Velithu hides a secret, whispered among the fishermen and sailors—a lighthouse that appears only on certain nights and leads those who see it to their doom. This is the story of the Vanishing Lighthouse of Velithu. For years, the island of Velithu had remained isolated, its few inhabitants relying on the sea for their livelihood. At the far end of the island stood an old lighthouse, abandoned long ago when the seas became treacherous. The lighthouse was a relic of a time when ships navigated by its beam, but now it was crumbling, barely standing against the harsh winds of the ocean. Locals told tales of strange lights that sometimes appeared from the top of the tower on nights when no one should be there. It was said that anyone who followed the light would never return.

Despite these warnings, a group of adventurous explorers arrived on Velithu. They were a mix of seasoned travelers and thrill-seekers, eager to explore the untouched beauty of the island. Among them was Asif, a young and curious journalist who had come to document the mysterious stories of the Maldives. When he heard about the vanishing lighthouse, his interest was piqued. He had always been drawn to the unknown, and this tale seemed too good to pass up.

Late one evening, as the group sat around a campfire near the shore, an elderly fisherman approached them. His face was lined with age, and his eyes carried the weight of many untold stories. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice low and grave.

“What do you mean?” Asif asked, intrigued.

“The lighthouse,” the old man continued. “It’s not what you think. It only shines for the lost, for those who are meant to disappear.”

The group exchanged nervous glances, but Asif was undeterred. “Have you seen it?” he asked.

The fisherman nodded slowly. “Many years ago, I saw the light. It lured me and my friends out to sea, promising a safe passage home. But none of them returned. I was the only one who survived, and I’ve spent the rest of my life warning others.”

Asif leaned forward, excited. “When does it appear?”

The old man’s eyes narrowed. “It could be any night. But beware—those who follow it are never seen again.”

That night, as the group settled into their tents, Asif lay awake, staring at the ceiling of the tent. His mind raced with thoughts of the lighthouse. Could it really be true? Was there something more than just a broken-down tower?

A few hours later, he saw it. Through the flap of his tent, a faint light flickered in the distance, coming from the direction of the lighthouse. Asif’s heart raced. This was it—the vanishing lighthouse. Without waking the others, he slipped out of his tent and grabbed his flashlight, determined to see it for himself.

The night was eerily still as he made his way toward the lighthouse. The wind had died down, and the ocean was unusually calm. The light from the tower grew brighter with each step, casting an unnatural glow on the crumbling structure. Asif’s pulse quickened, but he pressed on, his curiosity overpowering the growing sense of dread that gnawed at him.

When he reached the base of the lighthouse, he paused, staring up at the glowing beacon. The door, once sealed shut by time and decay, was slightly ajar. Taking a deep breath, he pushed it open and stepped inside.

The interior was dark and musty, the air thick with the smell of damp wood and salt. A spiral staircase led upward toward the light, creaking under his weight as he ascended. As he climbed, the light grew brighter, almost blinding, and a strange, low humming filled the air.

When he reached the top, Asif stepped out onto the platform where the light shone from the old lantern. But to his horror, there was no lantern at all—only a swirling, unnatural light that seemed to pulse with life. The air around him grew cold, and the humming intensified.

Suddenly, the light flared, blinding him. Asif stumbled backward, his heart pounding in his chest. The lighthouse seemed to shift around him, the walls warping as the light pulled him closer. He felt as though he were being drawn into the glow, as if it were calling him, beckoning him to disappear into the night.

Desperately, he fought against the pull, gripping the railing with all his strength. His mind raced back to the fisherman’s warning: those who follow the light are never seen again.

With a final surge of will, Asif tore himself away from the light and stumbled down the stairs, the sound of the humming echoing in his ears. He fled from the lighthouse, sprinting across the beach and not stopping until he reached the campsite.

Breathless and shaking, he collapsed beside the dying fire. The light had vanished, and the lighthouse stood dark and silent once again, as if nothing had happened. The others found him the next morning, pale and disoriented, but alive.

Asif never spoke of what he saw that night, not in detail. The story of the vanishing lighthouse remained a mystery, its light appearing only to those it chose, luring them into its strange and deadly embrace.

Velithu Island, like many places in the Maldives, continued to be a paradise by day—but by night, it became a place where ancient forces stirred, and where the ocean’s secrets remained buried, waiting for the next soul brave enough—or foolish enough—to follow the light.

And so, the legend of the Vanishing Lighthouse of Velithu endured, a haunting reminder that not all the beauty of the Maldives is meant to be understood.