Summer, 1985. Harrow Point sits at the ragged edge of the map, forty minutes of black forest down to a cold coast, a harbor, and a lighthouse that has turned over the water longer than anyone alive can remember. People here have always steered home by that light without once asking what it was really for.
Nineteen-year-old Casey Mercer works the overnight shift at the town’s little AM station, alone in a cinderblock room at the edge of the trees. It’s the loneliest job on the Point, and the safest. Nothing ever happens after midnight.
Then the request line starts to blink.
The first calls are only strange, a voice asking whether the light is still on; a man on the road who can’t stop driving. But the callers grow more frightened, the phones will only ring inward, and when Casey turns the dial to find out if it’s only her town, she hears the same thing waiting on every station down the dark: a hiss that is very far away, and very large, and patient.
It isn’t only Harrow Point. The Point is just first.
And the only thing still going out into the dark is one girl’s voice.
