I set up a makeshift workstation in my room at the inn. My laptop, external monitor, and printed meteorological data charts occupied the entire table. Outside the window, the rain continued relentlessly in Fog Corner, the sound of raindrops hitting the window creating a monotonous background noise.
'This is impossible.' I checked the calculation results for the third time, still getting the same answer.
The past two weeks of meteorological data I had organised showed that the fog in Fog Corner appeared according to an almost mathematically precise pattern. They weren't random natural phenomena, but rather like some precise clock mechanism. According to my calculations, the intervals between fog appearances were exactly 84 hours and 21 minutes—accurate to the minute.
Natural phenomena shouldn't have such precision. Just as snowflakes can't fall in exactly the same pattern each time, fog formation is influenced by too many random factors to be so regular.
What confused me even more was that when I plotted these data points on a timeline, they formed a clear countdown pattern—the interval times were shortening. If this trend continued, according to my prediction, at 20:47 three days later, Fog Corner would experience the densest fog in its history.
I rubbed my sore eyes and picked up my mobile to email Professor Richard, but hesitated. Such a conclusion sounded too absurd; he might think there was a problem with my research methodology. I decided to collect more data before contacting him.
My screen showed three missed calls, all from my roommate Lisa. I called her back, and her energetic voice immediately came through.
'God, Ella! I thought you'd been devoured by that weird little town!'
I couldn't help but smile; Lisa's dramatic nature always cheered me up. 'Just busy analysing data, forgot to check my mobile.'
'So, found any magical meteorological phenomena, or just endless rain and boredom?'
I hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. 'Actually, I've discovered some... very strange data patterns.'
'Strange enough to make our serious Professor Richard's eyes pop?'
'Maybe.' I looked at the time curve chart on the wall. 'Lisa, do you believe time could... behave abnormally?'
The other end went silent for a few seconds. 'You mean like in science fiction films? Or has your research actually discovered something?'
'I'm not sure,' I sighed, 'Sometimes I feel like I'm discovering something important, and sometimes I wonder if I'm hallucinating from overwork.'
'Listen, Ella,' Lisa's voice became serious, 'You're the most rational, scientific person I know. If you think something's not right, there must be a reason. But don't push yourself too hard, alright? Remember to rest.'
After hanging up, I walked to the window. The rain had lessened somewhat, but fog was beginning to spread through the streets, flowing slowly like a living thing. My gaze unconsciously turned toward the lighthouse in the distance, though it wasn't visible from this angle.
I returned to the desk, put on headphones to listen to music, and continued analysing data. Several hours later, I discovered another disturbing pattern—whenever the fog was at its densest, Fog Corner's air pressure would show a small but definite fluctuation, as if the air were being distorted by some force. And the amplitude of these fluctuations formed a mathematical relationship with the 8.7-second air stasis phenomenon I had recorded near the lighthouse.
Just as I was immersed in calculations, the music in my headphones was suddenly replaced by a harsh static noise, then complete silence. I removed my headphones to find my laptop screen flickering, and the table lamp in the room alternately brightening and dimming.
Then I heard it—a deep lighthouse horn sound, seemingly ringing right next to my ear. I stood up abruptly, knocking over the chair. The sound vanished instantly, but I was certain it wasn't an illusion.
Even more unsettling was that the pocket watch on my chest suddenly turned ice-cold, stinging my skin through my shirt. I took out the watch and found the hands once again pointing to 16th September 1925—one day more than before, as if time in that era was flowing normally.
At the same time, my laptop automatically opened a file I had never seen before. The screen displayed a series of seemingly random numbers, but after using my data analysis software, they perfectly matched the air pressure fluctuation pattern I had just discovered.
At the end of the file was a scan of a handwritten line:
'Time is not linear, but cyclical. Find the lighthouse, find me. — J.H.'
J.H.—Jack Howard?
My heart raced; this couldn't be coincidence. I tried to trace the file's source, but all traces pointed to a non-existent network address. The computer diagnostics showed the file creation date as—16th September 1925, exactly matching the date displayed on the pocket watch.
This was technically impossible.
I immediately backed up this mysterious file, then began searching the internet for more information about Jack Howard. Most search results pointed to the news report I had already read, but on a small website dedicated to recording American lighthouse history, I found a clearer photograph of Jack Howard.
In the photo, the young man was standing in front of the lighthouse, facing the camera with a restrained smile. There was a familiar melancholy in his eyes, and hanging on the lighthouse wall behind him was a clock face identical to my pocket watch.
I enlarged the photo to examine the details and discovered that the time on the clock face pointed to 8:47—exactly the moment I observed the air standing still. My fingertips trembled slightly on the touchpad, an indescribable feeling spreading in my chest.
My mobile suddenly rang, the screen showing a call from Professor Richard. I took a deep breath and answered.
'Ella,' his voice sounded unusually serious, 'I just received the data you uploaded. Some of the anomalies... are concerning. Are you certain the equipment is functioning properly?'
'I've calibrated it multiple times, Professor. The data is accurate.'
There was a moment of silence on the other end. 'Ella, I've known you for five years and know you're a rigorous scientist. But these data... they challenge our fundamental understanding of atmospheric physics.'
'I know it sounds crazy, but—'
'I'm flying over tomorrow,' he said abruptly. 'This phenomenon needs to be observed firsthand. Meanwhile, I want you to... be cautious.'
'What do you mean?'
The professor lowered his voice, 'Thirty years ago, another researcher also discovered similar anomalies in Fog Corner. She disappeared for two weeks during her research, then was found on the beach near the lighthouse, disoriented, unable to explain where she had been.'
My fingers unconsciously tightened around the pocket watch. 'That researcher... what was her name?'
The silence on the other end of the phone made my heart sink.
'Emily Morrison,' the professor finally answered, 'your grandmother.'
After hanging up, I stood by the window, gazing at the distant town shrouded in fog. My grandmother had never mentioned this experience, but suddenly, her words to me on her deathbed took on new meaning:
'The lighthouse will call you, as it once called me. Time will wait, but not forever.'
I resolved to explore the abandoned lighthouse first thing tomorrow morning, whatever secrets it might hold.
As the night grew quiet and I finally lay in bed, a strange dream slowly unfolded. In the dream, I stood at the top of a functioning lighthouse, with Jack Howard right beside me, his gaze piercing through time and space, directly into my soul, as if he knew I was observing him.
'Time has found you, Ella,' he said softly in the dream, 'just as it once found me.'