The Whispering Lights of Avelin

(A mystery story full of suspense and unexpected twists)

The town of Avelin wasn’t on any map. It existed somewhere between the sea and the mist, hidden behind hills where the fog rolled in like a living thing. To travelers, Avelin looked ordinary—a small, quiet town with narrow streets, old lamps, and a population that preferred silence over conversation. But to Detective Elias Marek, Avelin was more than quiet. It was hiding something.

Elias arrived in Avelin on a rainy evening, his car headlights cutting through the fog as the local radio whispered static. He had been sent there after a series of disappearances—five people in less than a month. No trace, no clues, no ransom notes. Just vanished.

At the entrance of town stood a crooked wooden sign that read:

Welcome to Avelin. Please, stay a while.

Elias found it unsettling. The “Please” looked like it had been scratched into the wood more recently than the rest.

The First Clue

The local police station was small—two desks, one sleepy officer, and a coffee machine that had given up years ago. Officer Tarin, a man in his forties with tired eyes, greeted him.

“Detective Marek? You came all the way from the capital for this?”

Elias nodded, glancing at the wall map covered in red pins. “Five missing. All from different parts of town. You’ve got a pattern here somewhere.”

Tarin shrugged. “If there is, we can’t see it. They all vanished at night. No signs of struggle, no forced entry. Some say they saw strange lights near the old factory, but that place has been closed for decades.”

“Strange lights?” Elias repeated.

“Yeah. Blue, sometimes white. Like electricity flickering in the fog.”

That caught Elias’s attention. Reports of “lights” often turned out to be electrical issues—or something worse.

A Town That Sleeps Too Quietly

That night, Elias checked into The Avelin Inn, an old building with wallpaper peeling at the corners. The innkeeper, Mrs. Kellan, handed him a brass key and whispered, “Stay inside after midnight. The lights don’t like visitors.”

He thought she was joking.

Around midnight, as the rain eased, he heard a faint humming sound outside—like a faraway generator. He went to the window. The town was still, but beyond the rooftops, near the abandoned factory, he saw it: a pale blue glow moving slowly through the mist.

He grabbed his coat and stepped outside. The streets were empty, but the air felt charged, static brushing against his skin. The closer he walked toward the light, the quieter everything became. Even his own footsteps seemed swallowed by the fog.

Then, just as he reached the factory gates, the lights vanished.

The Factory

The next morning, Elias returned in daylight. The Avelin Glass Factory stood like a skeleton—rusted frames, broken windows, vines climbing up the brick walls.

Inside, the dust told stories of abandonment. He found old tools, shattered bottles, and footprints—fresh ones. They led toward a stairwell going underground.

He followed the prints down into the darkness, using his phone as a flashlight. The air grew colder, heavy with moisture. The stairs ended at a metal door slightly open.

He pushed it.

Inside was a room filled with old machines, wires, and—oddly—a collection of mirrors arranged in a circle. Each mirror faced inward, toward an empty chair.

Elias frowned. “What on earth…”

Suddenly, his phone flickered and went black. The mirrors glowed faintly with that same blue light he’d seen the night before. A whisper echoed around the room—soft, almost like wind.

“Do you see them too?”

Elias turned sharply. No one. The mirrors reflected only him—but his reflection seemed delayed, moving half a second slower.

He stepped back, heart pounding.

Avelin’s History

Later, at the town library, Elias dug into old archives. He found that Avelin had once been famous for glass manufacturing—especially experimental optical glass designed by a man named Dr. Harven Lorrin, a scientist obsessed with “capturing light.”

But the factory closed after an accident forty years ago. Records showed several workers had gone missing then too. Official cause: gas leak. But in the margins of one report, Elias noticed a note scribbled by hand:

“The light doesn’t burn—it takes.”

The Pattern

He mapped the five missing persons again. They all lived within view of the old factory. Each had last been seen after dark. Each had mentioned, to someone, seeing strange lights days before vanishing.

He decided to speak to one of the victim’s families.

Clara Venn, sister of the most recent missing person, opened her door with wary eyes. “You’re the detective?”

“Yes. I’m sorry for your loss, but I think your brother’s case is connected to the others.”

She nodded slowly. “He said the lights were calling his name. I told him it was his imagination.”

“Did he describe them?”

“Blue, sometimes white. They moved like they were alive.”

She hesitated. “The night before he disappeared, he told me he was going to ‘follow them to where they come from.’ He said if he understood the lights, he could bring back what we lost.”

“Bring back what?” Elias asked.

Clara’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Our mother. She vanished here when he was a child.”

The Return to the Factory

That evening, Elias went back to the factory, this time prepared. He brought a flashlight, a camera, and a small audio recorder.

The sun dipped below the horizon. The fog thickened. The lights appeared again—dancing just beyond the gate. He hit “record” and followed.

The air shimmered. The same humming grew louder. The mirrors below were glowing brighter than before, and this time, he could see faint shapes inside them—like silhouettes of people reaching out.

He whispered into the recorder, “This is Detective Elias Marek, October 12th, 11:43 p.m. I’m witnessing what appears to be…” He paused. “…some kind of optical anomaly. Possibly electromagnetic.”

But deep down, he knew it wasn’t.

One of the mirrors flickered, and for a brief second, he saw a woman’s face—pale, frightened, and familiar. He had seen her photo in the missing persons file.

Then, a voice echoed—not through the room, but inside his mind:

“You followed the lights too.”

The mirrors flared white. Elias shielded his eyes, and when the light faded—he was alone. The room was silent again. But his camera, his recorder—gone.

What Remains

By dawn, Elias stumbled out of the factory, dazed. The townspeople stared as he walked back through the fog. He told Officer Tarin what he’d seen, but the officer only frowned.

“There’s no basement in that factory, Detective. It was sealed off decades ago.”

Elias stared at him. “No, I was there. There’s a metal door, mirrors, everything.”

Tarin shook his head. “The only thing down there is dirt and old pipes. You must’ve been mistaken.”

But Elias knew he wasn’t. He had the mud on his boots to prove it.

That night, back in his inn room, he noticed something strange. His reflection in the mirror—blinked a moment late.

The Final Note

Elias wrote his report before leaving Avelin:

Avelin is not a normal town. There is a phenomenon involving blue-white lights that seem to induce hallucinations or possibly dimensional reflections. The locals are aware but fearful. Further investigation needed.

He signed it and left it on the desk.

As he packed his things, he glanced one last time at the mirror by the window. His reflection smiled back—before he did.

He froze.

“Stay a while,” it whispered.

The lights outside flickered again.

And the next morning, when Mrs. Kellan knocked on his door to deliver breakfast, the room was empty. The bed unmade. The report gone.

Only the brass key remained, sitting on the desk beside a faint handprint—glowing softly blue.