The Vanishing Lighthouse

Daniel Hayes had seen many strange things in his career, but nothing compared to what lay before him now—a void where the Blackwater Cliff lighthouse should have been. A few hours ago, it had stood there, defying the storm that howled through the night. Now, it was simply gone.

Daniel ran a hand through his damp hair, squinting against the early morning mist. The townsfolk stood nearby, murmuring in hushed tones, their eyes flickering between the empty cliffside and each other. Sheriff Tom Grady, a man whose thick mustache and weathered face told of years spent keeping order in this small coastal town, approached Daniel with a grim expression.

"No sign of collapse," Grady muttered. "No debris, no wreckage in the water. Hell, the foundation is untouched."

Daniel scribbled notes in his weathered journal. "A lighthouse doesn't just disappear, Sheriff."

"Exactly my concern," Grady replied. "And yet, here we are."

The Blackwater Cliff lighthouse had stood for over a century, its beacon guiding sailors away from the treacherous rocks below. The keeper, an old recluse named Walter Finch, had lived there for nearly two decades. But now, Finch was missing, and so was the structure he called home.

Daniel turned to an elderly woman clutching a shawl around her thin shoulders. "Mrs. Holloway, you live closest to the lighthouse. Did you hear anything last night?"

The woman hesitated, her fingers tightening around the fabric. "The wind was fierce, but... there was something else. A hum, like a deep vibration in the air. It made my bones ache."

A chill crawled up Daniel’s spine. "Did you see any lights? Any unusual movement?"

"Not until just before dawn," she whispered. "For a moment, the lighthouse glowed blue. Then, it was gone."

Daniel exchanged a glance with the sheriff. Blue light? That was no ordinary collapse.

Determined to find answers, Daniel climbed down the rocky path to where the lighthouse should have been. The soil was undisturbed, the cliff’s edge perfectly intact. No signs of erosion, no signs of a building ever having been there. It was as if the lighthouse had been erased.

"What are we dealing with here?" he murmured.

As he scanned the area, his eyes landed on something half-buried in the dirt—a small, metallic object no larger than a coin. He brushed off the soil, revealing strange, engraved symbols that pulsed faintly beneath his fingers. It felt cold, unnaturally so, despite the morning sun.

He turned back to the sheriff. "Ever seen anything like this before?"

Grady’s face paled. "Only once. And that was when old Samuel Grier went missing thirty years ago. Found one just like it near his empty fishing boat. Never saw him again."

Daniel's pulse quickened. Was this a pattern? A cycle? He had come looking for a story, but he was beginning to think he had stepped into something much bigger than he had anticipated.

That night, unable to shake his unease, Daniel sat in his rented room, staring at the artifact. He had sent a photo of it to a professor friend who specialized in ancient languages. The reply had come swiftly.

Not ancient. Not human.

The words sent a shiver down Daniel’s spine. Just then, the room dimmed, a faint hum filling the air. He turned toward the window, heart hammering. Outside, over the ocean, a blue glow pulsed in the darkness.

Then, just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished.

Daniel exhaled shakily. He had come to Blackwater Cliff for a mystery.

He hadn’t expected the mystery to come for him.