The experience of temporal overlap kept me awake all night. The young man holding a pocket watch in the abandoned lighthouse of 2025, along with the images flashing through my mind—Jack possibly crossing to 1826—these fragments of information made me almost certain that Jack wouldn't die on 21st September, but would instead be sent to another point in time. But I needed more evidence to confirm this theory.
Early the next morning, I suggested to Jack that we visit the town's historical society to search for more information.
'We already have the Howard family records, but we haven't systematically examined what other townspeople recorded about the lighthouse incidents,' I explained, 'If the hundred-year cycle is real, then more people should have noticed unusual phenomena, especially in the key years.'
Jack considered this, then nodded in agreement: 'Good idea. Margaret mentioned that the historical society has a long-sealed archive room, storing newspapers and public records from the past two hundred years.'
We arrived in town, where the historical society was housed in an old brick building, managed by a middle-aged woman named Samantha Wilson. She wore small round glasses, her grey hair neatly pinned up in a bun, and she displayed a pleased expression upon seeing Jack.
'Mr. Howard! How rare to see you come down from the hill,' she said warmly, then curiously examined me, 'And this is?'
'My cousin Ella Morrison,' Jack introduced, repeating our usual cover, 'She's interested in local history, and we'd like to look through some old records.'
Samantha nodded, but her eyes revealed a hint of doubt: 'Records from any particular period?'
'If possible, we'd like to see materials from around 1826,' I said, 'and any records concerning the lighthouse before 1926.'
Upon hearing this request, Samantha's expression grew serious: 'Lighthouse records? Any particular reason?'
Jack skillfully diverted the topic: 'Purely family research. I want Ella to learn more about the Howard family history.'
'Of course,' Samantha seemed to accept this explanation, though her tone remained reserved, 'The archives are in the basement, I'll take you there. Though some materials may be damaged or missing... time is not always a merciful guardian.'
Her choice of words caused Jack and me to exchange a meaningful glance—the phrase 'guardian of time' was clearly not just a secret of the Howard family.
The archive room was a vast, dust-filled space, full of wooden boxes and metal cabinets packed with documents and newspapers. The air was permeated with the smell of old paper and mould. After showing us the way, Samantha left us with an oil lamp for lighting.
'Let's split up,' Jack suggested, 'I'll check the newspapers, you look at these official records.'
We worked for several hours, sifting through countless yellowed documents. Most records were mundane—town council meeting minutes, property deeds, birth and death registrations. Occasional mentions of the lighthouse appeared, but nothing particularly notable.
Just as my hope began to wane, a small metal box caught my attention. It was stuffed at the bottom level of a bookshelf, almost completely covered in dust. The box had a lock, but it was rusted and broken. I carefully opened it to find a stack of private letters and a small diary.
Most of the letters were ordinary personal correspondence, but the diary piqued my interest. It belonged to a woman named Elizabeth Clark, written in 1827, a year after the first lighthouse incident.
'Jack,' I called softly, 'you need to see this.'
He put down the newspaper and came over, joining me in examining the diary. The first few pages were unremarkable, recording the daily trivialities of small-town life. But the entry for 21st September suddenly became intriguing:
'Today marks one year since that strange visitor arrived. I will never forget the sight of that day—the lighthouse engulfed in blue light, followed by Arthur Howard returning to town with a strange man. The man wore odd clothing, spoke in a peculiar manner, and seemed amazed by the most basic things. Arthur claimed he was a distant cousin, but no one in town believed it. Even stranger, the stranger knew every detail of the lighthouse, as if he had once been its keeper.'
Jack and I exchanged surprised glances. This description matched remarkably with the scene I had witnessed during the temporal overlap—Jack possibly being sent back to 1826, meeting his great-grandfather Arthur.
Reading further, we discovered more details:
'The stranger called himself Joseph, but once I heard him inadvertently respond to the name "Jack." He occasionally said things difficult to comprehend, mentioning "the future" and "timelines." Most townspeople thought him mentally unstable, but Arthur treated him with great respect, even involving him in lighthouse work. Strangest of all, he always carried a pocket watch similar to Arthur's, often gazing at it absently when alone.'
'This is incredible,' Jack whispered, his voice mixing shock and a kind of confirmation, 'If this is true, then not only will I not die in the lighthouse accident, but I'll be sent back a century.'
I continued reading, but the diary's records about 'Joseph' suddenly stopped after a few months. The last relevant entry read:
'Joseph left town today. Arthur said he went to Boston to find a specialist, but everyone suspects he'll never return. There are rumours that he and Arthur conducted some strange experiment at the lighthouse, after which Joseph "went home"—wherever that may be.'
We were about to delve deeper into 'Joseph's' whereabouts when we heard footsteps on the stairs. Samantha entered, followed by Mayor Clark. The mayor's expression was serious, his gaze fixed sharply on the documents in our hands.
'Mr. Howard,' he said coldly, 'I hear you're researching old records about the lighthouse. Given the recent... unusual activities around the lighthouse, this is concerning.'
Jack maintained a calm expression: 'Just family research, Mr. Clark. Nothing to worry about.'
The mayor stepped closer, his gaze falling on the diary we were reading: 'That diary belonged to my great-grandmother. It contains private records, not open to the public.'
'I apologise,' I quickly said, 'We didn't know it was a personal item.'
'Now you do,' the mayor reached out to take back the diary, 'Samantha, please ensure visitors don't access sensitive materials. As for you, Mr. Howard, the town council has expressed concern about the recent abnormal energy consumption at the lighthouse. A committee may soon visit for inspection.'
This was clearly a threat, but Jack merely nodded calmly: 'All is well at the lighthouse, inspections are always welcome.'
After the mayor left, Samantha looked at us apologetically: 'I'm sorry, Mr. Clark is particularly sensitive about certain family histories. But...' she lowered her voice, 'if you're truly interested in that period, you should find old Thomas Stone. His family has been fishermen for generations, and his ancestors had contact with "that stranger from the future."'
We thanked Samantha and left the historical society. Outside, darkness had begun to fall, and pedestrians hurried homeward on the streets.
'Old Thomas Stone,' Jack mused, 'he lives in a cottage on the north side of town, often sailing alone. People think him odd, but they leave him be.'
'We should find him,' I said firmly, 'If his family truly knows something, this might be our only chance to learn about the final fate of "Joseph"—perhaps you.'
Jack nodded, though his expression was complex: 'Even if it's confirmed I'll be sent back to 1826 rather than die, how does this change our situation? We would still be separated by time, just in a different way.'
I didn't answer immediately, because deep inside, I had already formed a bold plan—if Jack was destined to cross to the past, perhaps I could find a way to cross with him, or ensure he would eventually return to the right time point. But this plan was still too vague, too dangerous to share with him.
'Let's understand the whole truth first,' I finally said, 'then decide on the next step. For now, we should find Thomas Stone.'
Clouds gathered in the sky, foretelling an approaching storm. With less than two days until 21st September, our time was running short. But today's discovery gave me new hope—Jack might not die in the lighthouse accident. Now, the key was to find out what happened after he was sent to 1826, and whether there was a possibility of returning to the correct time.