The Vanishers of Leck

Chapter 1

The cobblestones of Leck are cold against Linda's boots as she carries me, my small frame swallowed by her enormous shadow. Dusk bleeds into the sky, painting the deserted streets in hues of purple and dread. At five-foot-one, I'm used to seeing the world from an upward angle, but tonight, even from Linda's 7'4 feet height, everything feels wrong.

"Did you see them?" Linda's voice rumbles, a low vibration against my back.

I nod, clutching tighter to the worn leather of her jacket. "Two figures, back there. Like… afterimages."

"They're gone now." She says, her tone more reassuring to herself than to me.

Leck is a town built on disappearances. Whispers of people vanishing from their homes, their cars, even from crowded streets. At 23, I've lived here long enough to know the stories aren't just folklore. They're warnings. The silence that has fallen tonight is heavier than usual. The kind of silence that smothers sound, smothers hope.

We pass the old clock tower, its hands frozen at half-past three—a time no one seems to remember setting. The air shimmers around it, a heat haze on a cold night. I bury my face in Linda's shoulder, trying to block out the sight.

"Easy, Leith," she murmurs, adjusting her grip. "We're almost there."

"There" is the old bookstore—"Ink & Embers"—a haven of dusty pages and forgotten tales. Old Man Hemlock, the owner, is eccentric but reliable, and he has a knack for knowing things he shouldn't. He's the closest thing we have to an expert on Leck's strange phenomena.

The bell above the door jingles as Linda pushes it open, the sound startlingly loud in the oppressive quiet. The scent of aged paper and woodsmoke fills my lungs. Hemlock is behind the counter, a frail figure surrounded by towering shelves. His spectacles perch precariously on his nose as he peers over them.

"Evening, Linda. And Leith," he greets us, his voice raspy. "Didn't expect to see you two tonight."

"We need your help, Hemlock." Linda's voice is firm, brooking no argument. "Things are getting worse."

Hemlock sighs, pushing himself away from the counter. "Worse how? Has someone else vanished?"

"Not yet," I say, my voice barely a whisper. "But I saw… figures. Trailing us. And the silence…"

Hemlock's eyes sharpen, the mildness gone. "The silence is a hungry thing, Leith. It consumes." He shuffles toward a back room, beckoning us to follow. "Come. I have something to show you."

The back room is crammed with even more books, stacks of them reaching the ceiling. In the center sits a large, leather-bound tome, its pages yellowed and brittle. Hemlock opens it carefully, revealing intricate drawings and strange symbols.

"This book," he says, his voice low, "tells of Leck's true nature. Of the cracks in reality that run beneath our feet." He points to a symbol that makes my skin crawl. "This is the mark of the Vanishers. They are drawn to places where the veil is thin."

"Vanishers?" I ask, my heart pounding. "Who are they?"

"They are what feed on the silence. What take those who disappear." Hemlock looks at me, his eyes filled with a grave warning. "And they are here, Leith. Closer than you think."

A chill snakes down my spine. "What do we do?" I ask, my voice trembling despite my best efforts.

"We fight," Linda says, her voice resolute. "We always do."

Hemlock shakes his head, his gaze fixed on the book. "Fighting them directly is futile. They exist between worlds, beyond our comprehension. We must find a way to close the veil, to seal the cracks."

"How?" I press, desperate for any solution.

Hemlock turns a page, his finger tracing a complex diagram. "According to this, there are focal points within Leck, places where the veil is weakest. If we can perform a ritual at these points, we might be able to reinforce the barrier."

"Ritual?" Linda raises an eyebrow. "You mean magic?"

"Not magic, exactly," Hemlock corrects. "More like… focused intention. A convergence of energy and will. The book speaks of three such points: the old church, the town square, and the abandoned lighthouse."

"That's… a lot to cover," I say, thinking of the vast expanse of Leck and the increasing sense of dread that permeates the air.

"We don't have much time," Hemlock warns. "The Vanishers are growing stronger. The longer we wait, the harder it will be to stop them."

Linda sets me down gently, her eyes scanning the room. "Alright, Hemlock. You stay here, keep researching. Leith and I will check out the church."

"Be careful," Hemlock calls as we turn to leave. "The church is said to be haunted by more than just memories."

We step back out into the deserted streets, the silence even more oppressive than before. The air crackles with an unseen energy, raising the hairs on my arms. As Linda starts walking, I hesitate.

"Linda," I say, "maybe we should take Hemlock with us. He knows more about this than we do."

"Hemlock's too old to be running around fighting ghosts," Linda says, but I see a flicker of doubt in her eyes. "Besides, someone needs to stay here and keep digging. We'll be fine."

I'm not so sure. As we walk towards the church, the shadows seem to lengthen and twist, mimicking shapes that aren't there. The wind picks up, whispering through the empty streets, carrying fragments of voices, of screams.

The old church looms ahead, a skeletal silhouette against the darkening sky. Its stained-glass windows are shattered, its doors hanging open like a gaping maw. A sense of profound sadness emanates from its crumbling walls, a weight that settles heavy on my chest.

"Ready?" Linda asks, her hand resting on the hilt of the hunting knife she always carries.

I take a deep breath, trying to steel myself against the fear that threatens to consume me. "As I'll ever be."

We step inside, and the world shifts. The air grows colder, the shadows deepen, and the silence… the silence becomes a presence, a living thing that watches us from the corners of the ruined sanctuary. The hunt begins.

Linda readjusts me on her shoulder, my small frame a negligible weight to her. The interior of the church is a symphony of decay, the scent of damp stone and mildew heavy in the air. Moonlight filters through the shattered windows, casting eerie patterns on the crumbling altar. Every step echoes, amplified by the unnatural silence.

“Stay sharp, Leith,” Linda murmurs, her voice barely audible above the wind whistling through the broken facade. “Something’s not right.”

I scan the sanctuary, my eyes darting from shadow to shadow. The air is thick with a sense of unease, a feeling of being watched by unseen eyes. I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me.

“I feel it too,” I whisper back. “Like we’re trespassing on hallowed ground… or what’s left of it.”

We move deeper into the church, passing rows of decaying pews, their surfaces scarred with graffiti and rot. A sense of profound sadness washes over me, a lingering echo of the faith and hope that once filled these walls.

Suddenly, a flicker of movement catches my eye. A shadowy figure darts across the far end of the sanctuary, disappearing behind a crumbling pillar. I gasp, pointing in its direction.

“Did you see that?” I ask, my voice trembling.

Linda stops, her hand instinctively tightening around the handle of her hunting knife. “I saw something. Stay here.”

She moves forward, her footsteps silent on the stone floor. I watch her, my heart pounding in my chest, as she cautiously approaches the pillar. She rounds the corner, disappearing from my sight for a moment. Then, she reappears, her face grim.

“Nothing,” she says, her voice low. “But I felt it. A cold spot. Like something passed through.”

“The Vanishers,” I whisper. “They’re here.”

“Maybe,” Linda says, her eyes scanning the sanctuary. “Or maybe it’s just a ghost.”

I scoff. “In Leck, ghosts are just a prelude to something worse.”

Linda sighs. “Let’s just focus on finding this focal point. Hemlock said it should be near the altar.”

We move towards the altar, our senses on high alert. The air grows colder, the shadows deepen, and the silence… the silence becomes almost unbearable. As we reach the altar, I notice something strange. A symbol etched into the stone, hidden beneath layers of dust and grime. It’s the same symbol Hemlock showed us in the book, the mark of the Vanishers.

“Linda, look!” I exclaim, pointing at the symbol.

Linda examines it closely, her expression hardening. “This is it. This is one of the focal points.”

She draws her knife, her eyes narrowed in concentration. “Alright, Leith. Let’s do this. Hemlock said we need to focus our intention, our will, to reinforce the barrier.”

We stand before the altar, our hands outstretched, focusing all our energy on the symbol. I try to visualize a protective barrier, a shield of light that will push back the darkness. But the silence is overwhelming, and the sense of dread is growing stronger. I can feel the Vanishers closing in, their presence a cold, suffocating weight.

Suddenly, the ground begins to tremble. The air crackles with energy, and the shadows twist and writhe. A low, guttural growl echoes through the sanctuary, and the temperature plummets.

“They’re here,” Linda hisses, her eyes wide with fear. “Get ready, Leith. This is going to get ugly.”

The growl intensifies, vibrating through my bones. The shadows coalesce, forming grotesque shapes that dance just beyond the periphery of my vision. Linda shifts, placing herself between me and the growing darkness. She grips her knife, the metal gleaming in the faint moonlight. "Stay behind me, Leith," she commands, her voice firm despite the tremor in her hands. I try to focus, to maintain the image of the protective barrier, but fear gnaws at my resolve. The symbol on the altar seems to pulse with an unholy light, drawing the darkness closer. A figure emerges from the shadows, tall and gaunt, its features obscured by a swirling vortex of darkness. Its eyes, two pinpricks of crimson, fixate on me. I feel a cold hand grip my heart, squeezing the air from my lungs. "Leith," the figure rasps, its voice like the scraping of bone on stone. "We have been waiting for you." I shrink back, burying my face in Linda's shoulder. The figure takes a step forward, and the ground trembles again. Cracks spiderweb across the stone floor, and the air fills with the stench of decay.

Linda lunges forward, her knife a blur of silver in the darkness. She slashes at the figure, but the blade passes through it as if it were smoke. The figure laughs, a chilling sound that echoes through the ruined church. "Foolish mortal," it hisses. "You cannot harm us with your paltry weapons." It raises a hand, and a wave of darkness surges towards us. Linda throws herself in front of me, shielding me from the brunt of the attack. The darkness washes over her, and she cries out in pain. I watch in horror as her skin begins to blister and crack, her features contorting in agony. "Linda!" I scream, reaching out to her. But my hand passes through her as if she were a ghost. She staggers back, her eyes filled with a desperate plea. "Run, Leith," she gasps. "Get out of here. Save yourself." I shake my head, tears streaming down my face.

"I can't leave you," I sob. "I won't." The figure advances, its crimson eyes burning with malice. "It is too late for her," it says, its voice dripping with satisfaction. "Now, you will join us." It reaches out for me, its skeletal fingers closing around my arm. I scream, struggling against its grasp. But its grip is too strong, its power too overwhelming. I feel myself being pulled towards the darkness, towards the abyss. Just when I think all hope is lost, a blinding light explodes from the altar. The symbol glows with incandescent energy, pushing back the shadows. The figure shrieks in agony, recoiling from the light. Its grip on my arm loosens, and I stumble back, collapsing onto the floor. The church is filled with a cacophony of sound: the roar of the light, the screams of the figure, the groans of the crumbling stone. And then, as suddenly as it began, it stops. The light fades, the shadows recede, and the silence returns.

But this time, it is a different kind of silence. A silence that is not empty, but filled with a fragile hope. I look up, my eyes scanning the sanctuary. Linda is gone. The figure is gone. Only the crumbling church remains, bathed in the pale moonlight. And me, alone, with the knowledge that the Vanishers are real, and that they are coming for me. I stand up, my legs trembling, and walk towards the altar. I reach out and touch the symbol, feeling its power coursing through my veins. I don't know what to do, or where to go. But I know one thing: I will not let the Vanishers win. I will find a way to stop them, even if it costs me my life. For Linda, for Hemlock, for everyone who has vanished in Leck, I will fight.

The cold stone of the altar grounds me. I focus on the lingering energy of the symbol, a fragile warmth against the encroaching dread. Defeating the Vanishers… Hemlock's book. I fumble for it within my coat, its pages brittle beneath my trembling fingers. I recall Hemlock's frantic warnings about focal points and the Vanishers' insatiable hunger for Leck. He mentioned a ritual, something about disrupting their connection to this reality.

I flip through the yellowed pages, scanning for anything that might help. The language is archaic, filled with symbols and diagrams that seem to shift before my eyes. But then, a passage catches my attention: "To sever the tether, one must exploit the flaw – the imperfection within the perfect shadow." The imperfection? What could that mean?

My mind races, replaying the encounter with the Vanisher. Its power, its hunger, the chilling certainty in its voice. Was there a moment of hesitation? A flicker of something other than malice? I remember the blinding light from the symbol, the Vanisher recoiling in pain. Light... could that be the key? Vanishers are creatures of darkness, and perhaps, like all shadows, they fear the light. But how can I weaponize something so intangible?

I think of the lighthouse, another focal point. It stands sentinel on the coast, its beam a beacon against the encroaching darkness of the sea. Maybe there, I can find a way to amplify the light, to create a weapon against the Vanishers. It's a long shot, but it's the only lead I have.

I clutch the book to my chest and step out of the church. The air is thick with an unnatural stillness, the silence more profound than before. I know the Vanishers are still out there, watching, waiting. I glance back at the church. Linda's sacrifice will not be in vain.

I resolve to head to the lighthouse. The path is long and dangerous, but with each step, my determination grows stronger. Leck's fate, and perhaps my own, hangs in the balance. As I walk the deserted streets, I whisper to myself: "The imperfection within the perfect shadow…" The lighthouse. It has to be the answer.

Chapter 2

The lighthouse looms in the distance, a stark white tower against the inky sky. The closer I get, the more oppressive the silence becomes. Even the sea seems to hold its breath, the waves lapping against the shore with a muted whisper. I pass through the gates and approach the entrance. The door is heavy, reinforced with iron bands and a rusty padlock. I try the handle, but it´s firmly locked. "Damn," I mutter under my breath. I look around, searching for another way in. The walls of the lighthouse are sheer and smooth, offering no purchase.

But then, I spot a narrow window on the ground floor, partially boarded up. The wood is rotten and crumbling, and with a few well-placed kicks, I manage to pry it open. I squeeze through the opening, landing with a thud on the dusty floor inside. The air is thick with the smell of salt and decay. Cobwebs hang like macabre decorations, and the only light comes from the sliver of moon visible through the boarded-up window. I pull out Hemlock's book and use my lighter to illuminate the pages. I need to find something, anything, about the lighthouse and its connection to the focal points. I start climbing the winding staircase that spirals up the center of the tower. Each step creaks ominously under my weight, the sound amplified by the oppressive silence.

As I ascend, I notice strange symbols etched into the stone walls, similar to the one in the church but subtly different. They seem to pulse with a faint, internal light, drawing my gaze. I realize that these symbols are not merely decorative; they are part of a larger pattern, a network of energy that permeates the entire structure. Reaching the top, I enter the lamp room. The massive lens dominates the space, its intricate facets reflecting the moonlight in a dazzling display. The air crackles with energy, a palpable hum that vibrates through my bones. This is it, the heart of the lighthouse, the source of its power. But something is wrong. The lens is clouded with dust and grime, its brilliance dimmed and distorted.

And the mechanism that rotates the lens is broken, the gears rusted and seized. The lighthouse, the beacon of hope, is crippled. I step closer to the lens, running my hand along its smooth surface. It feels cold, lifeless. But then, as I focus my will, as I pour my energy into it, I feel a faint spark, a flicker of warmth. The lens responds, its facets glowing with a soft, ethereal light. The imperfection within the perfect shadow… Could this be it? Could I use the lighthouse´s own damaged state, its dimmed light, to disrupt the Vanishers´ connection to this reality? I resolve to figure out the way.

I focus all my energy on the damaged lens, picturing the Vanishers, their shadowy forms recoiling from the light. Hemlock's words echo in my mind: "Exploit the flaw." The dimmed light, the broken mechanism, the dust-covered lens – these are not weaknesses, but opportunities. I start by cleaning the lens, carefully wiping away the grime with my sleeve. As the dust clears, the light grows stronger, revealing the intricate facets beneath. I then turn my attention to the broken mechanism. The gears are rusted and seized, but with persistence, I manage to loosen them. I use a piece of metal I find lying nearby as a makeshift lever, forcing the gears to turn. Slowly, painstakingly, the lens begins to rotate. The beam of light sweeps across the sea, cutting through the darkness. But it's still not enough. The light is too weak, too diffuse. I need to amplify it, to focus its energy.

I remember the symbols etched into the walls of the lighthouse. They are not merely decorative; they are conduits, channels for power. I touch one of the symbols, channeling my will, my determination, into it. The symbol glows brighter, and the light from the lens intensifies. I move from symbol to symbol, activating each one in turn. The lighthouse vibrates with energy, a symphony of light and power. The beam becomes a searing blade, piercing the darkness. And then, I feel it. A tremor in the air, a ripple in reality. The Vanishers are here, drawn to the lighthouse, to the source of the growing light. I can sense their presence, their anger, their fear. They try to push back, to extinguish the light, but it's too late.

I've tapped into something primal, something ancient. The lighthouse is no longer just a beacon; it's a weapon. The beam of light strikes the Vanishers, burning through their shadowy forms. They scream, their voices echoing across the sea. They recoil, their power diminished. And then, they are gone, banished back to the realm from whence they came. The lighthouse falls silent, its beam steady and strong. The air is clean, the darkness dispelled. I stand there, panting, exhausted but triumphant. I did it. I found a way to disrupt the Vanishers' connection to this reality. But I know this is not the end.

The Vanishers will return, stronger and more determined than before. And I will be ready. I am no longer just Leith, the cautious woman from Leck. I am a warrior, a protector, a beacon of hope in the face of darkness. I have the book, I have the knowledge and I have the will. I descend the winding staircase, my steps firm and resolute. As I step out of the lighthouse, I look out at the sea, at the town of Leck. It's still shrouded in darkness, but now, there's a glimmer of hope. The fight is far from over, but tonight, we have won a battle.