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)
“I want to research Catherine Hartwell. Find newspaper accounts or death records from the 1920s.”
“Back to the library?”
Lily shook her head. “I’m thinking of starting with the historical society. They might have more detailed local records.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t they restrict your access to certain materials?”
“Yes, to the restricted archives. People need special permission to access them.”
“Even for a school project?”
“For something more important than a school project.” Steel edged Lily’s voice. “There are secrets about that lighthouse. The foundation discrepancies, the defensive responses from workers, and now this woman in white—it’s all connected.”
Sarah’s forehead creased. “You’re starting to sound obsessed.”
“Maybe I am. But that doesn’t make me wrong.”
The bell rang, ending lunch. As they gathered books, Sarah touched Lily’s arm.
“Be careful, okay? Don’t let this project consume your life. And if you need to talk about any of this, I’m here.”
Lily squeezed her friend’s hand. “I will be careful. But I can’t shake the feeling that people have been hiding something important about that lighthouse for a long time.”
The bell rang, and they gathered their books. But instead of heading to fifth period, Lily made her way to the photography lab. The darkroom smelled of chemicals and anticipation. She had developed hundreds of rolls here, but today felt different. Six rolls from her lighthouse session hung in developing tanks, images slowly appearing as chemistry worked its magic.
She’d started with the roll containing photographs of the woman in white. Her hands stayed steady despite her racing pulse. The familiar rhythm—developer, stop bath, fixer—helped calm her nerves as she waited to see what the camera had captured.
The first frame showed the lighthouse from her shooting position, the telephoto lens compressing perspective and bringing distant rocks into sharp focus. The second frame, taken moments later, showed the same view with slightly different lighting.
Both images showed empty rocks.
Lily examined the negatives under red light, searching for any trace of the figure she’d seen so clearly. The rocks were there, seaweed, patterns of light and shadow—but no woman in white. No human figure at all.
She made contact prints of both frames, then enlarged them to 8x10 for detailed examination. The detail was sharp, the exposure perfect. If someone had been standing among those rocks, the camera would have recorded them.
The photographs showed nothing.
Lily stared at the prints, her mind reeling. She’d been certain, absolutely convinced of what she’d seen. She had been there, clear and detailed through the telephoto lens. Her clothing, her posture, the way she’d stood watching—none of it had felt like imagination.
Yet the camera had recorded only empty rocks and morning shadows.
She developed the remaining rolls, documenting her lighthouse photography with methodical precision. Foundation work, structural details, various angles and perspectives—all captured exactly as she’d seen them. The camera had functioned perfectly.
Only the lady in white had failed to appear on film.
Lily gathered her prints and negatives, struggling to process the implications. Either she’d experienced hallucinations, or she’d seen something that existed outside normal photographic rules.
Neither possibility offered comfort.
Two hours later, she stood outside the historical society, her camera bag slung over her shoulder and a new determination hardening in her chest. The society occupied a converted Victorian house two blocks from the library, its rooms crammed with documents, photographs, and artifacts from Westerly Cove’s past. She had visited several times for research, but had never requested restricted archive access.
Mrs. Eleanor Whitman, the society’s director, was a woman in her seventies with steel-gray hair and sharp intelligence earned through decades of historical research. She looked up from her desk as Lily entered, expression polite but wary.
“Miss Morgan. Back for your lighthouse project?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve exhausted your general collection and need access to more detailed records. Specifically, anything about deaths or unusual incidents at the lighthouse during the 1920s.”
Mrs. Whitman’s expression tightened. “What kind of unusual incidents?”
“I’m particularly interested in Catherine Hartwell. I understand she passed away under mysterious circumstances sometime in the 1920s.”
“Where did you hear about Catherine Hartwell?”
“Tourists mentioned her. They said she was part of local folklore connected to the lighthouse.”
Mrs. Whitman drummed her fingers against her desk. “The restricted archives require special permission, Miss Morgan. They contain materials considered too sensitive for general research.”
“Sensitive how?”
“Personal family records, unsubstantiated accounts, materials that casual researchers might misinterpret.” The woman’s tone suggested the conversation was ending. “I can’t grant access without proper credentials and a compelling research justification.”
Heat climbed Lily’s neck. “This is serious historical research, Mrs. Whitman. I’m documenting architectural discrepancies that prove the lighthouse’s official construction history is incomplete. Catherine Hartwell’s story might be connected to those discrepancies.”
“Architectural discrepancies?”
“Foundation work includes limestone sections that predate the lighthouse’s official construction by decades. Someone built around an existing structure and then concealed that fact from official records.”
Mrs. Whitman’s face paled. “Where exactly did you observe these discrepancies?”
“The northeastern corner. The limestone blocks are clearly pre-dating the granite work, and the construction techniques are completely different.”