Cassie woke up to the sound of gulls.
For a moment, she forgot where she was. The walls around her were whitewashed and cracked, the ceiling low, the faint smell of saltwater everywhere. Then memory rushed back: the cottage, the lighthouse, and the fragile letter she had discovered tucked behind the wallboard the night before.
The letter was still on the nightstand beside her makeshift bedroll, edges curling, paper yellowed with age. Her name — Cassie — written in looping handwriting that was too elegant, too intentional to dismiss as coincidence.
She stared at it, unsure whether to pick it up again or shove it back into its hiding place. Instead, she muttered to herself:
"Okay, Policarpio. You inherited a building, not a ghost story."
Her stomach growled, and that settled it. Coffee first, mysteries later.
By midmorning, she was in jeans and a hoodie, hair tied back, broom in hand. Dust rose in clouds as she swept the lighthouse cottage, coughing and laughing at herself in equal measure.
"This place needs more than a broom," she said out loud. Talking to herself had quickly become a habit since no one else was around. "It needs a miracle. Or at least Jenny with her cleaning playlists."
Her phone buzzed at that exact moment. Jenny's name lit up the screen. Cassie grinned, swiping to answer.
"Well, speak of the devil," Cassie said. "I was just imagining you here, blasting pop songs while yelling at me for using the wrong cleaning spray."
Jenny's laughter rang clear even through the patchy reception. "I knew you couldn't survive one day in that creepy lighthouse without me. How's it going? Found any skeletons yet?"
"Not yet. Just dust and cobwebs. And a letter."
Jenny paused. "A what?"
Cassie hesitated, realizing how crazy it sounded. "A letter. It was hidden in the wallboards. Addressed to someone named Cassie."
Jenny let out a dramatic gasp. "Girl. GIRL. That's it. You're officially in a gothic romance novel. There's probably a brooding man with a lantern waiting outside right now."
"Stop," Cassie said, laughing but also glancing toward the window. Beyond the glass, the sea stretched wide and gray, the cliffs cutting sharp against the horizon. No brooding man in sight. Just gulls.
"You think it's just coincidence?" Cassie asked more softly.
Jenny, surprisingly, didn't joke this time. "Maybe. Or maybe it's family history. Didn't the lawyer say the lighthouse was in your family for decades? You should ask around. Find out who owned it before."
Cassie nodded, chewing her lip. "Yeah. Maybe I will."
"Promise me one thing though."
"What?"
"Don't fall in love with a ghost."
Cassie laughed, shaking her head. "Bye, Jenny."
She ended the call but her friend's words clung to her.
Don't fall in love with a ghost.
By afternoon, she finally worked up the courage to climb the lighthouse staircase again. Each step creaked, iron echoing under her sneakers. At the top, the lantern room was brighter than yesterday, sunlight bouncing off the sea into glass panes that hadn't seen polish in years.
Cassie leaned against the railing, pulling the letter from her hoodie pocket. She read it again, the words oddly intimate, like they had been meant for her and her alone.
Her fingers traced the signature: no name, just an initial — A.
"Who were you?" she whispered.
"You're not supposed to be up there alone."
Cassie jumped, spinning toward the voice.
A man stood in the doorway of the lantern room, framed by the dim stairwell. He was tall, dark-haired, wearing a windbreaker that looked older than she was. His eyes were serious, but not unfriendly.
Cassie's heart hammered. "Excuse me?"
"The stairs," he said, stepping into the light. "They're rusted. Dangerous. You should have them checked before you go climbing."
She bristled, shoving the letter into her pocket. "And you are...?"
He gave a small smile, almost apologetic. "Sorry. JM Pastor. The town's historian. Word gets around fast here. We heard you inherited the lighthouse."
Cassie relaxed, but only slightly. "You just... show up in people's lighthouses uninvited?"
"Only the important ones." His tone was dry, but there was a glint in his eyes that softened it. "The lighthouse hasn't had a keeper in decades. People are curious."
"Well," Cassie said, crossing her arms, "curiosity could knock first."
He chuckled. "Fair enough. May I?" He gestured toward the railing, and when she nodded reluctantly, he walked past her to peer out the window. His movements were quiet, careful, as if he already knew every corner of the space.
"It hasn't changed much," he said after a moment. "Just... older. Like all of us."
Cassie studied him. His profile was sharp, unreadable, his gaze fixed on the horizon as though he saw something beyond it. There was a weight to the way he stood, a man carrying more than he admitted.
"You sound like you've been here before," she said.
He glanced at her, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "I've studied it for years. The lighthouse is part of this town's history. Some families..." He paused, choosing his words. "Some families are tied to it more than others."
"Like mine?" she asked quickly.
He nodded once. "Yes. Like yours."
Before she could press further, he shifted, turning back toward the stairs. "I won't bother you long. I just wanted to say—if you find anything here, any documents or objects, I'd appreciate if you brought them to me. They might help piece together the history."
Cassie's hand twitched toward her pocket, where the letter still rested. She hesitated. Should she tell him?
Instead, she said, "What makes you think I'll find anything?"
His smile was faint, almost secretive. "Because old places like this always hold onto their stories. Sometimes more tightly than people expect."
With that, he started down the stairs.
"Wait," Cassie called after him. "How did you know I'd be here today?"
He glanced up at her from the shadows, expression unreadable. "I didn't. But I hoped."
Then he was gone, footsteps fading, the door creaking below.
That night, Cassie sat at the cottage's small kitchen table, the letter spread before her under lamplight. Her mind kept circling back to JM Pastor — the way he seemed to know more than he let on, the careful choice of his words, the way he had looked at the lighthouse as though it belonged to him as much as it did to her.
She picked up the letter again.
If these words reach you, know that I have loved you through storms and silence, through time itself.
Cassie shivered.
Was it coincidence? Some strange accident of history? Or was there a thread connecting her to this place that she couldn't yet see?
The waves thundered against the cliffs outside, relentless, eternal.
Cassie whispered into the quiet: "Why me?"
And somewhere in the darkness, the lighthouse seemed to answer back with silence that felt heavier than words.
📖 End of Chapter Two
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