REPORT REF: KM-739-B, AGENT CODE: Nightingale-007
The incident began as a routine preliminary sweep of the Fog Hounds' recent activity near the lighthouse. Ambient atmospheric readings were nominal until 03:17 Zulu, at which point localized energetic fluctuations registered. Coincided with a high-pitched whine, audible only to myself, that felt less like sound and more like a vibration directly behind my eyes. The old lighthouse lamp, long decommissioned, flickered with an internal, greenish glow, casting unsettling shadows that stretched too long, pulsed with an impossible rhythm. My comms unit crackled, not with static, but with faint, distorted whispers that were almost words, almost a language I once knew.
My hands, usually steady, began to tingle. Not a normal nerve sensation, but a deep, resonant hum, as if the very air around them had suddenly thickened. A faint static electricity discharged from my fingertips, causing the dead leaves on the ground to twitch. I tried to log the anomalous energy signature, but the interface on my tablet shimmered, briefly displaying archaic symbols before reverting to standard metrics. A profound sense of disorientation, a certainty that the ground beneath me was not solid, only a thin crust over something vast and hungry. The familiar smell of salt and decay in the Kingsmouth air was momentarily replaced by ozone and something floral, sweet and sickly, like dying jasmine.
Recovered from a sealed waterproof pouch, located three days later in the Kingsmouth marsh. Agent Nightingale-007 still classified as MIA.