The Forgotten Lighthouse Keeper’s Island

. We were four friends looking for an adventure during our island-hopping trip along the eastern coast of Sulawesi. Me (Raka), my best friend since school Dimas, his sister Nadia, and our friend Tara. Someone in the last port had told us about a tiny, forgotten island with an old Dutch lighthouse that hadn’t been visited in decades. “No one goes there anymore,” the old fisherman said. We thought it would make for incredible photos and stories. We hired a small boat and left early in the morning. The sea was calm. After three hours we saw it — a rocky island no bigger than two football fields, dominated by a tall, white lighthouse standing against the gray sky. No other buildings. No trees. Just rocks, waves, and that lonely tower. The boatman refused to wait. He dropped us off and said he would return in two days. We waved him off, excited. The lighthouse door was unlocked. Inside, the ground floor was surprisingly clean. A table with four chairs. A pot still sitting on an old stove. Upstairs, the keeper’s living quarters had beds with sheets that looked recently changed. In the basement, accessed by a narrow spiral staircase, we found metal doors and what looked like old storage rooms. That first night we cooked noodles and laughed around a small fire outside. The stars were beautiful. The waves crashed steadily against the rocks. Everything felt peaceful. Until 1:47 a.m. I woke up to a soft, pulsing blue light coming from the basement stairs. I thought one of us had left a flashlight on. When I went to check, the light disappeared. But I heard something — a low, wet clicking sound, like a tongue against teeth, followed by a soft humming. The next morning we explored the basement properly. It was much larger than it looked from above. Damp concrete walls covered in dark mold. Old metal barrels. And at the far end, a heavy iron door leading deeper down into the rock. The door was slightly open. Behind it, stone steps went further down into darkness. Dimas wanted to go deeper. We followed with our flashlights. That’s when we saw the first lure. A small, glowing blue orb floating in the darkness ahead. It swayed gently, like a fishing lure. Then another appeared. Then three more. They were attached to long, thin stalks coming from the heads of pale, humanoid shapes crouched in the water that flooded the lowest chamber. The creatures were horrifying. Their bodies were thin and elongated, almost skeletal, with translucent skin showing dark organs underneath. Their heads were bulbous and hairless. From the top of each head grew a long, fleshy stalk ending in a glowing lure — blue and white, pulsing softly. Their faces had no eyes, only wide slits for nostrils and large, tooth-filled mouths that opened sideways. Their fingers were extremely long and webbed, perfect for gripping wet stone. They didn’t attack immediately. They watched us. The lures swayed hypnotically. We ran back upstairs and barricaded the basement door with heavy barrels. We told ourselves they couldn’t climb up. We were wrong. On the second night they started coming. The lures appeared first — glowing softly under the door gaps. Then long fingers reached through, feeling around. They made that constant wet clicking sound. One of them pressed its face against the bottom of the door and began whispering in a voice that sounded like bubbles popping underwater. It called Nadia’s name. It knew her name. Tara was the first to break. On the third night she woke up screaming. One creature had managed to squeeze its thin arm through a crack and was holding her ankle. The glowing lure on its head was inches from her face. She stared into it, frozen. When we pulled her away, her eyes were glassy. She kept repeating, “It showed me the bottom of the sea… it’s beautiful.” She walked downstairs the next morning while we slept. We heard her scream once, then the wet dragging sound. When we reached the basement, she was gone. Only her shoes remained, neatly placed beside the water. Dimas tried to be strong for his sister. He made spears from broken wood and metal. We stayed on the top floor of the lighthouse, the lantern room, where we could see everything. But the creatures were patient. They began climbing the outside walls at night. We could hear their long fingers scraping against the concrete as they pulled themselves up. Nadia was taken on the fifth night. She had gone to the edge of the platform to get fresh air. One moment she was there. The next, a pale arm reached over the railing, wrapped around her waist, and pulled her down silently. We heard her scream as she fell. When we looked over, we saw multiple glowing lures underwater, surrounding her sinking body. She was still struggling. Dimas never recovered after that. He stopped speaking. He just sat in the corner staring at the floor. On the sixth night he walked straight down the stairs without a word. We heard him talking to someone down there — laughing, then crying, then silence. The creatures had learned his voice perfectly. Now I am completely alone. I have been in the lantern room for two days. The creatures have filled the lower floors. Their glowing lures light up the entire staircase like underwater stars. Sometimes they call my name in the voices of my dead friends. They sound so real. They beg me to come down. They say the water is warm. They say I won’t feel pain for long. My phone still has some battery. The boatman is not coming back. I think he knew. The creatures are patient. They wait. One of them is climbing the outside wall right now. I can see its glowing lure rising slowly past the window. Its mouth is open. It is smiling. If you ever hear about a forgotten lighthouse on a small rocky island, do not go there. The keeper did not leave. He is still down there. And he is no longer human. The door to the lantern room just moved. Long wet fingers are sliding underneath it. The lure is glowing brighter now. It is very close.