Stormhaven Isle was a remote and windswept speck of land off the coast of Cornwall. For centuries, it had been a beacon of safety for mariners navigating the treacherous waters of the North Atlantic. The lighthouse stood tall and resolute, its light piercing through the darkest nights and fiercest storms. But it was also a place of isolation, where the keepers had only the sea and each other for company.
In the autumn of 1922, three men were stationed at the lighthouse: Thomas Grainger, the seasoned head keeper with over twenty years of service; Samuel Blythe, his dependable but somewhat taciturn assistant; and James Cook, a young apprentice on his first assignment. They were a well-functioning team, each man understanding the importance of their roles and the necessity of maintaining the light without fail.
The early October weather had been relatively calm, but the locals on the mainland warned that a severe storm was brewing. By the 15th of October, the sky had turned an ominous grey, and the sea began to churn with increasing ferocity. The lighthouse keepers made their preparations, securing loose items and ensuring that all their supplies were in order.
On the night of the 16th, the storm struck with a vengeance. Fierce winds howled around the tower, and waves crashed against the rocks, sending spray high into the air. Inside, the keepers kept a vigilant watch, making sure the light remained steady and bright. They took turns at the lamp, recording their observations in the station’s logbook, as was their duty.
However, when the relief boat arrived on the morning of the 19th of October, it found the lighthouse eerily silent. Captain Hargreaves, who had been bringing supplies to the island for nearly a decade, felt a knot of unease tighten in his stomach. The usual greeting of waving hands and shouted welcomes was conspicuously absent.
Upon docking, Hargreaves and his men made their way up the path to the lighthouse, calling out but receiving no response. The door to the tower was slightly ajar, creaking in the wind. Inside, they found no sign of the keepers. The lamp was extinguished, the hearth cold, and the interior eerily undisturbed.
The only clue to the fate of the keepers was Thomas Grainger’s journal, found open on the table in the common room. The last entry, dated the night of the 16th, was only half written. It read:
“16th October, 1922
The storm is the worst I have seen in all my years here. The wind howls like a banshee, and the sea seems determined to swallow us whole. Samuel and James are doing their best to keep the lamp steady, but there is an odd feeling in the air tonight, something I can’t quite put my finger on. The men seem uneasy, and I must admit, so am I. The noise outside is deafening, but it’s what I thought I heard within the tower that troubles me most. I could swear I heard a voice calling my name from the darkness, but when I looked, there was nothing there. Perhaps it’s just my imagination playing tricks on me, or perhaps—”
The entry ended abruptly, the pen trailing off the page. Hargreaves’ men searched every corner of the lighthouse and the surrounding island, but no trace of Grainger, Blythe, or Cook was ever found. There were no signs of a struggle, no footprints leading away from the tower, nothing to indicate what had happened to them.
The official investigation concluded that the men had likely been swept out to sea while trying to secure something outside during the storm, but not everyone was convinced. Some whispered of supernatural forces, of ghosts and spirits from shipwrecks past, seeking revenge or companionship. Others spoke of madness induced by isolation and the relentless roar of the storm.
Stormhaven Isle was never manned again. The lighthouse was automated the following year, its light continuing to guide ships safely along the coast, but the mystery of the missing keepers remained unsolved. The island, once a symbol of safety and salvation, became a place of whispered legends and unspoken fears.
To this day, mariners claim that on stormy nights, when the wind is at its fiercest and the sea is wild, you can hear faint voices carried on the wind, calling out from the darkness, forever lost to the storm.
Mind Dump Of A Hiker 