Lights on the Hill

Chapter 1: SIGNALS

Chapter 1: SIGNALS

The distress signal crackled through the Coast Guard station—

intermittent, like the pulse of something dying.

We took off in the helicopter immediately.

Our team:

— Álvaro — The pilot. Eternal smirk, sarcasm dripping from every word.

— Mateo — The rescuer. Blunt, focused, no patience for chatter.

— Camila — The technician. Quiet, observant, notices what others miss.

— Me, Isabella — The coordinator. Composed. I keep my head cold, never letting panic take over.

The maps showed nothing in that area—just open ocean.

But the signal kept pinging. We followed it, eyes glued to the radar.

— “Signal is strong, but this spot’s just water,” Álvaro squinted. “Blank space on the map. Feels like we’re flying on imagination.”

— “Ghost island, maybe?” Mateo grumbled. “Like in those sailor tales.”

— “I don’t like how it pulses,” Camila said softly. “Doesn’t sound like a normal beacon. It’s… alive.”

— “Focus,” I cut in. “We have a signal. We have a target. Do your jobs.”

Then, the clouds parted.

The island.

A tiny scrap of land—no name, no mark on any chart.

Like a postcard: emerald ocean, gold sand, jungles clawing up a hill.

Too perfect. Too "right."

As if someone was trying to convince us everything here was normal.

And on that hill, near the center, lights burned.

Four of them.

— “Someone knew we are coming,” Camila whispered. “It looks like they were waiting for us…”

— “Too high for a landing spot,” Álvaro frowned. “Their GPS is working. They could’ve put the lights on the beach for comfortable landing.”

From above, the island looked dead.

No people. No animals. No birds.

— “Hell, even the seagulls silent,” Mateo muttered. “That normal?”

— “Maybe it’s their day off,” Álvaro snorted.

Chapter 2: JUNGLE

Chapter 2: JUNGLE

We walked along the beach.

The sand was dense and sticky, as if trying to climb higher up our legs with every step.

The jungle ahead didn’t look like a forest—more like a wall.

Behind it, rising above the trees, was the hill.

With the lights.

Four lights. Still burning.

— “Does anyone even live here?” Mateo muttered. “Not a sound. Not a trace. Not even a damn ant moving.”

— “Maybe the island's depressed,” Álvaro snorted, eyes still locked on the scanner.

— “Perfect silence isn’t peace,” Camila said. “It’s the absence of life.”

— “Could be a restricted area,” I offered. “Military, research base, private land…”

— “Right. Private property with a friendly distress signal and four hilltop lights. Real warm welcome.

Any second now we’ll see a sign that says: ‘WELCOME, DINNER IS READY!’”

We stepped into the jungle.

The air clung to our skin like glue.

Leaves whispered in a language none of us knew.

The trail narrowed.

— “Something’s different,” Camila said quietly. “The lights…”

They started to move.

At first — barely noticeable.

Then — left, right, up, down. Slowly, but clearly.

— “They’re not flickering. They’re shifting,” she said. “Like they’re guiding us.”

— “Or luring us,” Mateo muttered. “I’ve seen this in movies. You know who dies first?

The ones who follow the light.”

— “Don’t start,” I snapped. “This isn’t a movie. We’ve got a mission.”

A branch cracked behind us. Too late. Like an echo.

— “You heard that?” Camila asked, turning sharply.

— “Probably our steps,” Mateo said, but didn’t sound convinced.

— “Like someone’s copying our footsteps… but with a delay,” I added, feeling my shoulders tighten.

We stopped.

We listened.

Nothing.

Not even the wind moved.

— “I’ll bet a hundred pesos someone’s following us. Just… invisible,” Álvaro said.

— “Make it a hundred and ten if he’s friendly,” Mateo snorted. “Though I think today’s special is pure nightmare.”

We moved on — silent now, every nerve on edge.

Just breathing, and the crunch of leaves.

Up ahead, a building came into view.

A gas station.

Old, peeling, but… it looked alive.

A neon sign flickered on the roof — half the letters dead, the rest blinking like a nervous eye.

From inside, music played —

An old Spanish march, warped and distant, like it was playing from underwater.

— “What the hell… a march?” Álvaro muttered. “Seriously? Who plays marches in the jungle?

They having a ghost parade in there?”

— “Let’s just go in,” I said. “And check.”

We entered.

Chapter 3: SHE DRANK FİRST

Chapter 3: SHE DRANK FIRST

Inside, it was unexpectedly clean.

Old advertisement posters on the walls, dust on the bottles—

but not a trace of rot or decay.

As if someone kept the place tidy without actually living here.

— “Too neat for an abandoned shack,” Álvaro remarked. “Maybe a ghostly housewife runs the place?”

We moved further in and stopped at the bar counter.

— “Have they been expecting us?” Camila asked, surprised, when she saw the drinks.

Four cocktails stood on the counter.

Fresh. Cold.

Each garnished with a slice of pineapple.

Camila stepped forward, grabbed a glass—

and drank.

— “I swear,” she said, wiping her lips, “I’ve seen this bar in a dream. Or... a past life.”

We exchanged glances—

And that’s when we saw him.

A bartender, lingering in the shadows.

He stood behind the bar, like someone cut out from an old film reel.

White shirt, vest, and bow tie.

No movement. And his eyes...

Dead. Empty.

— “Welcome,” he said suddenly.

— “Told you,” Álvaro grinned. “Now he’s gonna say: ‘Dinner is served!’”

— “Let’s just hope we’re not on the menu,” Mateo muttered, backing away from the bar.

Behind the bartender, written in chalk on the board:

LIGHTS ON THE HILL.

The light is you.

— “Freaky place,” Mateo murmured. “What kind of cocktail name is that?

And the bartender…” He stepped outside.

Camila went to the restroom.

A few seconds later — a scream.

Sharp. Brief.

I rushed after her.

Camila stood by the mirror. Silent.

Her reflection... wasn’t quite hers.

Her skin — pale, almost glass-like.

Her eyes — hollow. Like the bartender’s.

I blinked.

The reflection returned to normal.

Camila turned to me.

— “Everything okay?” she asked hesitantly.

— “Probably just overheated,” I nodded. “Or tired.”

But something clenched inside me.

Because on the mirror’s surface,

her handprint remained.

Transparent.

As if part of her was still there.

Chapter 4: THREE REMAİNED

Chapter 4: THREE REMAINED

Camila was the first to leave the bathroom.

I stayed behind—just to wash up, clear my head a little.

When I returned to the gas station lobby, she was already gone.

— “Where’s Camila?” I asked.

Álvaro shrugged.

— “We thought she was with you.”

— “I haven’t seen her,” Mateo added. “Maybe she stepped outside?”

We walked around the station.

Called her name—loudly. More than once.

Silence.

— “Maybe she went looking for the bartender?” Álvaro offered. “Or...”

He didn’t finish.

— “Or went into the jungle alone?” I shook my head. “She would've told us.”

We circled the building again.

That’s when we saw them—

wet footprints on the floor.

Leading from the bathroom door... to the exit.

As if someone had just stepped out of the water—fully dressed.

The prints shimmered with salt.

— “She got soaked?” Mateo crouched down. “Or maybe... it wasn’t her at all?”

— “They’re human footprints,” I whispered.

“But why are they heading into the forest?”

We followed the trail.

The sand swallowed them quickly.

In the jungle, they vanished completely.

— “Look,” I stopped.

I raised my eyes to the hill.

— “There were four lights,” I said. “Now there are only three.”

We didn’t know what it meant.

But we knew it meant something.

We kept walking.

Soon, another building appeared in the distance.

It drew the eye.

As if it was waiting for us.

Chapter 5: THE BAR

Chapter 5: THE BAR

The bar crouched low in the hollow, as if it were hiding.

No neon lights — just a warm glow from within.

All around — darkness. Not a single sound.

We stepped inside.

The interior was old. Wooden beams. Yellowish light.

The bartender stood behind the counter.

The same one from the gas station.

And the same empty eyes.

Unfocused. Like he was looking through us — at something far away.

Three cocktails sat on the counter.

The same kind we’d seen before:

Milky. With a thin triangle of pineapple on the rim.

— “What do you have to drink?” Álvaro was the first to speak.

The bartender said nothing.

He simply nodded toward the chalkboard behind him and gestured at the cocktails.

On the board, written in crooked white letters:

LIGHTS ON THE HILL.

The light is you.

— “A philosopher,” Álvaro snorted. “Perfect.”

— “What is this, his own island franchise?” muttered Mateo. “First a diner, now a bar. What’s next, a jungle spa?”

— “I hope so. I could use a massage.”

They each took a cocktail.

No toasts.

They drank in silence.

Then exchanged glances—out of habit, like people who’d worked together too long.

Something tightened in my chest.

I felt a rising panic about Camila.

— “I’ll go look for her,” I said.

They waved me off and kept drinking.

Outside wasn’t any better.

The air was sticky, sweet — like the island was breathing something of its own.

The dark trees didn’t move.

Everything felt too still.

I circled the bar, peered around corners, called for Camila —

first in a whisper, then louder.

No steps. No rustle. No echo.

Just me, the sand, and silence.

I was about to turn back when I looked up.

The hill.

Where there were three lights?

There was only one.

Seriously?!

I froze. My heart stopped for a second.

I blinked, hoping to bring it all back.

The light didn’t vanish.

There was exactly as many as I saw.

One.

I rushed back.

Inside the bar — nothing had changed.

Same silence. Same light. Same figures by the counter.

I opened my mouth to say I hadn’t found Camila.

That there were no footprints.

And that now, there was only one light left on the hill.

But I didn’t get the chance.

I saw the mirror behind the bar.

Their reflections.

Wrong.

Like water stood between them and the glass.

Their skin — thin, translucent.

Eyes — dull, clouded.

Emptiness stared back at me through them.

Something inside me collapsed.

The lights. Camila. The reflection in the mirror...

Everything slipping away.

Hallucinations?

Probably.

Dehydration. Too many questions.

Too much strange. I was tired.

— “I need to lie down,” I told the guys.

No one turned.

No one answered.

I ignored it. I didn’t have the strength to argue.

I climbed the creaking stairs, step by step, searching for somewhere to rest.

Chapter 6: THE HELICOPTER.

Chapter 6: THE HELICOPTER

I woke up.

The light in the room was bright — daylight.

That meant I had been asleep for a long time.

And — a thick silence, almost viscous,

as if the air itself was freezing in my lungs.

No one woke me.

Where were Álvaro and Mateo?

Maybe they were still sleeping?

I checked the other rooms.

Empty.

I went downstairs.

The bar looked the same as it did at night.

The same dim light.

The same old smell of wood and something sticky, sweet.

But the guys from the team were gone.

Where were they?

Had they really left? Without me?

Strange...

Álvaro would have definitely woken me up.

Mateo would have waited.

And then I noticed:

the chairs they had been sitting on were wet.

There was water on them.

As if someone, soaked to the bone, had just stood up and vanished.

And that cursed cocktail.

Again.

On the counter — one glass. Untouched.

As if it had just been made.

I called their names.

No one answered.

I tried to find the bartender.

Empty.

I went outside.

The sun was blinding my eyes, but the hill was clearly visible.

On it, the fire still burned.

One. The only one.

I went back to the gas station.

Checked the toilets. Looked into the snack bar.

No traces. No sounds.

But everywhere I went —

on the bar counter, on the table —

I found that cocktail.

Lights on the Hill.

Always in perfect condition.

Always cold.

As if it had just been made.

I walked further —

towards the jungle, to the beach where we had started our journey with the team.

No traces there either.

And suddenly I realized:

since we arrived, I hadn’t once seen any radios, backpacks, or medical equipment...

And most importantly —

where was our helicopter?

And why couldn’t I remember

how we got here?

Chapter 7: THE LAST SİP.

Chapter 7: THE LAST SIP

I returned to the bar.

The cocktail was there.

Alone.

Milky-white, just like before,

with a slice of pineapple on the rim.

The ice gave a soft chime.

The glass was cold, as if someone had just set it down.

I sat.

Reached out.

Took the glass.

The pineapple seemed to glow — neon from within.

The scent was delicate. Almost floral.

But unfamiliar.

I took a sip.

And everything vanished.

First — the sounds.

Then the smells.

Then — the sense of body, air, time.

In their place — memory.

Rotor noise.

Voices in the headset.

The signal, growing louder.

Sky. Wind. The tremble of the hull.

Then — the flash.

A blade tearing free.

The helicopter tipping sideways.

Water. Impact. Darkness.

No pain, no scream. Only silence.

We didn’t land.

We crashed. Into the ocean.

And the island…

It wasn’t on any map.

This place is between.

Between life and death.

Between memory and forgetting.

I opened my eyes.

The bar was still there.

Same light. Same walls.

Same bartender — or what stood in his place.

In my hand — the empty glass.

A milky trace on the inside, a drop on my fingers.

I don’t remember drinking.

But I did.

I looked in the mirror.

My reflection — pale, blurred.

As if I was looking through water.

I stood up.

Walked out.

They were waiting outside.

All three of them.

Camila. Mateo. Álvaro.

We stood, silent, facing the hill.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

We just watched the last light fade.

One light.

Only one.

It went out.

No flash. No sound.

Just — gone.

I looked back at the bar.

The sign behind the counter had changed.

Now it read:

> LIGHTS ON THE HILL.

Now you have found peace.