I was floating in a deep blue void, my consciousness alternating between clarity and haziness. There was no sound, no light, no concept of time around me. The only sensation was a strange pulling force, as if I were being carried forward by some invisible ocean current. I didn't know how long I had remained in this state, perhaps a few seconds, perhaps several centuries.
Then, from somewhere distant came the sound of a lighthouse horn, a beam of light cutting through the darkness, pulling me back to reality.
I opened my eyes with a gasp, breathing heavily as if I had just surfaced from underwater. I was lying on a narrow single bed, surrounded by an unfamiliar circular room. Sunlight poured in through clean, intact windows, illuminating the wooden floor and simple furniture. Nautical charts and weather maps hung on the walls, and an ancient radio set sat in the corner.
This was the interior of the lighthouse, but not the dilapidated ruin I had seen before. This lighthouse was completely renewed, as if freshly built.
I slowly sat up, discovering I was wearing a blue dress—the same one I had seen in the mirror. My modern clothes and equipment were gone, with only my grandmother's pocket watch still hanging around my neck, emitting a faint glow. The date on its face showed: 17th September 1925.
Feelings of panic and disbelief washed over me like a tide. Reason told me this was impossible, but my senses told me it was all real—I could smell the lamp oil and sea salt, hear the waves crashing against the rocks outside, feel the coolness of the sea breeze coming through the window cracks. I wasn't dreaming or hallucinating; I had truly travelled to 1925.
Just as I was trying to gather my thoughts, footsteps came from downstairs, steady and strong, gradually approaching up the spiral staircase. I quickly looked around, searching for possible escape routes, but apart from the stairs leading down, there was no other exit from this room.
The footsteps stopped outside the door, followed by a light knock.
'Are you awake?' a deep, gentle male voice came through, 'I've brought some food and water.'
I took a deep breath, trying to make my voice sound calm: 'Yes, I'm awake.'
The door opened, and a tall figure walked in. The sunlight behind him made his face temporarily difficult to discern. But as he approached the bedside, my heart nearly stopped.
Standing before me was Jack Howard, identical to the man in the photograph. Deep brown, slightly curly hair, well-defined facial features, profound blue eyes. He wore a simple white shirt and dark trousers, with a lighthouse keeper's uniform waistcoat over them. He appeared to be about thirty years old, with a complex emotion in his eyes that I couldn't interpret.
'How are you feeling?' he asked, with concern in his voice that seemed beyond mere politeness to a stranger.
'I... I'm not sure,' I answered honestly, 'Where am I?' I asked, despite already knowing the answer.
'The lighthouse at Fog Corner,' he replied, placing a tray on the bedside table, 'I found you outside the lighthouse during last night's storm, unconscious. You were soaked through, with no personal belongings except for that pocket watch.' His gaze fell on the watch on my chest, a fleeting, enigmatic look passing through his eyes.
I carefully took the water glass he offered, casually asking: 'What... year is it now?'
Jack raised an eyebrow but didn't show much surprise, as if this were a reasonable question. '1925, 17th September,' he answered, then added, 'Have you lost your memory?'
'In a way, yes,' I seized this excuse, 'I remember my name—Ella Morrison, but everything else is fuzzy.'
Upon hearing my name, Jack's expression visibly changed. His body tensed slightly, his eyes widened a bit, as if he had heard a name he already knew but hadn't expected to actually hear.
'Ella Morrison,' he repeated, with an almost imperceptible tremor in his voice, 'Pleased to meet you. I'm Jack Howard, keeper of this lighthouse.'
He didn't ask where I was from, nor did he further question my identity, a calmness that puzzled me.
'Thank you for saving me,' I said, trying to regain the rhythm of the conversation, 'I don't remember the storm or how I got here.'
Jack sat in a chair by the bed, observing me. 'Interestingly, last night's storm came very suddenly, without any warning. Just minutes before I found you, my meteorological instruments recorded an anomaly—8.7 seconds of complete stillness.'
My heart raced. This was the exact same anomaly I had recorded in 2025.
'That's... unusual,' I responded cautiously, uncertain how much I should reveal.
'Very unusual,' Jack agreed, then pulled a small notebook from his pocket, 'Even more unusual is that I've been recording such anomalies. Over the past few years, similar irregularities have appeared in Fog Corner at specific intervals. And each time, strange things happen.'
His gaze fell on my pocket watch again. 'That watch is special, isn't it? I've never seen a pocket watch that displays the date, especially one designed so... uniquely.'
I unconsciously touched the watch, not knowing how to respond. Jack seemed to notice my discomfort and temporarily changed the subject.
'Are you hungry? I've brought some bread and cheese. When you're feeling better, I can take you into town, perhaps someone there knows you.'
I gratefully accepted the food, only then realising how famished I was. The bread was still warm, the cheese emitting a rich aroma, making me realise this wasn't some illusion or dream—I was truly in Fog Corner in 1925, sharing a room with a lighthouse keeper who was supposed to die a year later.
'Jack,' I began carefully, unsure if I should ask this question, 'Do you believe in time travel?'
His eyes lit up, as if I had asked a question he had been waiting for. 'I don't just believe in it, Ella, I think it's happening around this lighthouse.' He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the distant sea, 'Sometimes, under specific conditions, I can see... things that don't belong to this time. Sometimes objects, sometimes people.'
He turned to face me, determination in his gaze. 'You're not from this era, are you?'
This direct question caught me off guard. I had expected to need more time to explain or make excuses, but Jack seemed already prepared to accept this absurd truth.
'No, I'm not,' I admitted, feeling a strange sense of relief, 'I'm from 2025. Yesterday—what was yesterday for me—I found your journal at the top of the abandoned lighthouse, and then I appeared here.'
I thought he would be shocked, would question me, would think I was crazy. But Jack just nodded calmly, as if I had merely told him it would rain today.
'I knew it,' he said softly, speaking more to himself, 'The cycle has begun again.'
'What cycle?' I asked, increasingly confused.
Jack didn't answer directly, but instead retrieved a heavy leather-bound notebook from a bookshelf in another corner and handed it to me. 'Perhaps this will answer some of your questions.'
I took the notebook and opened the first page, surprised to find it was the same journal I had discovered in the abandoned lighthouse—except this one looked new, not ravaged by time.
The first page contained the same words: 'Time is not a river, but an ocean. What we perceive as reality is just a single drop of water. If one finds the right way, one can see the entire ocean. Ella, if you are reading these words, it means the cycle has begun again.'
I looked up, confused: 'How did you know my name? We've never met before.'
Jack's gaze became deep and complex, as if bearing wisdom and sorrow beyond his years. 'For you, this is our first meeting. But for me...' he paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully, 'Let's just say, time is not so linear here.'
Outside the window, fog began to rise from the sea, gleaming like pearls in the sunlight. Jack glanced outside, then returned to my side.
'You need to rest. Tomorrow I'll tell you more. For now, this world must seem very strange to you, with much to adjust to.' He said gently, 'Don't worry, Ella. You're not the first person brought here by the time fracture, nor will you be the last.'
He walked to the door, then looked back at me one more time: 'The watch is the key, remember that. It can both open and close the fracture. As for why it's you... that's a question older than time itself.'
As the door closed gently, I was alone again, holding Jack's journal, my mind filled with countless questions. I looked at the rising fog outside the window, realising I stood at the beginning of a story far more complex and mysterious than I had imagined.
The pocket watch warmed slightly in my hand, as if responding to my thoughts. Whatever power had brought me here, whatever 'cycle' Jack had mentioned, I was already deeply involved. And Jack Howard, this lighthouse keeper who should have only existed in historical records, seemed to know far more than I did.