Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
The thought excited her. This was the kind of investigation that real journalists conducted, the kind that required persistence, creativity, and the ability to see patterns in seemingly disconnected information.
But it also made her slightly nervous. She was seventeen years old, working on a school project about local history. She wasn’t equipped to uncover major secrets or solve historical mysteries. Maybe her parents were right to encourage caution.
On the other hand, she was probably overthinking things. The most likely explanation was that Edmund Hawthorne had died in a tragic accident, his wife had left town in grief, and the community had developed harmless legends to explain the unexplained.
Still, falling asleep that night, Lily couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something important. The lighthouse stood just a mile from her house, its beacon long since extinguished but its presence still dominates the harbor. For over a century, it had guided ships safely to port, its light cutting through darkness and uncertainty.
But lighthouses, she was beginning to realize, could also cast shadows. And sometimes, those shadows concealed things that were worth investigating.
The next morning brought the discovery that would change everything. Lily was back at the library, working her way through the town’s employment records from the 1920s, when she found the document that made her pulse quicken.
It was a simple form, the kind used to record employment changes. But the information it contained was puzzling:
Employee: Edmund Hawthorne
Position: Lighthouse Keeper
Employment terminated: October 15, 1923
Reason: Resignation
Final wages paid: October 31, 1923
Lily read it twice, then pulled out her notebook to check her other sources. According to the newspaper, Edmund had died on October 14th. According to the death certificate she’d found, he’d died on October 14th. But according to the employment records, he’d resigned on October 15th—the day after his supposed death.
It was probably just a clerical error, a mistake made by someone who hadn’t heard about the accident. But it was exactly the kind of small inconsistency that made Lily’s journalistic instincts tingle.
She photocopied the document and added it to her expanding pile. Then she sat back in her chair and stared at the lighthouse through the library’s windows, wondering what other small discrepancies might be hiding in the official records.
For the first time since starting the project, Lily felt she was onto something real. Something that went beyond local folklore and community speculation. Something that might actually matter.
She couldn’t wait to show Sarah what she’d found.
three
Lily gripped her Nikon F3 as she climbed the lighthouse access path for the third time that week. The camera bag bounced against her hip, heavy with six rolls of Kodak film—enough for comprehensive documentation if she shot with precision. She’d reserved the school darkroom for after fourth period, and Mrs. Patterson had granted her access to the chemistry lab’s enlarger.
The October wind cut through her denim jacket at the lighthouse base. She raised the camera and studied the massive stone structure through the viewfinder, morning shadows emphasizing the texture differences between limestone and granite sections.
“Excuse me, miss?”
An elderly man in a Parks Department uniform approached. His name tag read “Harold,” and deep lines crinkled around his eyes.
“May I help you?”
Lily smiled. “I’m documenting the lighthouse’s construction history for a research project.” Lily lowered her camera and pulled out her notebook, pages dense with observations. “Could I ask some questions about the foundation work?”
Harold’s face brightened. “Fifteen years I’ve worked here. What do you want to know?”
“These limestone sections—they look decades older than the granite work. Completely different construction techniques.”
“Old buildings get patched and repaired.” Harold shrugged, but his voice tightened. “Nothing unusual about that.”
“The limestone predates the granite by fifty years minimum. Someone constructed around a preexisting building.”
“Couldn’t say. I maintain electrical systems and keep tourists from climbing where they shouldn’t.” Harold’s smile became rigid. “Try the historical society for construction details.”
Lily noted his evasion in her margins. Either Harold genuinely knew nothing, or someone had instructed him to deflect these questions.
She spent the next hour photographing the lighthouse from multiple angles. The Nikon’s meter guided her exposures, but she bracketed important shots anyway. Film costs money, but this project demanded perfection.
A middle-aged couple approached, reading the informational plaques.
“Beautiful lighthouse,” Lily said. “Are you visiting from far away?”
“Boston,” the woman replied. “We’re touring New England lighthouses. This is our eighth this month.”
“Have you heard any local stories? Unusual events or legends?”
The couple exchanged glances. “The tour guide mentioned a woman from the 1920s,” the man said. “Some tragic love story.”
Lily’s heartbeat quickened. “What kind of story?”
“She waited here for her husband to return from the sea. He never came back, but she kept coming anyway. People saw her walking around the lighthouse at dawn, always wearing the same white dress.”
“Classic ghost story material,” the woman added. “Probably folklore to entertain tourists.”
“Do you remember her name?”