Chapter 1 ( The Lighthouse’s Glow )
The wind howled against the cliffs of Blackshore, carrying the scent of salt and the distant roar of the waves. Clara pulled her coat tighter around her as she stepped out of the car, her boots crunching against the gravel of the small driveway. The cottage her father had rented stood at the very edge of the cliffs, its small windows staring out at the vast, endless ocean.
This is it,” her father said, forcing a smile. He turned off the car engine and stretched his arms. “Home for the next… well, however long we need it to be.”
Clara didn’t respond. She knew what he meant: however long it takes for us to feel normal again. But the truth was, she wasn’t sure if normal even existed anymore. Not after Mom.
The cottage itself was small but sturdy, with weathered stone walls and a red-tiled roof darkened by years of salty air. It looked old, but not in a neglected way—more like it had been waiting for someone to live in it again. The front yard was little more than a patch of wild grass, bordered by a low wooden fence that separated it from the neighboring house. But Clara barely took in these details, because her eyes were already drawn elsewhere.
The lighthouse.
It stood alone at the farthest edge of the cliff, a towering structure of white stone and rusted metal, its lantern room empty and dark. The paint was peeling, and the windows were thick with grime. It was clear that no one had set foot inside in years.
“Used to be functional,” her father said, following her gaze. “Before they built the new one on the south side of the harbor. This one’s been abandoned for decades.”
Something about it made Clara uneasy. It wasn’t just the way it loomed over the cliffs, or how its windows were dark and hollow like empty eyes. It was something deeper. A strange feeling, like the lighthouse was watching her just as much as she was watching it.
“Clara?”
She blinked and turned back to her father. He was already unloading the car. “Come help me with these boxes,” he said.
She tore her gaze away from the lighthouse and grabbed her backpack. As she walked toward the cottage, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. A figure standing by the fence, watching her.
It was an elderly woman, wrapped in a thick shawl, her sharp eyes studying Clara with quiet interest. Her face was lined with deep wrinkles, and her gray hair was tied back in a loose bun.
“New to town?” the woman asked. Her voice was steady, calm.
Clara nodded. “Yeah. We just moved in.”
The woman’s gaze flicked past her, toward the lighthouse. A knowing look crossed her face. “That old thing still gives people the creeps.”
Clara hesitated. “Why?”
The woman smiled, but it wasn’t exactly a warm smile. More like an amused one. “Oh, you know how small towns are. Stories get passed around. Some say it’s haunted.”
Haunted?”
The woman shrugged. “Used to be a keeper there a long time ago. Lived alone. People say he vanished one night, just disappeared. After that, strange things started happening. Lights flickering when no one was inside. Voices in the wind.” She chuckled softly. “Of course, it’s just old town gossip. But…” She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “I wouldn’t go poking around there if I were you.”
Clara wasn’t sure how to respond. The woman was clearly enjoying herself, spinning a spooky tale for the new girl in town. Still, she couldn’t shake the way her skin prickled.
I should help my dad,” Clara said, shifting her backpack on her shoulder.
The woman nodded. “I’m Mrs. Halloway, by the way. I live next door. If you need anything, just knock.”
Clara muttered a polite “thanks” before heading inside. But the woman’s words stuck with her.
That night, the storm came.
The wind rattled the windows, sending occasional bursts of rain pelting against the glass. Clara lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant roar of the ocean. The house was quiet, her father already asleep in the next room. She turned over, pulling the blankets tighter around her shoulders.
Then something caught her eye.
Through the rain-splattered window, the lighthouse was glowing.
A soft, eerie light flickered in the lantern room. It wasn’t bright, nothing like the powerful beams modern lighthouses used to guide ships. It was faint, like the dying embers of a long-forgotten fire. It pulsed, slow and steady, cutting through the darkness.
Clara sat up, her heart hammering in her chest.
The lighthouse had been abandoned for years.
No one was inside.
And yet, the light shone on.
