Mystery ((link)) - Seaside

Here’s a short atmospheric piece titled — written as a prose poem / flash fiction vignette. Seaside Mystery

By noon, the tide had reclaimed the chest. The fog lifted like a curtain. But the lighthouse keeper swore he saw two sets of footprints leading into the sea — and only one set coming back. seaside mystery

That night, every window facing the bay fogged over from the inside. And if you pressed your ear to the glass, you could hear breathing — slow, patient, salted — from somewhere deep beneath the waves. Here’s a short atmospheric piece titled — written

The fog rolled in before dawn, thick as a held secret. It swallowed the pier’s last lantern, then the rowboat, then the gulls’ cries. At low tide, something emerged from the sand — not driftwood, not kelp, but a locked chest crusted with barnacles and older than the town’s oldest lie. But the lighthouse keeper swore he saw two

Children found it first, their bare feet freezing in the shallows. Inside: no gold, no bones — only a single leather journal, waterlogged but legible. Each page listed a different name, a date, and the same two words: Still watching.