had been left for her: *They’re not gone. They never were.*
A noise behind her made her freeze. The door slammed shut. The room plunged into darkness.
***
Jace found her hours later, huddled in the corner of the lighthouse, her face pale and streaked with tears. He didn’t ask what happened—just handed her a thermos and sat cross-legged on the floor. The thermos was filled with coffee, bitter and black, the way she liked it. She drank it without thanking him.
“You’re not from around here,” he said, watching her over the rim of his own cup. His voice was rough, like gravel in a storm.
“I’m not,” she muttered. “I’m just… staying for a while.”
He leaned back, studying her. “You’re lying.”
Mara didn’t deny it. Instead, she handed him the note. He read it slowly, his brow furrowing. When he finished, he exhaled sharply. “This place isn’t what it seems.”
She hadn’t believed him at first. But when the lights went out that night and the walls seemed to pulse with a faint, rhythmic hum, she realized he was right. Hollow’s End wasn’t just a town—it was a cage, built to keep something buried.
***
The town’s secrets unraveled like a frayed rope. Mara and Jace spent nights combing through archives, piecing together fragments of a history that had been erased. They discovered records of disappearances, of people who had vanished without a trace. The lighthouse wasn’t just a beacon—it was a prison, its walls reinforced with iron and salt, designed to hold something that shouldn’t exist.
“It’s not just ghosts,” Jace said one night, his voice low. “It’s worse. They’re alive. Or they were.”
Mara didn’t know what terrified her more—the idea that the town had been hiding monsters, or the fact that her mother had known all along. She’d left Hollow’s End years ago, but the place had never let her go. It had waited for her to return.
***
The final night came with a storm. The wind howled like a wounded animal, and the sea roared against the cliffs. Mara stood at the lighthouse’s base, her hands pressed against the cold stone. Jace was beside her, his grip firm on her wrist.
“They’ll try to stop us,” he warned. “The ones who run this place. They’ll say it’s for the best.”
“They’re wrong,” she said. “It’s not for the best. It’s for them.”
They climbed the stairs, the wind tearing at their clothes. At the top, the door was already open. Inside, a circle of figures stood around a pedestal, their faces obscured by masks of bone and rust. In the center lay a figure—tall, thin, with eyes that gleamed like wet stones.
“You shouldn’t have come back,” the figure said, its voice a chorus of whispers. “This place isn’t yours.”
Mara stepped forward, her heart pounding. “It’s not yours either.”
The fight was brief but brutal. The masks shattered, revealing faces that mirrored the town’s residents—people she’d known, people who had pretended to be normal. Jace fought alongside her, his movements precise and desperate. In the end, it was Mara who delivered the final blow, driving a rusted crowbar into the creature’s chest. It let out a sound like a dying whale and dissolved into smoke.
The storm died as quickly as it had come. The lighthouse stood silent, its light extinguished. Mara stared at the empty pedestal, the weight of what they’d done settling over her like a shroud.
Jace touched her shoulder. “It’s over.”
She wasn’t sure if he was right. But for the first time in years, she felt something close to peace.
