The lighthouse stood sentinel at the southernmost point of Seacliff Cove, a white tower rising from jagged rocks perpetually battered by waves. Though automated since the late 1970s, the adjacent keeper's cottage remained—a weathered two-story building with salt-stained windows and a sagging porch. A chain-link fence surrounded the property, topped with a sign that read "GOVERNMENT PROPERTY—NO TRESPASSING."

  "Are we seriously breaking in?" Daniel asked as they approached the fence. He'd been quiet during their walk from town, occasionally glancing over his shoulder as if expecting someone to be following them.

  "We're not breaking in," Laura said, though she wasn't entirely convinced of that herself. "Annie's note mentioned the lighthouse keeper's daughter. She must have meant something specific."

  "There hasn't been a lighthouse keeper in years, Laura. And if there was a daughter, she'd be long gone."

  Laura frowned, studying the property. "Maybe it's not literal. Maybe—" She stopped, noticing a figure moving behind one of the cottage windows. "Someone's there."

  Daniel followed her gaze. "Probably just maintenance workers."

  "On a Saturday?" Laura started along the fence line, looking for a way in. The gate was padlocked, but around the back, she found a section where the fence had been pushed down, creating a gap just wide enough to squeeze through. "Here," she called to Daniel. "We can get in this way."

  Daniel hesitated. "Maybe we should call James. Do this officially."

  "And tell him what? That your eyes went blank and you channeled Annie's voice? That we're investigating ghost stories based on a diary?" Laura shook her head. "He'd think we've lost our minds."

  "Maybe we have," Daniel muttered, but followed as she ducked through the gap.

  The ground was muddy and slick from last night's fog. They picked their way carefully across the yard to the cottage's back door. It hung slightly ajar, moving gently in the breeze. The peeling paint and rusted hinges suggested no one had lived here for decades, yet the partially open door set Laura's nerves on edge.

  "Hello?" she called, pushing it open wider. "Anyone here?"

  No answer. The interior was dim, dust motes floating in the thin shafts of light from grime-covered windows. The air smelled of mildew and salt.

  "I don't think anyone's home," Daniel said, his voice hushed.

  Laura stepped inside. The kitchen was small and outdated, with an ancient stove and a porcelain sink stained rust-red. Surprisingly, the room didn't feel abandoned. A chipped mug sat on the counter, and a worn jacket hung on a hook by the door.

  "Someone's been using this place," Laura said. "Recently."

  They moved through the cottage methodically. The living room contained furniture draped in sheets, bookshelves empty save for a few tattered paperbacks, their spines so faded the titles were illegible. A narrow staircase led to the second floor, where they found two small bedrooms.

  The first was empty except for a metal-framed bed and a dresser. The second was different—clearly occupied. A sleeping bag lay on the bare mattress, surrounded by candles in various stages of melting. Books and papers were stacked against the walls. A small table held a camp stove, canned food, and a battery-powered radio.

  "Someone's living here," Daniel said unnecessarily. "Squatting."

  Laura examined the papers, finding tide charts, newspaper clippings about local history, and hand-drawn maps of the coastline. Several showed the sea caves mentioned in the town legends.

  "Look at this," she said, holding up a yellowed newspaper clipping. The headline read: "LOCAL TEEN SOLE SURVIVOR OF TRAGIC BOATING ACCIDENT." Below was a photograph of a young girl, perhaps fourteen, with solemn eyes and a long braid. The caption identified her as "Elisabeth Grant, daughter of lighthouse keeper William Grant, who survived a boating accident that claimed the lives of five local teenagers."

  Laura quickly scanned the article. "This is from 1959. The same year as those disappearances Annie was researching."

  "What are you doing in my house?"

  They both spun toward the voice. In the doorway stood an elderly woman, her silver hair in a long braid over one shoulder. Despite her age—she had to be in her seventies—she stood tall and straight, her weathered face severe. In one hand, she clutched a walking stick that looked capable of doing serious damage.

  "You're Elisabeth Grant," Laura said, recognition dawning. "The lighthouse keeper's daughter."

  The woman's eyes narrowed. "No one's called me that in a long time." She raised the walking stick slightly. "I'll ask you again. What are you doing here?"

  Laura held up her hands in a placating gesture. "My name is Laura Halstead. This is Daniel Mercer. We're looking for our friend, Annie Reynolds. She disappeared last night, and we found a note saying you might know something about it."

  Elisabeth's expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes at Annie's name. "The librarian. Red hair. Silver locket."

  "Yes," Laura said eagerly. "You know her?"

  "She came here asking questions. Just like you." Elisabeth lowered the walking stick slightly. "Questions about things that should stay buried."

  "Please," Laura took a step forward. "Annie is missing. If you know anything—"

  "Missing," Elisabeth repeated flatly. "Like the others will be."

  A chill ran through Laura. "What others? What do you mean?"

  Elisabeth studied them both for a long moment, then sighed. "You shouldn't have come here. But now that you have..." She turned. "Follow me. Not you," she added sharply when Daniel moved to follow. "Just her."

  Daniel looked at Laura, clearly reluctant to let her go alone. "I don't think—"

  "It's okay," Laura said, though she wasn't sure it was. "Wait here. I'll be fine."

  Elisabeth led her back downstairs and through a door Laura had assumed was a closet. Instead, it opened onto a narrow staircase leading down to a cellar. The space was surprisingly dry and clean, illuminated by battery-powered lanterns. One wall was covered with photographs, news clippings, and hand-drawn diagrams all connected by red string, like something from a detective show.

  "Your friend came asking about the disappearances," Elisabeth said, gesturing to the wall. "About what happened in '59. Said she found patterns in the town records."

  Laura examined the display. It chronicled disappearances dating back to the town's founding—six people every 27 years, their cases never solved.

  "This is exactly what Annie was researching," Laura said. "She found references to 'offerings' in the founder journals."

  Elisabeth nodded grimly. "The town has a pact. Has since Jeremiah Seacliff's time. Prosperity in exchange for sacrifice."

  "A pact with what?"

  "Not what. Who." Elisabeth pointed to a diagram at the center of the wall—the same concentric circles and radiating lines Laura had seen in Annie's notes and on her bathroom mirror. "The Hollow Voice. An entity that exists in the spaces between our world and... somewhere else. Every cycle, it requires new vessels."

  Laura's skepticism warred with everything she'd experienced in the past twenty-four hours. "You're saying there's some kind of... entity taking people? That's what happened to Annie?"

  "Annie saw too much." Elisabeth moved to a small chest on a table, opening it to reveal a collection of silver lockets—nearly identical to the one Annie always wore. "These belonged to the others. The ones taken in my year."

  Laura picked one up, feeling its weight. "I don't understand."

  "In 1959, it was supposed to be me," Elisabeth said quietly. "I was the sixth. The vessel. But I ran. Five others were taken instead, but the ritual was incomplete without the vessel. The Hollow Voice was angry." She gestured to the room around them. "I've been hiding ever since, watching for signs of the next cycle. It always returns."

  "And you think it's happening again? Now?"

  "I know it is." Elisabeth's voice was firm. "The signs are unmistakable. The fog that doesn't burn off at dawn. Electronic disturbances. Reflections that move independently." She studied Laura. "Dreams of standing in water while voices whisper from below."

  Laura's blood ran cold. "How did you—"

  "Because I had them too." Elisabeth touched one of the photographs on the wall—a group of teenagers at a beach, laughing. "All of us did, before we were chosen. The Hollow Voice marks its offerings early."

  Laura struggled to process what she was hearing. It sounded impossible, insane—and yet it connected too perfectly with everything that had happened.

  "Why Annie? Why us?" she asked finally.

  "Annie discovered the truth. She was a threat." Elisabeth hesitated. "As for the rest of you... it always takes six. Five offerings and a vessel."

  "But why us specifically? Out of everyone in town?"

  "The Hollow Voice requires strong connections—emotional bonds it can feed upon. Friends since childhood, tied together by secrets and loyalties." Elisabeth looked at her sharply. "Tell me, how long have the six of you been meeting at The Velvet Room on Friday nights?"

  Laura blinked. "Since college. Almost ten years."

  "Exactly. The perfect offering. Your bond is the feast."

  The implication hit Laura like a physical blow. "You're saying Annie was taken because we're all being targeted? That the rest of them—Marcus, Vanessa, James, Daniel—they're all in danger? I'm in danger?"

  "One of you is the vessel," Elisabeth said. "The other five are offerings. The Hollow Voice will take them one by one until only the vessel remains for the final ritual."

  Laura thought about Annie missing, about Daniel's bizarre behavior in the library basement. "How do we stop it? How do we get Annie back?"

  Elisabeth looked away. "You don't. Once the hollowing begins, it can't be reversed."

  "I don't accept that," Laura said fiercely. "There has to be a way."

  The old woman was silent for a long moment. "There might be," she said finally. "But it's dangerous. It would require entering the hollow places—the caves beneath the lighthouse where the barrier between worlds is thinnest."

  "Show me," Laura said immediately.

  Elisabeth shook her head. "Not yet. The tide is wrong. The caves are only accessible during the lowest tide, and only safely navigable during the pale hours."

  "The pale hours?"

  "The time between worlds. From midnight to dawn, when the veil is thinnest." Elisabeth hesitated. "Your friend's diary—did it mention the lighthouse keeper's journals?"

  "No," Laura said, surprised. "Just you. The lighthouse keeper's daughter."

  Elisabeth moved to another chest, this one locked. She produced a key from around her neck and opened it, revealing several leather-bound books. "My father kept detailed records of the phenomenon. He spent years studying it after my friends disappeared. These might help you understand what you're facing."

  She handed Laura the topmost journal. "Be careful who you trust. The Hollow Voice can reach into this world through those it's marked. Sometimes they don't even know they're being used."

  "Daniel," Laura murmured. "In the library basement. That wasn't really him, was it?"

  "Moments of hollowing," Elisabeth confirmed. "Brief possessions. They'll become more frequent as the cycle progresses."

  A crash from upstairs interrupted them. Then Daniel's voice, tense with alarm: "Laura? Someone's here!"

  They rushed back upstairs to find Daniel at the window, peering out cautiously. "A police car just pulled up," he said. "Two officers."

  Elisabeth moved quickly, gathering a few items into a worn backpack. "They've found me. I knew they would eventually."

  "The police?" Laura asked, confused. "Why would they be looking for you?"

  "Not the police. Those who serve the Voice. Every cycle has its guardians—townspeople who protect the ritual, ensure the offerings are delivered." Elisabeth thrust the journal into Laura's hands. "Take this. Meet me at the north side of the lighthouse tomorrow night at lowest tide. If you're still determined to save your friend, I'll show you the way to the hollow places."

  "But—"

  "Go out the back, through the fence where you came in. I'll stall them." Elisabeth's eyes were suddenly fierce. "Trust no one, Laura. Especially those closest to you."

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Laura and Daniel slipped out the back door as a knock sounded at the front. They crouched low, moving quickly across the yard to the gap in the fence. Once through, they climbed up the embankment and took cover behind a large rock formation, watching as two officers—neither of whom Laura recognized—escorted Elisabeth from the cottage in handcuffs.

  "What's happening?" Daniel whispered. "Why are they arresting her?"

  Laura clutched the journal tightly. "I'm not sure they're really police."

  They waited until the patrol car drove away before making their way back toward town. Laura recounted her conversation with Elisabeth, watching Daniel's face carefully for his reaction.

  "That's... a lot to process," he said finally. "An interdimensional entity harvesting people for some kind of ritual? Laura, you have to admit how that sounds."

  "I know how it sounds," Laura said. "But after what happened in the library basement—"

  "Which I still don't remember," Daniel reminded her.

  "Exactly. Elisabeth said the Hollow Voice can influence people, possess them temporarily." Laura held up the journal. "She gave me this. Said it might help us understand what we're dealing with."

  Daniel sighed. "Okay. Let's say for argument's sake that some of this is true. That there's something supernatural happening. What's our next move?"

  "I need to warn the others," Laura said firmly. "If we're all targets, they need to know."

  "And tell them what, exactly? That an old hermit living illegally in the lighthouse keeper's cottage thinks we're being hunted by a voice from another dimension?"

  Laura shot him a frustrated look. "I'll find a way to explain it. But first..." She glanced at her watch. It was nearly noon. "I want to check on Marcus. He said he was going to the radio station this morning."

  WSCV Radio occupied the upper floors of a converted Victorian at the edge of town. The station was small—just three rooms on the third floor: a reception area, a production room, and the broadcast booth itself. Marcus's late-night show, "The Witching Hour," had developed a loyal following over the years, especially among night owls and insomniacs.

  The station was quiet when they arrived. Saturday daytime programming was pre-recorded, with no DJ present. Laura used the spare key Marcus had given her years ago to let them in.

  "Marcus?" she called, flipping on the lights. "Are you here?"

  No answer. The reception area was empty, the coffee pot cold. Laura moved to the production room, finding it similarly deserted. Marcus's jacket hung on the back of a chair, and several cassette tapes were scattered across the desk, labeled in his distinctive scrawl: "ANONYMOUS CALLS – 10/14/86," "STRANGE FREQUENCIES – 10/15/86," "VOICE ANALYSIS – 10/16/86."

  "He's been documenting the weird calls he mentioned," Laura said, picking up one of the tapes.

  The production room held a tape deck. Laura inserted the first cassette and pressed play.

  Static filled the room, then Marcus's professional radio voice: "WSCV, you're on the air with Marcus. What's your name and where are you calling from?"

  More static, then a voice—distorted, neither clearly male nor female: "The hollowing approaches. The cycle returns."

  "Very funny," Marcus responded. "Is there a particular song you'd like to request?"

  "Six will be chosen. Five to empty, one to fill."

  "Look, friend, I'm trying to run a show here—"

  "Annie knows. She's seen the symbols. She's heard the Voice."

  "Who is this?" Marcus's voice had changed, alarm replacing his casual tone. "How do you know Annie?"

  "The vessel waits. The offering begins. The Hollow Voice hungers."

  The call ended in a burst of static. Laura and Daniel looked at each other, the same unease mirrored in their expressions.

  "This was two days ago," Laura said quietly. "Before Annie disappeared. Before any of this started."

  She played the next tape. It contained more calls, each similar in content but increasingly specific. The final tape, labeled from yesterday, contained something different—a recording of Marcus alone in the booth after his show had ended.

  "Testing, one-two-three," his voice came through the speakers. "This is Marcus Webb, WSCV Radio, October 17th, 1986. I'm recording this because the calls are getting worse, and I'm starting to hear... other things between broadcasts. Some kind of voice or frequency bleeding through when it shouldn't be possible."

  There was a pause, then the sound of Marcus adjusting equipment.

  "I'm going to record the dead air between stations to see if I can capture it."

  For several seconds, there was nothing but soft static. Then, gradually, a whisper emerged—so faint at first it was barely perceptible, but gradually increasing in volume.

  "Marcus... Marcusss..."

  The voice was Annie's.

  "Annie?" Marcus's shocked response came through clearly. "Is this some kind of joke?"

  "Help me," Annie's voice continued, distorted and oddly slowed. "I'm in the hollow places. Between. Not dead. Not alive. Suspended."

  "Where are you?" Marcus demanded. "What happened?"

  "The Voice took me. It will take you all. One by one." A pause, then: "Laura is the vessel. They want Laura."

  Laura felt the blood drain from her face. Daniel's hand found her shoulder, steadying her.

  "This is insane," Marcus muttered on the tape. "I'm losing my mind."

  "Look in the mirrors," Annie's voice continued, now layered with other sounds—like multiple voices speaking in unison. "See the truth. Daniel knows. Daniel has always known."

  The tape dissolved into static, then abruptly cut off.

  Laura turned slowly to look at Daniel, whose face had gone ashen.

  "What does she mean, you've always known?" Laura asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  "I don't know," Daniel said, his eyes wide with what seemed like genuine confusion. "Laura, I swear, I have no idea what she's talking about."

  Laura wanted to believe him, but doubt crept in like a poison. She thought about his strange behavior in the library basement, about Elisabeth's warning: "Trust no one, especially those closest to you."

  "We need to find Marcus," she said finally, setting the question aside for now. "These tapes are from yesterday. He must have come here this morning, like he told you he would."

  They searched the rest of the station but found no sign of Marcus. His desk was in disarray, as if he'd been working frantically. Notes about the strange calls covered a bulletin board, along with a map of Seacliff Cove marked with red pins at specific locations—the lighthouse, the library, The Velvet Room, and Laura's apartment building.

  "He was connecting the dots," Laura murmured, studying the map. "Just like Annie."

  "Laura." Daniel's voice came from the broadcast booth. "You need to see this."

  She joined him in the small booth where Marcus spent his late nights. The space was intimate—just enough room for a desk with broadcasting equipment, a microphone, and a swivel chair. Daniel pointed to the desk.

  Marcus's headphones lay there, one earpiece stained with what looked horribly like blood. Beside them was a note in Marcus's handwriting, the letters jagged and uneven: "IT'S IN THE STATIC. IT'S ALWAYS BEEN IN THE STATIC."

  Laura picked up the headphones with shaking hands. "Something happened to him here. Recently."

  Daniel reached for the power switch on the main console. "Let's see if—"

  "Wait," Laura said suddenly. "The mirror."

  Across from the broadcasting desk was a small mirror, the kind used to check appearance before going on air. Unlike the rest of the cluttered space, it was perfectly clean, its surface gleaming in the fluorescent light.

  "What about it?" Daniel asked.

  Laura approached it cautiously, remembering Elisabeth's words about reflective surfaces as conduits. Her reflection looked normal—tired, frightened, but normal.

  Then it smiled.

  Laura hadn't smiled.

  She stumbled backward, colliding with Daniel. "Did you see that?"

  "See what?" He steadied her, looking concerned.

  "My reflection. It moved on its own." Laura couldn't tear her eyes from the mirror, where her reflection now matched her movements precisely, the brief anomaly gone.

  "Laura, you're exhausted. You've barely slept. After everything that's happened—"

  "I know what I saw," she insisted.

  Daniel hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. I believe you." He glanced around the booth. "We should go. If something happened to Marcus here, it might not be safe."

  As they turned to leave, the radio equipment suddenly came to life—lights flashing, dials spinning of their own accord. Static burst from the speakers, making them both jump.

  "What the—" Daniel began.

  The static modulated, forming patterns that almost resembled speech. Laura found herself moving toward it, oddly compelled by the rhythmic pulses.

  "Laura?" Daniel's voice seemed to come from far away.

  She reached for the headphones, some instinct telling her she would understand the static if she just listened more closely.

  "Laura, don't!" Daniel grabbed her wrist, pulling her back. "Remember what Marcus wrote. 'It's in the static.'"

  The spell broken, Laura shook her head to clear it. "You're right. We need to leave. Now."

  They hurried from the booth, but as they reached the door to the stairwell, the static from the radio rose to a painful shriek. All the equipment in the production room activated simultaneously—tape decks running, phones ringing, lights flashing in a strobing effect that made Laura dizzy.

  And through it all, Annie's voice, clear as if she were standing beside them: "Run, Laura. Run now. He's coming."

  Laura looked at Daniel, whose face was a mask of confusion and fear. "Who's coming?" he asked.

  The answer came in a crash from below—the sound of the street door being forced open, followed by heavy footsteps on the stairs.

  "Fire escape," Laura said, pulling Daniel toward the window that led to the metal landing outside. They scrambled through just as the studio door burst open behind them.

  Laura caught a glimpse of a figure in a gray suit entering the studio—the same man from The Velvet Room, his face still somehow in shadow despite the bright lights. Then she and Daniel were clattering down the fire escape, the static from the radio following them like a physical presence.

  They hit the ground running, not stopping until they were several blocks away, lost in the Saturday afternoon crowds of the shopping district.

  "What the hell was that?" Daniel gasped, bent over with his hands on his knees.

  "I don't know," Laura admitted. "But I think we just confirmed Elisabeth's warning."

  "About what?"

  "About the Hollow Voice having servants in town." Laura looked back toward the radio station, now hidden behind other buildings. "We need to find Vanessa and James. Warn them."

  "And tell them what, exactly?"

  Laura clutched Elisabeth's journal tightly. "I don't know yet. But two of our friends are missing now, and we're clearly being targeted." She met Daniel's eyes. "Whether you believe Elisabeth's explanation or not, something is happening to us. And I intend to find out what."

  As they walked quickly toward Vanessa's real estate office, Laura couldn't shake the echo of Annie's voice through the static: "Laura is the vessel. They want Laura."

  Or the even more troubling statement: "Daniel knows. Daniel has always known."

  She glanced at him as they walked, studying his profile—the face she'd known for most of her life, the person she trusted most in the world. Was he truly as confused and frightened as he seemed? Or was something else hiding behind those familiar eyes, something that had "always known" what was happening?

  Laura pushed the thought away. If she couldn't trust Daniel, she couldn't trust anyone. And right now, she needed someone to trust.

  Above them, clouds were gathering, unusual for the season. The air had taken on the heavy quality that preceded a storm, and somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled—a sound like a voice trying to form words just beyond the range of human hearing.