The Forgotten Tempest

 The weather in Eldermere had always been peculiar. It was a town where the wind carried whispers and the rain seemed to fall with purpose. The locals claimed that the storms were alive, that they remembered, that they sought something—or someone.

Samuel Whitmore never believed in such superstitions. As a professor, he had dedicated his life to science, to rationality. But all of that changed the night the storm came for him.

It began with a letter. Delivered by no one, left on his desk at the university. The ink was smudged, as if written in haste, and the message was cryptic:

"The storm is watching. The key is in the bell tower. Do not trust the echoes."

Samuel frowned. There was no signature, no indication of who had sent it. But the words unsettled him.

That evening, the storm arrived, sudden and violent. Thunder shook the town, and the streets flooded in minutes. Yet, despite the chaos, Samuel found himself drawn to the old bell tower, standing tall at the heart of Eldermere.

Climbing the worn stone steps, he reached the top and found something unexpected—a painting. It was ancient, covered in dust, yet the colors beneath were vibrant. It depicted Eldermere as it had been centuries ago, but there was something wrong. The sky in the painting was not the peaceful blue he knew—it was churning, filled with shadows, and in the center of the storm was a single, piercing eye.

A flash of lightning illuminated the room, and for a split second, Samuel swore he saw the painting move. The clouds twisted, the eye blinked. He stumbled back, heart pounding.

Then, he noticed something else. In the bottom corner of the painting, half-hidden beneath layers of dust, was a name.

Elias Thorne.

Samuel recognized it immediately. Elias had been the town’s first astronomer, a man obsessed with the stars. But he had disappeared over a hundred years ago, vanishing without a trace. No body, no clues—just gone.

The storm outside raged, wind battering the tower’s stone walls. Samuel felt a pressure in his skull, a dull ringing in his ears. Then, deep within the howling wind, he heard something else.

A voice.

"Find me."

The bell above him swung wildly, though no one had touched it. The sound echoed through the night, distorting as if time itself were bending.

Samuel turned to leave—but something caught his eye. Behind the painting, embedded in the wall, was a key.

He hesitated, then reached for it. The moment his fingers closed around the metal, the storm outside grew deafening. The floor beneath him trembled. He had no idea what he had just unlocked.

But he was about to find out.

---

The next morning, the storm was gone. Eldermere was eerily quiet. The air was thick, heavy with something unseen. Samuel clutched the key in his palm as he made his way to the university’s archives.

He searched through the oldest town records, flipping through parchment so brittle it crumbled at his touch. And then, in an entry dated 1834, he found it.

"Elias Thorne discovered a rift in the sky. He warned us that the storms were not storms at all, but something more. Something waiting to return. We did not believe him. And now, he is gone."

Samuel exhaled sharply. A rift? Could that be what the painting depicted?

The key burned cold in his hand. He knew where he had to go next.

The oldest building in Eldermere was the abandoned observatory, where Elias Thorne had spent his final days. Samuel had never dared enter before, but now he had no choice.

As he approached the observatory, the wind picked up again, whispering through the trees. The shadows stretched unnaturally long, shifting as if alive.

He stepped inside. Dust coated the floor, and broken glass crunched beneath his boots. At the center of the room stood an ancient telescope, pointed directly at the sky. And beside it, a mirror, its surface cracked but still strangely reflective.

As he approached, the air grew colder. His reflection warped. And then, just for a moment—he saw Elias Thorne staring back at him.

"You took the key."

Samuel’s breath caught. The reflection of Elias raised a hand—and pointed toward the storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

"Now, you must face what I could not."

Samuel turned toward the window. The sky was shifting once more. And in the heart of the storm, the eye had returned.

Watching.

Waiting.