Whispers on Summerisle

I. The Island That Swallowed People
Summerisle looked peaceful from the ferry—a quiet crescent of land surrounded by mist and gentle waters. Tourists called it charming. Locals called it home.
But to Mara Willen, it was the last place her brother Jonah had ever been seen.
He vanished on Summerisle six months ago. The police claimed he probably drowned during a night swim, but Jonah wasn’t the type to just disappear. He always called Mara, always told her where he was going. He was the protective one—her lighthouse during every storm.
Now she was here to find out what happened.
As she stepped onto the creaking wooden dock, the first thing she noticed was the silence. Not peaceful silence—forced silence. No laughter. No gulls. No wind.
Just… stillness.
It felt like the entire island was holding its breath.

II. The Unwelcome Welcome
At the inn, the receptionist, a woman with pale eyes and a stiff, unnatural smile, froze when Mara gave her name.
“Willen?” she repeated. “As in… Jonah Willen?”
Mara nodded.
The receptionist swallowed hard. “I—I think you'd be more comfortable in Room 9. It's… quiet.”
She didn’t ask why Mara had come. She didn’t have to.
Everyone here knew something.
And none of them wanted to say it.
That night, as Mara unpacked, she heard muffled footsteps in the hallway—slow, dragging steps—followed by a whisper so soft she thought it was the sea breeze.
“Mara…”
Her heart lurched.
Jonah?
She ran into the hallway.
But there was no one there.
Just the old wallpaper peeling like dead skin and the faint scent of salt, too strong to be natural.

III. The Boy Who Knew Things
The next morning, while investigating the rocky shore where Jonah had supposedly drowned, Mara found someone watching her—a boy around eleven with tangled black hair and eyes that looked far too old for his age.
“I know who you're looking for,” he said.
Mara knelt to his level. “My brother?”
He nodded. “People disappear here. The island takes them.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
He looked around nervously. “At night, you’ll hear them. The ones the island keeps.”
“Kept?” she whispered. “You mean… they’re alive?”
The boy hesitated before answering, “Not exactly.”
Before she could ask more, he ran off.

IV. The First Night of Whispers
That night, the whispers came again.
Not from the hallway this time—but from under her bed.
She crouched down slowly, pulse hammering, and saw nothing but darkness. Yet the voice was unmistakable.
“Mara… go home…”
It was Jonah’s voice—but warped, stretched, like someone was pulling the sound apart.
“Jonah?” she whispered.
A cold rush of air swept past her, chilling her bones.
Something was in the room with her.
She grabbed her flashlight, the beam trembling in her hand.
When she turned it on, the mirror across the room fogged over—and words appeared as though written by an invisible finger:

HE’S NOT DEAD. NOT YET.
The flashlight flickered.
Then the mirror shattered.

V. The Cave of Echoes
The boy found her again the next morning and pointed toward the northern cliffs.
“That’s where the island keeps them,” he whispered. “In the caves.”
Mara followed him to a jagged opening in the cliffs—like the island had opened its jaws. Cold air poured out, carrying—not echoing—voices.
Dozens of them.
Crying, gasping, calling for help.
Including Jonah’s.
Mara rushed inside.
The cave walls pulsed faintly, as if alive. Water dripped like tears. Every shadow felt sentient, watching.
And deeper inside, the whispers grew louder.
“Help me…”
“Mara…”
“It hurts…”
“Don’t forget me…”
Then she saw them.
The missing.
Men and women half-merged with the cave walls—faces stretched in silent screams, arms fused into stone, bodies preserved like offerings. Their eyes followed her, pleading.
But Jonah wasn’t among them.
Instead, carved into the rock was a symbol Jonah wore on a bracelet he’d never taken off—a stylized sun with broken rays.
He had been here.
Recently.
“Mara…” a new voice whispered.
She spun around.
Jonah stood at the far end of the cavern.
Or what was left of him.

VI. Jonah’s Fate
He was pale, soaked as if he had just emerged from the sea. His clothes clung to him like seaweed. His eyes were hollow, rimmed in black.
But it was Jonah.
Her Jonah.
She ran to him, but he flinched away.
“No,” he gasped. “Don’t touch me. The island has its claim.”
“Jonah, what happened?”
His gaze drifted to the cave walls. “This place… it feeds on us. On our memories. On our sorrows. It whispered to me. Drew me in.”
Mara shook her head, tears falling. “I came to save you.”
“You can’t,” he whispered. “But you can still save yourself.”
The cave rumbled.
The walls pulsed faster.
The stone faces began to scream silently.
“Mara,” Jonah said, voice breaking, “don’t stay here. Don’t listen to the island. If you stay long enough… it will whisper to you too.”
She grabbed his hand anyway.
It felt cold. Too cold.
“Please, Jonah. Come home with me.”
His lips trembled.
“I am home,” he whispered.
And in that moment, he stepped back—into the stone.
His body melted into the cave wall as if swallowed by the island itself.
His face appeared beside the others—eyes open, staring, yet still filled with love.
“Mara… go…”
The whisper faded.
And he was gone.

VII. The Escape
Mara fled, stumbling out of the cave as the walls trembled behind her. The sea roared. The sky darkened.
The island was angry.
She didn’t stop running until she reached the ferry. The locals watched from the dock, silent, guilty, afraid.
As the ferry pulled away, Mara heard the faintest echo across the waves.
“Don’t forget me…”
This time, she didn’t turn around.
She only cried.

Moral of the Story
Some places keep secrets not because they are forgotten—but because remembering them is too terrifying.
And some people we lose never truly leave us… but sometimes, holding on hurts more than letting go.