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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/IamHereNowAtLeast on 2024-10-18 00:17:08+00:00.
I might be 76...
And every joint in my body might crack and pop...
But I still recognize the smell of shit.
My lighthouse has always been a place of solace, a sanctuary from a world I was increasingly having trouble recognizing. Last night was supposed to be no different.
Ollie was asleep at my feet, his black fur rising and falling gently as he snored. I sat with my book, the pages turning lazily as I read in the soft yellow glow of a nearby lamp.
The night outside was pitch black, punctuated only by the occasional flash of the lighthouse beam as it swept across the horizon.
Then, without warning, the world shuddered, as if the earth itself had gasped in fear. A dull, distant boom echoed up from the cliffs.
Ollie leapt up, barking furiously, his hackles raised.
I was on my feet before I even realized it, my heart pounding. The ground felt like it had shifted beneath me, and there was a brief, eerie silence before the normal sounds of the night returned. The wind, the waves, Ollie's frantic barking.
I hobbled to the window, pressing my forehead to the cold glass. My whole body protested the quick movement. My knees, my back, even my neck felt like it needed oiling.
My breath fogged the window as I strained to see, but there was nothing. Just the restless sea and an emptiness that made my skin crawl. Whatever had happened, it was lurking beyond the cliffs, somewhere hidden by the dark expanse, waiting.
And I could feel it, deep in my old, aching bones.
Grabbing my coat, I clicked my tongue to Ollie, groaning as I forced my stiff knees to bend. My back ached, every vertebra protesting the movement. Getting old, I thought, wincing as I straightened up. He followed me, his ears perked up, as we made our way out into the cold night.
The wind had picked up, howling through the cracks in the rocks. I shuffled down the steep path towards the edge of the cliff, my knees groaning in protest with each careful step. My back felt like it could snap with the next wrong move, but I kept going. The lighthouse beam spilled across the ocean below, guiding me, even if every bone in my body screamed for me to turn back.
And that's when I saw it.
Wreckage, barely visible, bobbing in the water near the base of the cliff. The twisted remains of what looked like an aircraft, scattered across the waves. It was strange, almost surreal. There were no emergency lights, no signs of life, no fire. Just dark, twisted metal glinting in the water, appearing and disappearing as the waves swallowed it like some monstrous secret. The silence was suffocating, as though the ocean itself was conspiring to hide whatever had fallen from the sky.
The following day, the suits arrived.
They drove in on a convoy of black SUVs, grim-faced men who didn't look like any kind of rescue personnel I'd ever seen. They worked quickly, setting up tarps to cover the wreckage, barely exchanging words with one another or acknowledging me. It felt strange, as though I had stumbled onto something that wasn't meant to be seen, let alone spoken about. They gave me curt nods, and I tried to ask questions, but their answers were short, rehearsed.
“Nothing to worry about. Just a weather anomaly. A small craft malfunction.”
They didn't even seem interested in checking if anyone had survived. It was all about cleaning it up, covering the site, making it disappear. By dusk, they were gone, leaving only tire tracks in the muddy gravel and an unsettling silence in their wake. An unnatural silence, as if the world itself was holding its breath, terrified of what might come next.
I couldn't shake the feeling of unease.
There was something they weren't telling me, something just below the surface. Ollie could feel it too, pacing the length of the lighthouse's narrow hallway, whining softly.
I tried to sleep, but it was no use. The suits and the wreckage lingered in my mind, refusing to be dismissed. I finally gave up around midnight, groaning as I pulled on my boots. My back protested, my knees cracked, and I muttered curses under my breath, complaining about my whole body. One never expects every joint in your body to crack.
I went out on the balcony to get some fresh air.
I was still haunted by the fact that no one seemed to care about the crash. I don't know, I expected police to show up. Or news vans. Someone.
But the hours rolled on.
The sea stretched endlessly in front of me, the moonlight casting a pale, ghostly glow over the waves. Everything was unnervingly still. Too quiet, as if the world had slipped into some unnatural pause. The air was thick with an electric tension that made the hairs on my arms stand up, and the usual comforting sound of the waves had vanished.
Just silence, heavy and oppressive, the calm before a storm.
That's when I saw it.
A tall figure, glowing faintly, far in the distance along the path that led to the cliffs.
It moved slowly, almost as if it were drifting. A chill ran down my spine, and my heart pounded, each beat a sign to run. I blinked, hoping it was just a trick of the light, but the figure kept coming, the glow growing stronger, a sickly, unnatural blue against the darkness. It moved with an unsettling grace, like something that had learned how to mimic human movement but didn't quite belong.
Ollie began barking, low and terrified, a sound I'd never heard from him before.
I stepped back, my mind and heart rate acing.
The figure drew closer, and I could see now that it wasn't walking. It was floating, its feet hovering just above the ground. It looked human, but its proportions seemed all wrong. Too tall, too thin. And the light... it wasn't a natural glow.
Then I remembered the suits, their hurried whispers, the way they avoided my eyes. They knew something. Something about the wreckage, about whatever had fallen from the sky.
And now, it was here, looking for something, or someone.
The figure reached the door of the lighthouse, and without hesitation, it began pounding the door with its head, the door near blasting open.
I had to use all my weight to slam it back shut. Then locked the door.
I barely managed to keep it outside, pressing my weight against the door as it rattled in its frame. Heavy, echoing knocks shook the wood, and fear coursed through me. Ollie barked louder, his teeth bared, but the thing outside didn't flinch. It let out a low, guttural noise, so unnatural it seemed to vibrate inside my skull, freezing the blood in my veins.
The door pounded open violently, knocking me down.
The figure was inside the lighthouse.
The smell it emitted was like sulphur.
It was fixated on something.
In that frantic moment, I noticed something strange. The figure was following the light of my flashlight, its hollow eyes tracking every movement.
It was drawn to the light, moth to a flame.
An idea formed in my panicked mind, desperate and half-baked.
My hands trembled as I reached for a candle from the shelf, the darkness pressing in on me. I fumbled with a lighter, the flame catching on the wick, flickering to life. My breath was shallow, ragged. I slid the flashlight across the floor, the beam spinning wildly across the room in erratic arcs. The figure shifted, its hollow gaze fixated, following the frantic light until it settled in a corner.
A small reprieve. I was safe for a moment.
I took a deep breath, willing my heart to slow as I moved toward the stairs leading down to the lower part of the lighthouse. Each step was slow, deliberate, my body aching in protest. Knees cracking, back screaming. I held the candle carefully, the flame dancing, casting unsettling shadows against the walls.
I knew it saw me. It was following me.
With every flicker of the candle, the figure glided after me, its presence a sickening chill that crept down my spine. I led it deeper into the bowels of the lighthouse, my breath catching with each creak of the old stairs. The glow from its form cast long, menacing shadows, twisting in the narrow hallway, until we reached the storage room at the base of the staircase.
My hands shook as I set the candle on its tray inside the room, a prayer on my lips that the flickering flame wouldn't die. The figure followed, transfixed, hovering closer. I could barely breathe as I watched, my heart pounding in my ears.
I got lucky.
The figure moved toward the candle, its twisted form bathed in flickering light. I didn't hesitate. I slammed the heavy door shut, the metal hinges groaning as I bolted it, my hands trembling with adrenaline. The metallic clank echoed through the dark, sealing whatever this was behind inches of steel. I stumbled back, gasping for air, sweat trickling down my forehead.
I watched through the small window as the figure leaned over the candle, its hollow gaze fixated. It stayed there for what felt like an eternity, its glow dimming, almost breathing over the light. And then, with a sputter, the candle went out.
The silence was shattered by the figure's rage.
The door shook under its violent pounding, the heavy thud of its head against the wood reverberating through the narrow corridor. The stench of sulfur seeped through the cracks, and Ollie barked furiously above, the sound distant, desperate.
But it was trapped.
For now.
I didn't sleep the rest of the night.
The hours dragged on, the lighthouse unnaturally silent except for the occasional rattling from below. I sat with Ollie at my feet, the dawn creeping in wit...
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