The Gravity Of Alana

Chapter 5

Maria hesitated, her fingers tapping against the desk. Finally, she said, "I don't know. People see what they want to see. But... it's not just the kids. I've heard stories from adults too. Walkers, fishermen, and even the night staff at the diner. They all say the same thing—something about the lighthouse feels wrong. Like it's watching them."

I scribbled the details into my notebook, my pulse quickening. But Maria wasn't finished.

"Look," she said, her tone firmer now. "I don't think the lighthouse is safe. Whether it's the cliffs, the stories, or something else, people get hurt out there. And not just physically."

Her words hung in the air, heavy and deliberate. I opened my mouth to ask what she meant, but she cut me off.

"I knew Theo," she said abruptly. Her voice had softened, and her gaze dropped to the desk. "We went to school together. He was my friend... and the last person I ever expected to see out there."

I blinked, startled by the sudden shift. "What do you mean?"

Maria exhaled, leaning back in her chair. "Theo wasn't himself in those last few weeks. He started acting strange—paranoid, and distracted, like he was hearing or seeing things no one else could. He kept saying the lighthouse was calling to him. That it wanted something from him. I thought he was just... stressed. Or maybe making it up. But the night he died, he asked me to meet him there."

Her voice cracked slightly, and she paused, swallowing hard. "I didn't go. I was scared. And the next morning, he was gone."

The silence in the room felt suffocating, but I couldn't look away. "Maria," I said softly, "do you think his death was an accident?"

Her jaw tightened, and she shook her head slowly. "I don't know what it was. But I know Theo wasn't lying about how he felt. And now, every time I hear about someone getting hurt near that lighthouse..." She trailed off, her voice breaking. "It feels like it's happening all over again."

Maria shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her fingers gripping the edges of the desk like she was trying to anchor herself. I could tell she was debating whether to keep going or shut the conversation down entirely. The hesitation only made me more certain she knew something—something she'd been holding on to for years.

"Maria," I said softly, leaning forward. "If there's more to the story, I need to know. People are still getting hurt out there. Don't you think the town deserves to understand what's really going on?"

Her hazel eyes flicked up to meet mine, sharp and wary. For a long moment, she didn't say anything. Then she let out a slow, measured breath and leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed tightly over her chest like she was bracing herself.

"Theo wasn't the first," she said finally. Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but the words hit me like a thunderclap.

I blinked, stunned. "What do you mean?"

Maria stared at the window, her gaze distant. "Before Theo, there were other stories. Not deaths, necessarily, but... disappearances. People seeing strange things, hearing things. It's been happening for as long as I can remember, but no one talks about it. Not really. It's like the lighthouse is some unspoken rule in this town: you don't go there, and you definitely don't ask questions."

"But Theo did?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she nodded. "Theo couldn't let it go. He said the lighthouse was... alive, in some way. Like it was watching us. Calling to us." She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "I thought he was just being dramatic. But he started acting strange—paranoid, distracted. He'd zone out in the middle of conversations like he wasn't even there anymore. And the dreams..."

She trailed off, her voice breaking slightly.

"Dreams?" I prompted gently.

"He said he'd dream about the lighthouse almost every night," she continued. "He said he could hear it calling his name, over and over. And sometimes he'd see things—flashes of light, shadows moving in the windows. He started drawing them in his notebook. At first, it was just sketches of the lighthouse, but then..."

Maria hesitated, glancing at the door as though someone might be listening. "The drawings got darker. He'd sketch these... things, like figures standing in the lighthouse windows. Shapes that didn't look human. I told him to stop, but he wouldn't listen. He said he had to figure out what it wanted."

"What it wanted?" I echoed, my pulse quickening. "Did he say what that was?"

Maria shook her head, her expression tightening. "No. He just kept saying he had to go back, that he had to find out. The night before he died, he called me. He asked me to meet him there, said he wanted to show me something. I told him no. I told him it was stupid, that he needed to leave it alone. And then..."

Her voice broke completely, and she looked away, swallowing hard. "The next morning, they found him at the base of the cliffs. They said he fell, that it was an accident. But I don't believe that. I never have."

The room fell silent, the weight of her words pressing down on both of us. I scribbled furiously in my notebook, my heart pounding. Something about this didn't add up. If what Maria said was true, Theo hadn't just been drawn to the lighthouse—he'd been obsessed with it. And now, years later, the same things were happening to other people.

"Maria," I said carefully, "do you think whatever was happening to Theo is still happening now?"

She hesitated, her arms tightening around herself. Finally, she said, "I think the lighthouse has always been dangerous. Maybe it's the cliffs, maybe it's just people getting caught up in their own heads. But sometimes..." Her voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. "Sometimes I think it's more than that. I think it's the lighthouse itself. Like it's... alive. Like it knows."

"Knows what?"

Her gaze snapped back to mine, sharp and intense. "I don't know," she said firmly. "And I don't want to know. Whatever it is, it's better left alone. I've already lost one person to that place. I'm not going to lose anyone else."