A postcard from the edge of Europe

A Postcard from the Edge of Europe

Shah Zeb always loved adventures. The thrill of discovering new places, meeting strangers, and hearing untold stories filled him with excitement. When he heard about a small village on the far edge of Europe — where the cliffs dropped sharply into a wild ocean — he knew he had to visit. People whispered strange things about the village: mysterious disappearances, eerie lights on the sea, and shadows that moved in the fog. But Shah Zeb was curious, not scared.

He arrived at the village just before dusk. The narrow streets were empty, the wooden houses looked worn and old, and a thick fog curled around everything like a silent ghost. The salty smell of the ocean filled the air. Shah Zeb took a deep breath. This was what he came for — the unknown.

His plan was simple: spend a day exploring the cliffs and forests nearby, then head back. But as soon as he stepped out of the small inn where he was staying, a chill ran down his spine.

“Be careful,” an old woman warned him in broken English. “The edge is not kind. The sea takes those who listen.”

Shah Zeb smiled politely. “Thanks, but I’m not afraid of stories.”

That night, he sat by the window, watching the fog roll in from the ocean. Strange lights flickered far away on the water — like lanterns floating slowly and disappearing again.

He felt a strange pull, a voice almost calling him to the edge. But it was late, and he needed rest.

The next morning, Shah Zeb set off toward the cliffs. The path was narrow, winding between twisted trees and sharp rocks. The forest was silent except for the distant crash of waves.

After a while, he spotted something strange: an old lighthouse, abandoned and half broken, standing tall against the dark sky. The paint was chipped, the windows cracked, and the door slightly open.

Shah Zeb’s heart beat faster. An abandoned lighthouse at the edge of the world — it was like a story waiting to be told.

He pushed the door and stepped inside. The air smelled of salt and old wood. Dust covered the floor, and broken furniture lay scattered. In the corner, he found a small desk with papers, maps, and a leather-bound journal.

Curious, he opened the journal and began to read.

The lighthouse keeper wrote about strange things — mysterious lights on the sea that moved against the wind, voices in the night, and shadows slipping through the fog.

His last entry was the most frightening: “They come from the depths. They call to the lost. Beware the song, or you will join us forever.”

Shah Zeb shivered but told himself it was just a story.

Suddenly, the door slammed shut with a loud bang.

Heart pounding, Shah Zeb tried to open the door, but it was stuck. The windows rattled as the wind howled outside.

Then he heard it — a soft, eerie singing drifting through the lighthouse. The voice was haunting and beautiful, like a siren’s song pulling him deeper into fear.

Shah Zeb forced himself to stay calm. He looked for another way out and noticed a narrow staircase spiraling upwards.

He climbed, the steps creaking under his weight. At the top, the lighthouse’s roof opened to the stormy sky.

Outside, the fog was thick, and the ocean looked black and endless.

Suddenly, a figure appeared at the edge of the cliff below — a woman, pale and dripping with seaweed, her eyes glowing faintly in the mist.

The singing stopped.

Shah Zeb’s heart froze. The woman raised her hand and whispered, “Come with me...”

Terrified, Shah Zeb took a step back. He remembered the keeper’s warning and knew he had to escape.

But before he could move, another shadow appeared behind the woman — tall, dark, and twisting like smoke.

The fog swirled, and Shah Zeb felt cold fingers brush his skin.

He ran down the stairs, the singing starting again, louder and more hypnotic.

At the bottom, the door suddenly opened. Shah Zeb didn’t hesitate. He dashed out into the fog and ran toward the village.

When he reached the village, the sun was rising. Villagers gathered around, whispering nervously.

An old man approached Shah Zeb and said quietly, “You heard the call, didn’t you? Few who hear it come back.”

Shah Zeb nodded, still shaken.

The old man handed him a small postcard. On it was a simple message:

“At the edge of the world, the sea waits. Listen, but do not answer.”

Shah Zeb looked at the postcard, then at the horizon where the ocean met the sky.

He realized some places held secrets better left alone.

Before leaving the village, Shah Zeb wrote his own postcard to warn others:

A Postcard from the Edge of Europe

If you ever find yourself at the cliffs where the ocean meets the sky, be careful. The sea is alive with voices and shadows. It calls to those who listen, and not all return.

Remember — the edge is not just the end of land, but the start of something old and hungry.

Stay safe,

Shah Zeb

Shah Zeb never forgot the cold fog, the haunting song, or the glowing eyes in the mist.

And sometimes, late at night, he thought he could still hear the distant singing from the edge of Europe.