Morning sunlight streamed through the window as I sat at a small table on the middle level of the lighthouse, trying to organise everything I knew about the time fracture into notes. Jack had provided a brand-new leather-bound notebook and a fountain pen—much more difficult to use than the ballpoint pens I was accustomed to, often leaving ink stains.
Jack approached with two cups of coffee, placing one in front of me. 'How's it going?' he asked, his gaze falling on my untidy notes.
'I'm trying to compare the observational data from 2025 with your records,' I answered, sipping the coffee, already growing accustomed to the strong flavour here, 'Some patterns are beginning to emerge.'
I pointed to a hand-drawn chart marked with anomalous points from both timelines. 'Look here, if we connect these points, they form a wave pattern with intervals of exactly 84 hours and 21 minutes.'
Jack's eyes lit up, and he quickly opened his own notebook, pointing to a set of data. 'I found a similar pattern! But more importantly, these intervals are getting shorter.'
We exchanged a knowing look, both recognising what this meant—the time fracture was becoming unstable, and events were accelerating.
'At this rate,' I calculated, 'the largest anomaly will occur in nine days.'
'21st September,' Jack said quietly, 'exactly the date when the lighthouse accident happened according to historical records.'
A silence fell over us. In nine days, Jack would mysteriously disappear in a lighthouse accident—unless we could change history.
'We need more information,' I finally said, 'about how the fracture formed, why it's connected to the lighthouse and our families.'
Jack thought for a moment, then rose and walked to a locked drawer. He took out an ancient key, opened the drawer, and removed a small wooden box.
'My father gave this to me on his deathbed,' he explained, 'a secret passed down through generations of our family.'
He opened the box, revealing a folded piece of parchment and a small metal device that looked like some kind of complex compass or sextant.
'What is it?' I asked curiously.
'We call it a "time tracker,"' Jack answered, unfolding the parchment covered with intricate diagrams and symbols, 'It's said to measure the intensity and direction of time fluctuations.'
I carefully picked up the device, discovering its design was surprisingly sophisticated, far beyond the craftsmanship of this era. In the centre was a small pointer surrounded by a dial inscribed with strange symbols.
'This doesn't look like 19th or early 20th-century technology,' I said in surprise.
'Because it isn't,' Jack replied quietly, 'According to family legend, the first Howard lighthouse keeper received it from a "time traveller" as part of his commission to guard the lighthouse.'
My heart raced, 'So the history of the time fracture might be older than we know?'
Jack nodded, 'I believe time has never flowed in just one direction, Ella. History is full of unexplained anomalies and coincidences; perhaps some people have been travelling through time all along, just keeping a low profile.'
He pointed to a passage of text on the parchment, 'This mentions the concept of "cycles." Time isn't linear but cyclical, rising and falling like the tides. Approximately every hundred years, the tide reaches its peak, space-time becomes fragile, and fractures appear.'
'What about the lighthouse? Why is it so important?'
'The lighthouse is both an anchor and a gateway,' Jack explained, his voice carrying the solemnity of family tradition, 'It connects different points in time but also acts as a stabilising force, preventing the fracture from completely losing control.'
We spent the entire morning studying the parchment and the time tracker, trying to decipher their secrets. When the sun reached its zenith, Jack suggested we take a break and get some fresh air.
'You've been in the lighthouse for three days now,' he said, 'You should see what Fog Corner looks like in 1925. Besides,' he added, 'my sister Margaret has been very curious about you.'
I felt somewhat nervous, 'But what about the mayor and others?'
'We'll say you're my cousin visiting from Boston,' Jack smiled, 'As long as you don't talk about the future or act too unusual, it should be fine. Of course, I'll stay with you the whole time.'
So I changed into everyday local women's clothing that Jack had provided—an ankle-length skirt, a high-collared blouse, and a light jacket, feeling as if I were wearing a costume. When Jack saw my outfit, a flash of appreciation passed through his eyes, but he quickly looked away.
Walking down the main street of Fog Corner in 1925 was a strange experience. No car noise, no interference from electronic devices, the air filled with the scent of burning wood and fresh bread. Wooden buildings lined both sides of the street, with hand-painted shop signs, and pedestrians walking at a leisurely pace, occasionally nodding respectfully to Jack.
'The lighthouse keeper seems well-respected in town,' I commented quietly.
'It used to be,' Jack responded softly, 'In recent years, as anomalous phenomena have increased, people have become somewhat... distant. Some superstitious townspeople believe the lighthouse brings ill fortune.'
We arrived at a small café where a lively blonde woman approached us, her features somewhat resembling Jack's.
'Finally!' she said excitedly, 'The mysterious cousin appears!' She extended her hand to me, 'I'm Margaret, this stubborn fellow's sister.'
'Ella Morrison,' I responded, liking her forthright personality, 'Pleased to meet you.'
Margaret led us to a corner table, quickly serving coffee and freshly baked cinnamon rolls. 'So,' she leaned toward me, lowering her voice, 'are you really from the future?'
I looked at Jack in shock, and he shrugged helplessly. 'I told you Margaret knows. She can keep a secret, and we need her help.'
'Only always-serious Jack would believe he could solve the time fracture problem alone,' Margaret rolled her eyes, then said to me, 'Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. In fact, I've been helping Jack collect old legends and historical records from around town.'
Over the next hour, Margaret shared stories she had gathered from older town residents—about the mysterious history of the lighthouse, strange visitors who had appeared in the past, and how time seemed to 'bend' on certain days.
'This is the most interesting,' she took an old photograph from her bag, 'This is a group photo of the town council from 1885, look at the person in the middle of the third row.'
I examined the photograph carefully, surprised to find the person looked almost identical to Jack.
'Thomas Howard,' Jack explained, 'My grandfather. Family resemblance is strong.'
'But it's not just resemblance,' Margaret insisted, 'They look exactly the same. Sometimes I wonder if our family really follows a normal timeline.'
We discussed more details until the café became crowded and Margaret had to return to work. Before leaving, she grasped my hand tightly.
'Find a way,' she said sincerely, 'Whatever it takes, I'll help. I can't lose my brother.'
On our way back to the lighthouse, we were silent for a while, each lost in thought. Finally, Jack broke the silence.
'Nine days,' he said softly, 'Nine days to determine everything.'
'We'll find a way,' I responded, though I wasn't certain in my heart.
When we reached the seaside, Jack suddenly stopped. 'Ella, I need you to promise me something.'
His tone was unusually serious, causing me to stop and look directly into his eyes. 'What is it?'
'If we discover that only one person can cross through the time fracture, and the other must stay behind,' he looked straight into my eyes, 'that person must be you. You don't belong in this era; you have your own life and future.'
I felt a sense of unease, 'I can't promise that. If history is correct, you disappeared in this accident. If I go back and you stay, doesn't that mean I haven't changed anything?'
'Perhaps changing history isn't always the right choice,' Jack said softly, 'Some things are destined.'
I shook my head, persisting, 'I don't believe destiny is fixed. There must be some reason I came here, perhaps precisely to change what was supposed to happen.'
Jack's expression became complex, showing both concern and some emotion I couldn't fully interpret. 'Then we need an agreement,' he finally said, 'No matter what happens, we'll do everything possible to protect the stability of space-time, not just ourselves.'
'I agree,' I nodded, extending my hand, 'A promise between two times.'
Jack took my hand, his touch warm and firm. In that moment, despite coming from different eras and facing nearly impossible challenges, I felt an unprecedented connection—not just because of the time fracture, but because of our shared determination and deepening understanding.
'A promise between two times,' he repeated, his voice carrying a solemn commitment.
Just as we shook hands, the pocket watch on my chest suddenly emitted a faint blue light, as if responding to our pledge. And in the distance, the lighthouse also seemed to flicker in the sunlight, like some mysterious force acknowledging our oath.
Whatever awaited us, our fate nine days later would be written by ourselves. This was no longer just about the journey home, but about the possibility of changing destiny.