Chapter 1
Life as a marine biology student is not always easy. I'm in the final year of my studies, and my biggest challenge still lies ahead: protecting the reserve and keeping the research station running. My new home for the next year? A small, red-and-white striped lighthouse—isolated and alone, 365 days and nights entirely on my own.
Until now, I had only seen it in an old, faded photograph in our university library. But now, the moment has come.
"Next stop: Seagrave," announces the voice from the bus speaker. I press the stop button, sling my backpack over my shoulder, grab my bag, and step off.
Before me lies a small marketplace. I recall the instructions: When you arrive at the stop, turn right and follow the street down. You’ll get the key at the small local pub.
My footsteps echo in the narrow alleys of the village. Everything feels unfamiliar—only 100 residents in the entire town. That’s how many people live on just one street back home.
Finally, I spot a weathered wooden sign reading "To the Sea" above the door of a small house. I push open the heavy old door, and a musty, stale air greets me. Dim lamps cast flickering light over the room. Behind the counter sits an elderly man, perhaps in his seventies.
"You're new here. Are you the new researcher living in the lighthouse?"
"That's right. How do you know?" I ask, surprised.
He snorts. "Hardly any tourists find their way to Seagrave, let alone into my bar." He gets up with some effort. "Wait, I’ll get the keys. But I can’t guarantee they still work. The last researcher was there at least twenty years ago. Good luck—you probably won’t find much left in decent shape."
I thank him, leave the pub, and step back onto the street. The lighthouse is easy to spot, but the path ahead looks long—and barely like a path at all. Thick undergrowth and overgrown plants block the way. Using a stick, I push through the vegetation, my heavy backpack weighing me down, my other hand clutching my bag. The sun is already low in the sky, and I don’t want to spend the night outside. You never know what creatures might be lurking in the bushes.
After an exhausting twenty-minute trek, I finally reach the lighthouse. Next to it stands a small attached house, but everything looks abandoned and run-down. I dig the keys out of my pocket and try my luck with the largest one. The lock clicks loudly, but the door won’t budge. Taking a few steps back, I brace myself and ram into it with my shoulder—the door gives way, and I stumble forward, landing painfully on the dusty floor.
Groaning, I push myself up. Of course, something like this had to happen to me. I dust off my clothes, drag my bag and backpack inside, and look around. It’s dark. I try the light switch—nothing. I’ll have to deal with the electricity tomorrow.
For tonight, this is enough. I pull out my sleeping bag, spread it out on the old bed, and lie down. My adventure has just begun.
