Half Light

In the wake of an unimaginable loss, Rachel Carlson retreats from the bustling streets of London to a solitary cottage perched on a rugged Scottish shoreline. The sea‑washed cliffs and the whisper of wind through ancient stone create a landscape that feels both haunting and healing, a place where grief can stretch out as wide as the horizon. Rachel, a celebrated author of murder mysteries, finds herself suspended between the relentless pull of the past and the quiet promise of a new beginning.

The remote village that surrounds her is steeped in quiet superstition, its residents accustomed to the fog‑laden nights when the line between the living and the unseen seems to blur. Subtle signs—a magnetic tug on a refrigerator, a fleeting chill in a dim hallway—suggest that something beyond the ordinary lingers in the house, urging Rachel to listen to a voice she can scarcely name. The atmosphere is one of tense curiosity, where every creak and shadow feels like a question waiting for an answer.

Amid this unsettled calm, a lanky lighthouse keeper named Angus emerges, his steady presence offering both comfort and an edge of mystery. Their growing connection feels like a lantern in the darkness, illuminating moments of tenderness while hinting at deeper, unresolved currents beneath the surface. As Rachel navigates this delicate balance, she is drawn into a world where personal sorrow intertwines with the eerie pulse of the coast.

The film settles into a mood of lingering suspense, blending lyrical scenery with the uneasy feeling that some forces are trying to communicate. Rachel’s journey becomes a quiet exploration of memory, love, and the thin veil that separates reality from the whispers of what might still be reaching out from the night.

Last Updated: October 14, 2025 at 03:51