Prologue

The Widow’s Walk Diaries are a work of fiction.  As most parents do, I used to read stories to my daughter Izzy at night before bed.  After a long days work, many nights my prospects of staying awake while reading where, between slim and none.  To keep my mind active and to capture Izzy’s attention, I opted to create stories at bedtime versus reading them.  The storyline for Widow’s Walk Dairies was developed over time from several tales imagined during these bedtime story sessions. The character Maeve represents all the character traits most Dad’s hope to see develop in their daughters.  Her conflicts, trials and tribulations are meant to promote a healthy prospective on life.  My wish is that you will enjoy these pages as we did or at minimum our hope is that you are able to stay awake until the end.    

Maeve Sails To America

Chapter 1

Maeve Mac Gregor had always felt a tug toward the world beyond her home. Growing up in the sweeping hills of Stirlingshire, Scotland, she was surrounded by mist-covered mountains and ancient stone ruins that whispered tales of centuries past. But as much as she loved her homeland, a part of her longed for something different, something beyond the small village where her family had lived for generations.

When a letter arrived from her uncle Aengus in Newburyport, Massachusetts, inviting her to come live and work in the United States, Maeve’s heart skipped a beat. Her uncle, Aengus Mac Gregor, had emigrated to America years ago, carving out a life in the bustling coastal town. His letters were filled with stories of clipper ships, whaling vessels, and a town brimming with history. Maeve could hardly imagine it, Newburyport sounded both exotic and full of opportunity, a stark contrast to the quiet life in Stirlingshire.

The day she left was bittersweet. Her mother, strong and stoic, held back tears as she helped Maeve pack her belongings, tucking in a small tartan shawl and a silver brooch that had been passed down through the Mac Gregor family for generations. “For luck,” her mother whispered, pressing the brooch into her hand. Maeve’s father gave her a firm hug, his weathered face softened by a sad smile.

The journey to America was long, and the sea seemed endless. Maeve spent much of the voyage on deck, gazing out over the Atlantic, trying to imagine the land that awaited her. She’d heard stories from neighbors who had gone to America, but none of it felt real until she arrived at the bustling port of Boston. The noise, the people, the sheer size of the city—it was overwhelming. But her uncle was waiting for her, his familiar face a welcome sight in the crowd.

Newburyport, a smaller town north of Boston, was unlike anything Maeve had ever seen. Situated on the Merrimack River, it was a town of cobblestone streets, brick buildings, and white clapboard houses with grand porches. Tall clipper ships docked in the harbor, their sails furled, and the salty air was filled with the sound of seagulls.  In  the distant she could hear music made by the clanking sound of the block and tackle of the ships halyards.

Her uncle’s house, perched on High Street overlooking the river below, was warm and inviting, filled with the smell of fresh bread and the crackling of a fire in the hearth. Aengus Mac Gregor had done well for himself as a shipbuilder, and Maeve soon found work helping in Lowel’s Boat Shop in nearby Amesbury , sanding wood and assisting with small tasks. It wasn’t the kind of work she’d imagined for herself, but there was something satisfying about it, a rhythm she began to enjoy.

Newburyport and Amesbury were towns rich with history, much like the ancient ruins back in Stirlingshire. Maeve often found herself walking the streets of Newburyport, exploring the harbor, and watching the ships sail in and out of port. The people were friendly, though they regarded her with curiosity. When she spoke, her Scottish accent marked her as a stranger, and she noticed how they leaned in just a little closer when she used words like ‘bah’uhr’ instead of ‘butter’ and ‘rye’ rather than ‘right’.  Many would smile while their eyes filled with polite interest. 

But, even as she adapted to her new surroundings, Maeve couldn’t shake the feeling of being caught between two worlds. She missed the wild Scottish hills, the sound of her mother’s voice, and the familiar faces of her village. The New England winters were colder than anything she’d known, with snow piling high and freezing winds cutting through the town. On those long, dark nights, she would wrap herself in the tartan shawl her mother had given her, feeling the warmth of home even from across the ocean.

It wasn’t long before she found herself making friends in the town. One afternoon, while delivering a set of carved wooden railings to a nearby inn, Maeve met Maggie Thornton, the daughter of the inn’s owner. Maggie was lively and full of stories, and the two girls quickly became inseparable. Maggie would take Maeve to see the wharves, to the marketplace, and to the local tavern where the townspeople gathered after long days of work. It was there that Maeve first heard tales of Newburyport’s whaling history, of sailors lost at sea, and of the eerie ghost stories that seemed to cling to the town’s past.

One evening, as the sun was setting over the Merrimack, Maggie took Maeve to a place known as Joppa Flats, a stretch of land where the river met the ocean. It was here, standing on the rocky shore, that Maeve felt the pull of the tides, the same feeling she had back in Scotland when she would stand on the cliffs overlooking the North Sea. The vastness of the water reminded her that, despite the distance, she was still connected to her homeland.

Over time, Maeve found herself more at home in Newburyport. She had learned the intricacies of shipbuilding, became a familiar face at the local market, and even began to love the harsh beauty of New England winters. Letters from her family were a constant source of comfort, filled with news from Stirlingshire and the occasional reminder of how proud they were of her.

Though Maeve had built a new life in Massachusetts, she never forgot where she came from. Her Scottish roots ran deep, and the traditions of her homeland stayed with her. She would often sing old Gaelic songs as she worked in the shipyard, her voice carrying over the clanging of hammers and the creaking of wood.

And yet, as the years passed, Newburyport became more than just a place to live—it became home. The Atlantic, which had once felt like an insurmountable barrier, now seemed to be a bridge between the two worlds she straddled. Maeve knew that one day she might return to Scotland, but for now, the quaint, bustling town of Newburyport, with its ships and salty air, was where she belonged.

One autumn evening, as she stood on the deck of a ship her uncle had built, watching the sunset paint the sky in hues of gold and red, Maeve realized something. She wasn’t just a girl from Stirlingshire anymore—she was part of two worlds, carrying Scotland in her heart while carving out a future in America. And in that moment, she knew she had found her place.

The Bookcase and the Secret Passageway

Chapter 2

One crisp winter afternoon, as Maeve rummaged through the old bookcase in her bedroom, searching for something to read, she stumbled upon something peculiar. A draft, faint but unmistakable, seemed to be coming from behind one of the the bookshelfs. Puzzled, she ran her fingers along the rows of books, checking for any gaps, and to her surprise, one of the shelves shifted slightly.

Heart pounding, she pulled it forward, and with a soft creak, the entire bookcase swung open like a door. Behind it was a narrow passageway, dark and mysterious. Maeve hesitated for only a moment before sticking her head inside, curiosity tugging her forward, she then stepped inside. The air was cold and still, and as her eyes adjusted to the dim light above, she noticed a narrow spiral staircase winding upward.

With her heart racing, she slowly ascended, the spiral staircase with it’s wooded steps creaking under her feet. As she climbed, the air seemed to grow colder, and she could feel the weight of years pressing down on her from the space. Where could this lead, she wondered? The staircase seemed impossibly tall for a house of this size.

At last, she reached the top and found herself standing in a round room with many winows on top the roof. It was a widow’s walk, the kind of lookout where sailors’ wives once stood, scanning the horizon for ships that would might never return. The view from here was breathtaking. Through tall windows, she could see the entire town of Newburyport spread out below her—the cobblestone streets, the bustling docks, and the vast stretch of the Merrimack River flowing toward the ocean. In the distance, she could even make out the tall masts of ships docked in the harbor, their sails furled tightly against the cold winter air.

But it wasn’t the view that held her attention. Along the walls of the widow’s walk, there were book cases —rows upon rows of shelves lined with what looked like old books. As she moved closer, Maeve realized some were not only books but diaries, each diary bound in rich black leather. There were twenty of them in total, and each had a number etched in gold on the spine, starting from one and going all the way up to twenty.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the first diary. The leather was cool to the touch, worn in places but still elegant. She opened it to the first page and saw the neat, flowing handwriting of someone long gone.

“August 3, 1771,” the entry began. “The sea has been restless these past days, and I find myself gazing out at the horizon more often than usual. I fear it is not only the weather that stirs unease within me. Something strange has taken hold of our town.”

Maeve’s breath caught in her throat. The diary was centuries old. Who had written it? Why were they hidden up here? She flipped through more pages, finding details about daily life in Newburyport during the 18th century—tales of ships arriving from faraway lands, of storms that had ravaged the coastline, and of people whose names she had never heard but who felt strangely familiar.

Intrigued, she reached for the second diary, then the third. Each one seemed to continue the story, as though the writer had chronicled their life over many years. But as she read deeper, she began to notice strange patterns in the entries—references to things she couldn’t explain. Mentions of “the watchers,” a group of mysterious figures who seemed to appear at night by the docks, and of “the light,” an eerie glow seen sometimes out over the water.

By the time she reached the tenth diary, the tone had shifted from the mundane to the downright chilling. The entries spoke of whispers on the wind, of people disappearing without a trace, and of ships returning to port without a single soul on board. The writer—who had never revealed their name—seemed to grow more and more paranoid with each passing year, as though something was haunting them.

Maeve glanced out the window at the docks below. The town looked peaceful now, but the words in those diaries suggested that Newburyport had once been a place filled with fear and mystery. Why hadn’t her uncle ever mentioned any of this?

Determined to know more, she pulled down the twentieth diary—the last in the series. The pages were brittle with age, but as she turned them, she found that the handwriting had grown frantic, almost illegible in places. The entries were short and scattered, as though the writer had been in a great hurry.

“December 18, 1795,” one entry read. “The watchers are closer now. I hear them at night, just outside the house. They know. They know what I have seen.”

Maeve’s hands shook as she read the final entry, dated just days later.

“December 24, 1795,” it said. “I am leaving this here, for whoever may find it. The light is calling, and I fear I have no choice but to follow. If I do not return, know that the watchers are real. Know that the light is not to be trusted. And know that some secrets are better left hidden.”

The entry ended abruptly, and there were no more pages after that.

Maeve sat back, her mind racing. Who had written these diaries? What had happened to them? And what were these watchers and this strange light they had feared so much? As she stood in the widow’s walk, the town below her seemed both familiar and foreign, as though it too was keeping secrets.

For a long moment, she just stood there, staring out at the horizon where the river met the sea, wondering what truths had been hidden in this house for centuries. The diaries had been left here for a reason, and now that she had found them, Maeve knew she couldn’t ignore their warnings.

She would have to keep searching, not just through the diaries, but through the town itself. Newburyport, it seemed, had a much darker past than anyone had let on. And somehow, she had been drawn into it.

What she would discover next, she couldn’t yet say—but she had a feeling that whatever it was, it would change everything.

Maeve Follows The Light

Chapter 3

Maeve couldn’t put the diaries out of her mind. The words about the strange light and the watchers haunted her, and each night, she found herself lying awake, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what had truly happened in Newburyport all those years ago. The diaries mentioned a light, something mysterious and powerful that had drawn people to it. She had to know more.

Her plan was simple: wait until everyone in the house was asleep, then sneak up to the widow’s walk after midnight. From there, surely she could see the light and learn more about its origins. She didn’t know what she was hoping to find—a ghostly glow, perhaps, or some sign of the watchers the diary had mentioned. Either way, her curiosity was too strong to ignore.

That night, after her uncle had long since gone to bed and the town below had fallen into a hushed silence, Maveve made her move. Wrapping herself in her thick tartan shawl, fastened with the silver brooch her mother had given her for luck.  Quietly, she ascended the spiral staircase, her breath clouding the air in the cold. The widow’s walk was eerily silent, save for the occasional creak of the old wood beneath her feet. She stood alone in the dark, her eyes scanning the harbor, the rooftops, the streets below, searching for anything unusual.

The moonlight bathed the town in a silver glow, and the sea glistened beneath it. For a long time, she saw nothing but the distant outline of the lighthouse on the south end of town. But then, just as she was about to turn back, she saw it.

A beam of light from the lighthouse cut across the sea, rotating slowly, illuminating the dark waters for incoming ships. It was nothing out of the ordinary—at first. Maveve knew this light; it had been there for years, guiding sailors safely into port. But tonight, something felt different.

As the beam circled around again, sweeping across the sea and back toward the land, it stopped. The light, so bright and strong, locked onto her, illuminating her from head to toe. Maveve blinked, momentarily blinded by its intensity, but she didn’t move. There was something strange about this light. It wasn’t just a beam anymore—it was pulling her in, like the strong ocean under-currents she remembered from the shores of Scotland.

Without thinking, she stepped forward, feeling a tug in her chest, as though the light itself was calling her. As she moved toward the edge of the widow’s walk, she saw something impossible: the light had transformed. What had been a simple beam was now a bridge of light, stretching across the rooftops, leading from the widow’s walk all the way to the lighthouse.

Maeve’s breath caught in her throat. This was no ordinary light—it was the one the diaries had spoken of, the one that had drawn people in. It was real.

With a mixture of awe and fear, she took another step, her foot landing on the beam of light as though it were solid ground. The bridge held her weight, shimmering beneath her feet. Step by step, Maveve walked across the rooftops of Newburyport, the streets and homes below her shrinking as she crossed the strange, glowing path. The town was quiet, oblivious to the magic unfolding above it.

As she neared the end of the beam, Maveve found herself standing on the lighthouse observation deck. The bridge disappeared behind her as soon as she stepped off, leaving her alone on the platform, high above the sea. The night was cold, the wind biting at her cheeks, but she barely noticed.

Her heart pounded as she turned to face the lighthouse door, which creaked open as though expecting her. She stepped inside, the light above still circling, though the beam was now back to its regular rotation, sweeping the sea for ships.

Inside the lighthouse was another spiral staircase, this one leading down into the base of the tower. The air was warmer here, but there was something unsettling about the quietness of the place. Maveve felt like she was trespassing into something ancient, something secret.

She descended the stairs slowly, her hand gripping the cool iron railing. As she reached the bottom, she was greeted by an unexpected sight: rows of costumes hanging from racks, each one neatly arranged by size and color. The costumes were varied—dresses, coats, hats, all in styles that spanned centuries. Some looked as though they belonged to the colonial period, while others seemed to come from even earlier times.

Maeve’s pulse quickened. Why were these here? She reached out and touched one of the dresses, feeling the soft velvet beneath her fingers. It was a gown, dark blue, with intricate lace detailing. The material was old but in perfect condition. There were dozens of outfits, each more elaborate than the last.

As she moved between the rows, she noticed a pattern. Each costume had a small tag sewn into the collar, and as she looked closer, she saw something chilling: the names of people. Each costume had a name embroidered into it, some familiar and others unknown. She recognized a few of the surnames—Thornton, Winslow, Hale—names she had heard around town, families that had been in Newburyport for generations.

Her breathing stopped when she came upon a familiar name: Mac Gregor. It was embroidered in gold thread on the collar of a long, dark coat, one that looked eerily like the one her uncle wore in winter.

Maveve stepped back, her mind racing. What was this place? Why were there costumes with the names of townspeople sewn into them? And why did it feel as though this discovery was connected to the diaries and the mysterious light?

Her head swam with questions, but one thing was certain: she had stumbled upon something much larger than she had anticipated. The light wasn’t just a mystery—it was tied to the very fabric of the town, to the families who had lived here for centuries, and somehow, it was connected to her as well.

She turned toward the exit, but before she could leave, she heard a faint whisper, like the echo of a voice carried on the wind.

“Maeve…” Her heart leaped into her throat. She wasn’t alone.

I’m Not Alone

Chapter 4
 

Maeve turned abruptly, startled by the sound of her own voice—but there was no one there. Her eyes landed on a large dressing mirror in the corner of the lighthouse, her reflection gazing back at her. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart, but the cold chill in the air seemed to grow sharper.

“Who’s there?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, the fear creeping in around her.

The lighthouse was empty, or at least, it seemed that way. No footsteps, no shadowy figure—nothing except her reflection. And yet, the same voice echoed again, clear and familiar.

“Maeve, it’s me… I’m here, inside the looking glass.”

Ice cold dread coursed through her veins, locking her in place. She couldn’t move. Her body was frozen, the reflection staring back at her with wide, unblinking eyes seemed to have a hold on her. But something was wrong—terribly wrong. Though Maeve’s lips remained firmly shut, the reflection began to move, and then, to speak.

“I was wondering when you’d finally come to visit me,” the reflection said with a smirk. “I’ve been shining the lights all over town to get your attention. What took you so long.”

Maeve wanted to scream, to run, but her body refused to obey. The reflection, almost her double, continued to speak with eerie calm.  She clasped the silver brooch on her tartan for courage and good luck.

“If you’re wondering who I am, well, that’s easy”…”I’m the light that reflects from you”

The reflection’s eyes darkened, and its smile grew wider, as if relishing in Maeve’s fear.

“Or rather,” it continued, “I’m the part of you that’s been waiting in this town for centuries. The part that’s been trapped here… looking for the light.”

Maeve’s heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing. How could this be happening? She had never been to this lighthouse before, had never felt connected to Newburyport’s ancient mysteries—until now.

“Don’t look so shocked,” the reflection sneered. “You’ve felt it too, haven’t you? That pull, the light drawing you in? It’s because you belong to this place, just as much as I do. You’ve always belonged.”

The words struck Maeve like a blow. What did this all mean? How could this mirror image of herself know things she didn’t? And why did the air suddenly feel suffocating, as if the walls of the lighthouse were closing in?

“Don’t worry,” the reflection said, softer now. “You and I—we’re bound together. You can’t run from it, Maeve. This town, the light, the watchers—they’ve all been waiting for you. Just like I have.”

With those final words, the reflection reached out—its hand pressed against the inside glass as though it was trying to break free.

Maeve finally found her voice, a whisper escaping her frozen lips.

“What do you want from me?”

The reflection’s smile faltered for a moment, and then it leaned closer, its eyes gleaming with something dark and unknowable.

“I want you to take my place,” it said simply. “It’s time for you to step into the light.”

The room spun around Maeve as the words sank in, her mind grappling with the impossible. Could she really be connected to whatever force haunted this lighthouse, this town? Or was this some cruel trick? The answer, she feared, was much worse than anything she could imagine.

And in that moment, as she stared into the eyes of her own reflection, Maeve knew her life would never be the same again.

Escape

Chapter 5

Maeve’s heart raced as the reflection’s icy words lingered in the air. She knew she had to act fast, to break free from whatever spell had taken hold. Her mind scrambled for a solution. She didn’t dare shatter the mirror—Scottish superstitions about breaking mirrors and inviting bad luck were drilled into her from childhood. Still grasping the silver brooch, she remembered an old folk remedy her grandmother had told her: to break a mirrors spell, you must spin three times in a circle to ward off the misfortune.

With no other plan and panic surging through her, Maeve began spinning in circles. Her feet moved faster and faster on the cold stone floor, her vision blurring from the speed. As she whirled, feet swinging wildly, she accidentally kicked up soot and coal dust from the fireplace beside the mirror. The dust clouded the air filling the room, swirling in thick plumes, and then—just as suddenly as the reflection had appeared—it vanished, all but a strange ball of light with an erie glow. The mirror was now blackened, covered in the coal dust, its surface hiding whatever eerie presence had been inside.

Maeve stumbled from dizziness but wasted no time. This was her moment to escape. The fear that had frozen her now ignited her will to survive. She bolted from the room, her feet pounding against the spiral staircase as she ran up, up, up—toward the top of the lighthouse.

She could feel the air growing colder, the stone walls narrowing around her, but she didn’t stop. Every second counted. She could hear the voice in her head, calling after her, but she refused to look back.

Reaching the observation deck, Maeve flung open the door, gasping for breath. Just as she stepped outside, the lighthouse beam rotated once again, cutting through the dark night. To her shock, it aimed straight toward her uncles home and foused on the widow’s walk, the very place she had stood earlier in the night.

The light shimmered, transforming once more into the glowing path that had led her here. Without a second thought, Maeve dashed across the beam, her feet barely making contact with the solidified light beneath her. The rooftops of Newburyport blurred below her as she sprinted toward the safety of home.

Finally, she reached the widow’s walk. Her heart pounding, Maeve leapt from the light bridge onto the platform, landing safely on the familiar old wood. The lighthouse beam rotated away, returning to its usual rhythmic sweep across the sea, as though none of it had ever happened.

Maeve stood still for a moment, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She was safe—for now, she was sure her mother’s silver brooch had protected her. The widow’s walk felt eerily calm compared to the terror she had just fled, but the questions buzzed in her mind. What had the mirror been? And why did those costumes have name tags ? What connection did it—and the light—have to her?

One thing was certain: something ancient and mysterious had awakened in Newburyport, and it wasn’t finished with her yet. 

Maeve Digs Deep For Answers

Chapter 6

Maeve barely slept that night, her mind swirling with everything she had learned from the diaries and her strange encounter at the lighthouse mirror. There was so much she didn’t understand, and every new discovery only seemed to deepen the mystery. The light, the reflection in the mirror, the watchers, and now the eerie pull she felt from the town itself—none of it made sense, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming for her.

She knew she needed answers, and soon. The first step, she decided, was to reread the diaries. And to hunt for more clues in the widow’s walk.  She wondered if she had missed something the first time, some clue or connection that might help her piece it all together. Maeve resolved to gather as much information as possible and fit the pieces of the puzzle together, no matter how strange they seemed. She had to make sense of it all—both for herself and for her family and friends. But more than anything, she had to do it fast.

The next morning, after a restless night, Maeve tried to focus on her usual chores to keep her mind steady. After breakfast, she tended to the garden behind her uncle’s house on High Street, pulling weeds and turning the soil in preparation for the winter frost. The routine work helped to calm her nerves, at least for a little while.

But as she dug, something unexpected caught her eye. Among the roots and loose soil, she noticed chunks of old red bricks scattered throughout the garden bed. She paused, staring at the weathered pieces, then dug deeper. The more she unearthed, the more bricks she found. Each piece seemed ancient, worn down by time. Curious, Maeve began to dig in earnest.

Soon, she pulled up a full-sized brick, then another. Her mind raced as she wondered what they could be from. Had there been a building here long ago? She remembered hearing about the old structures that once stood along High Street, but none were still visible today. What could this have been?

Brick after brick, Maeve’s hands moved faster, her curiosity turning to excitement. As she dug deeper, she uncovered something incredible—a hollow space beneath the soil. She cleared away more earth, revealing an opening, the entrance to a tunnel that seemed to stretch beneath the house.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she stared down at the dark passageway. What was this place? Had it been hidden for centuries, or was it something more recent? She had no way of knowing, but she did know, there was only one way to find out.

Without hesitation, Maeve grabbed a candle, lit it, and carefully widened the hole until it was large enough for her to climb through. The flickering light illuminated the rough, brick-lined walls of the tunnel, which seemed to slope downward as it extended into the distance. Taking a deep breath, she slid down into the opening.

The air inside was cold and damp, the scent of earth and decay filling her nose. She held the candle high, moving slowly through the narrow passage, her footsteps echoing off the walls. The tunnel seemed to run directly under High Street, heading toward the harbor.

As Maeve moved deeper into the tunnel, she noticed strange markings on the walls—faded symbols carved into the bricks. They looked ancient, though she couldn’t decipher them. She couldn’t help but think of the diaries and the warnings about the watchers. Could this tunnel be connected to them somehow? Her pulse quickened at the thought.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the tunnel opened up into a larger chamber. Maeve stepped into the space, the candle’s light flickering against the walls. She could hear the distant sound of water lapping against the docks above her. The chamber seemed to sit directly under the harbor.

Her eyes scanned the room, and that’s when she saw it—an old wooden crate, half-buried in the mud. The crate was sealed shut, but the wood was splintered and worn, as if it had been sitting here for centuries. Maeve’s hands trembled as she knelt beside it, brushing away the dirt.

What had she just stumbled upon? What had been hidden beneath her uncle’s house, buried for so long that no one had ever found it—until now?

Taking a deep breath, Maeve pried the crate open, her heart racing with both fear and excitement.

Inside were documents, maps, and strange objects she couldn’t immediately identify. But one thing was clear: she had uncovered something extraordinary, something connected to the long-buried secrets of Newburyport.

Maeve’s candle flickered, casting eerie shadows against the tunnel walls. She had discovered a hidden world beneath the town, one that stretched far deeper than she could have ever imagined.

But the most important question still remained—what was this, and why had it been hidden for so long?  And more chillingly, what did it have to do with her? 

Maggie Thornton 

Chapter 7

Maeve’s thoughts still racing as she stared at the contents of the crate, the cold, damp air of the tunnel closing in around her. Maps, documents, strange relics from the past—she couldn’t begin to understand what it all meant. But the deeper she dug into Newburyport’s mysteries, the clearer it became: this was more than she could handle alone.

But who could she trust? She thought of her uncle, Aengus, but quickly pushed the idea aside. He was too close to all of this. Maybe even too involved in ways she hadn’t yet uncovered. There were whispers in the diaries, hints about the watchers, the ones who guarded the town’s secrets. But who among the people she saw every day could be one of them? Who was playing a role in this hidden world?

Suddenly, a face came to her mind, as clear as day: Maggie Thornton.

Maeve felt a rush of certainty. Maggie, her closest friend since moving to Newburyport, was smart, practical, and unflinching in the face of the strange and unusual. More than that, Maggie had always seemed to know more about the town’s history than most. She’d often mentioned the town’s legends in passing, the old stories of the harbor and its strange happenings, as though she were almost too familiar with the town’s buried past.

Was Maggie part of this secret world? Could she be a watcher herself?

Maeve didn’t know for sure, but she trusted Maggie. If anyone could help her make sense of what she had uncovered, it was her. And if Maggie was somehow connected to the watchers… well, Maeve would soon find out.

Determined to bring Maggie into the fold, Maeve carefully closed the crate and crawled back through the tunnel. She would need to return later to examine everything more closely, but for now, she had to get out.

Emerging from the garden soil, Maeve dusted herself off and glanced around. The town of Newburyport seemed normal, as though nothing had changed since she’d started digging. But Maeve knew better. Beneath the surface, ancient forces were at play, and she was now entangled in their web.

After cleaning up and making sure her discovery was well-hidden, Maeve hurried inside to find her coat. She would head straight to Maggie’s house.

It was time to find out if her friend was ready to face the truth of Newburyport, and if Maeve could truly trust her with what she had discovered.

With one last glance at the house, Maeve set off toward Maggie’s, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and anticipation.

The pieces were falling into place, but she wasn’t sure yet if the answers would be the ones she was hoping for or if Maggie was really the true friend she believed she is.  

The Celtic Sister Knot

Chapter 8

Maeve opened the door to the Thornton Inn, where her best friend Maggie lived and worked with her father, Argyll Thornton. The inn was warm and bustling, filled with the smell of hearty stew simmering in the kitchen, and Maeve knew exactly where to find Maggie—likely peeling potatoes for the evening meal. She made her way to the kitchen, and sure enough, there was Maggie, sleeves rolled up, humming as she worked.

The moment Maggie saw Maeve, she lit up, dropping the potato peeler and sweeping her friend into a big, loving hug. Maeve smiled, but her mind was elsewhere, heavy with the secrets she carried. Maggie, ever intuitive, sensed something was wrong and quickly whisked Maeve outside into the inn’s small garden, away from the chatter of guests and kitchen clatter.

“Maeve, dear, what’s troubling you so?” Maggie asked, concern lacing her voice as she studied Maeve’s face.

Maeve hesitated, her heart pounding as she thought about how to begin. “Maggie, have you ever heard of something—or someone—here in Newburyport referred to as ‘the watchers’?” Her voice was steady but cautious.

Maggie’s bright blue eyes narrowed suspiciously, something Maeve had never seen from her before. “Why do you ask?” Maggie’s tone had shifted. “Have you been listening to the town elders spin their ghost stories again?”

Maeve felt a knot tighten in her stomach. This wasn’t the reaction she had hoped for. Maybe Maggie wouldn’t believe her. Maybe this whole thing would sound too wild to be true. But then she remembered her grandmother’s advice, ringing in her ears:

“If you want the truth in the end dear, you have to start with the truth in the beginning.”

So, Maeve took a deep breath and told Maggie everything. She spoke slowly, laying out each piece of the puzzle as clearly as she could: the hidden door behind the bookcase, the widow’s walk and the black diaries, the light from the lighthouse, the reflection in the mirror that wasn’t hers, the tunnel beneath the garden, and finally, the wooden crate she had discovered.

Maggie’s eyes, at first narrow with doubt, widened with each word. By the time Maeve finished, Maggie was staring at her with the biggest, roundest blue eyes Maeve had ever seen.’

Silence hung in the air between them as Maeve caught her breath. Maggie sat quietly, her expression unreadable. Then, without warning, she reached for Maeve’s left hand and turned it palm up.

“Maggie, what are you doing?” Maeve asked, startled.

“Hold still,” Maggie said, her voice serious. “I’m looking for something.” She traced her finger along the lines in Maeve’s palm, as though searching for a hidden code.

“Maggie, there’s nothing in my hand.”

“Oh, yes, there is,” Maggie replied, her voice low but certain. “See these marks here, these lines forming a shape?”

Maeve glanced down at her palm, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Maggie pointed to the lines in Maeve’s hand. “This is an ancient symbol. It’s called the Celtic Sisters Knot. It’s a sign of sisterhood. A symbol of the strong, eternal bond we share with our sisters and friends.”

Maeve’s caught her breath. “What does it  mean?”

“These lines,” Maggie continued, “form a stylized triple spiral, woven within the heart of the Celtic knot. It represents the three stages of womanhood: maiden, mother, and wise woman. It’s a powerful sign of connection and trust, passed down from generation to generation. I have the same mark, see?” Maggie held up her own left hand, showing Maeve the same knot-like lines etched in her skin.

Maeve stared at their hands, the matching symbols somehow binding them closer together. “So, this means I can trust you?” Maeve asked, her voice soft, a mix of hope and fear.

Maggie smiled gently. “If you want a sign, Maeve, this is it. You can trust me. And if you ever need to know if you can trust another woman in this town—look for the mark. We share a bond, stronger than any of the watchers or their secrets.”

The weight on Maeve’s chest lifted, just a little. She had found an ally. Maybe Maggie didn’t have all the answers yet, but Maeve knew they were in this together now, bound by something ancient and unbreakable.

“I’ll help you,” Maggie said firmly. “Whatever is happening in this town, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Maeve nodded, relief washing over her. For the first time since this strange journey had begun, she didn’t feel so alone. The knot in her hand, the connection to Maggie—it was more than just a symbol. It was a promise.

Gathering Clues

Chapter 9

Maggie and Maeve made their way back to Maeve’s house, the weight of their shared mission heavy on their shoulders. They had decided that the best place to start gathering clues was in the widow’s walk, where the hidden bookcase first revealed its mysteries. The thought of returning to the creaky wooden stairs and the room on the roof sent a shiver of both excitement and apprehension through Maeve, but she knew this was where they had to begin.

Side by side, they climbed the stairs, each step groaning beneath their feet as if the house itself were whispering secrets. The door to the widow’s walk stood before them, silent and still. Maeve hesitated for a moment, then opened it, revealing the room bathed in the pale afternoon light.

The air was cool up there, and the sea breeze gently rattled the windows. The wall of old books stood in front of them like a guardian, towering and intimidating. Maeve had already skimmed through the black leather diaries, but with everything that had happened since then—the lighthouse, the tunnel, the symbols—she hadn’t had the chance to explore the rest of the shelves.

“Do you think there’s more than just the diaries?” Maggie asked, running her fingers along the spines of the dusty books. “There’s got to be something in here that makes sense of it all.”

“I’m not sure,” Maeve replied, “but I didn’t get a chance to check anything else. The answers could be hidden anywhere.”

Without wasting another moment, the two girls began pulling books from the shelves, flipping through them, scanning for anything unusual. The widow’s walk was quiet except for the soft sound of pages turning and the occasional thud of a book being replaced.

Just as Maeve started to doubt they’d find anything new, Maggie let out a small gasp. “Maeve! Look at this.”

Maeve hurried over to where Maggie stood, her eyes wide with excitement. Maggie held an old, weathered book—its spine cracked, and its cover worn smooth. It was unlike the others, with no title or markings on the outside. Inside, however, the pages were filled with drawings and symbols—familiar ones.

“These are the same markings I saw in the tunnel,” Maeve whispered, her pulse quickening. “They’re ancient symbols, just like the ones carved into the walls.”

Maggie flipped the pages slowly, revealing diagrams, maps, and notes written in an old, spidery handwriting. Some of the maps seemed to trace the layout of the town, while others appeared to be of the coastline. Then they found it—tucked between the pages—a folded piece of parchment, yellowed with age.

With trembling hands, Maeve unfolded the parchment. It was a map, but not just any map—it showed a series of underground tunnels that crisscrossed beneath Newburyport, including one that led directly under High Street to the docks, just like the one Maeve had found.

“This is it,” Maeve said, her voice breathless. “This is how they’ve stayed hidden for so long. The watchers—whoever they are—must be using these tunnels to move through the town without anyone knowing.”

Maggie nodded, her eyes scanning the map. “And look here,” she said, pointing to a symbol marked near the lighthouse. “There’s something else—something hidden beneath the lighthouse. It’s the same symbol you saw in the mirror.”

Maeve’s mind raced. “There must be something important there… something they’re protecting.”

Just then, Maggie found another piece of folded paper tucked into the back of the book. It was a letter, written in a hurried scrawl:

“To those who find this,

Beware the light. The watchers guard it with their lives, for it holds the power to change the fate of those who seek it. Not all who follow the light return unscathed. Trust only those with the mark, for they are bound by the ancient bond, and only they can be trusted to uncover the truth.”

Maggie and Maeve exchanged a glance, the weight of the words sinking in.

“We have the mark,” Maeve whispered, her voice shaking slightly. “This is our sign. We’re meant to uncover the truth.”

Maggie nodded, her eyes determined. “Then we follow the map, and we find out what’s hidden beneath the lighthouse.”

They had their first real clue. The diaries, the symbols, the strange objects—everything was leading them to the same place. Whatever was hidden beneath Newburyport, and especially under the lighthouse, held the answers to everything they’d been searching for.

Maeve and Maggie stood there for a moment, the wind from the harbor brushing against the windows of the widow’s walk. The pieces of the puzzle were finally falling into place.

“Let’s get a backpack ready to carry with the maps books and documents,” Maeve said, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and excitement. “We’re going to the lighthouse tonight.”  

Under The Lighthouse 

Chapter 10

Maggie and Maeve arranged the perfect cover for their late-night adventure—a sleepover at Maeve’s house. It was an innocent enough excuse, but both girls knew this was no ordinary night of gossip and pillow fights. They had something much bigger planned.

As the clock in the hall downstairs struck midnight, they quietly made their way to the bookshelf. The faint creak of the old wood echoed through the silent house as they moved the shelf aside, revealing the secret passage. One by one, they crawled through the opening in the wall and climbed the narrow spiral stairs that led to the widow’s walk.

The rooftop room felt different in the stillness of night. The air was cool and thick with anticipation, the stars above barely visible through the haze of sea fog rolling in from the harbor. Maeve and Maggie stood side by side, watching the lighthouse on the far end of town, waiting for the beam of light that had once carried Maeve across rooftops and streets.

Maeve’s heart raced as the beam slowly rotated, casting its glow across the dark waters. Maggie stood close beside her, the weight of the letter’s warning heavy in their minds: “Beware the light. The watchers guard it with their lives, for it holds the power to change the fate of those who seek it. Not all who follow the light return unscathed.”

“Are you sure about this?” Maggie whispered, her voice barely audible above the distant sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

Maeve swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on the rotating beam. “I’m sure. We need to know what’s hidden there, grab the backpack.”

As the lighthouse beam swung closer, the familiar tingling feeling Maeve had felt the first time returned. She’d remembered to wear her tartan shawl and silver broch.  Her skin prickled, and her heart thudded in her chest as the light made its way toward them. She could sense the same pull, the strange energy that had lifted her before.

Then, just like before, the beam hit them. A blinding light covered both girls from head to toe, its intensity so strong that it felt like it was piercing through them. Maeve reached for Maggie’s hand, squeezing it tightly.

“Hold on,” she whispered.

And then it happened.

The light became solid beneath their feet, forming a shimmering bridge made of pure energy, stretching from the widow’s walk across the rooftops of Newburyport toward the lighthouse.

Maggie gasped, her grip tightening on Maeve’s hand. “It’s real…”

Without hesitation, they stepped onto the light bridge. It felt strange beneath their feet—solid yet ethereal, like walking on a sunbeam. They moved quickly, the light carrying them across the town. Below, the streets were silent, the world oblivious to the two girls gliding above.

As they neared the lighthouse, Maeve’s heart pounded harder. The warning from the letter echoed in her mind: “Not all who follow the light return unscathed.”

What was waiting for them?

The light deposited them gently on the lighthouse’s observation deck, just as it had for Maeve before. The moment their feet touched the solid ground, the light bridge vanished behind them, plunging the world back into darkness, save for the rotating beam overhead.

“We’re here,” Maeve whispered, her breath coming in short gasps.

Maggie looked around, her eyes wide. “Now what?”

Maeve didn’t have an answer. They stood for a moment in silence, the wind howling around them, the beam of the lighthouse casting long shadows over the deck. Then Maeve noticed something—a faint glow coming from the base of the lighthouse.

“Look,” she said, pointing to the glow.

Without a word, they hurried down the spiral staircase inside the lighthouse, following the light. It led them to a small door at the base of the tower. The door creaked open, revealing a room filled with strange, old-fashioned equipment, and on the far wall, a large mirror—just like the one Maeve had seen before.

Maggie hesitated, staring at the mirror. “Is that…?”

“It’s the same as before,” Maeve said, her voice low. “This is where I saw the reflection—and the reflection wasn’t mine.”   

They approached the mirror cautiously. The faint glow they had followed seemed to be coming from it, and as they drew closer, the surface of the mirror began to ripple, like water disturbed by a stone.

Suddenly, a voice echoed through the room, soft but clear: “You’ve come seeking the light, haven’t you? But do you truly understand what it is you seek?”

Maeve and Maggie froze. The voice seemed to come from the mirror itself, but the reflection that stared back at them was not their own. It was the same face Maeve had seen before—the eerie, knowing face that mimicked her every move.

“Who are you?” Maeve asked, her voice trembling.

The reflection smiled, though its lips barely moved. “I am the keeper of the light. The watchers guard me, as I guard the truth. But the truth is not for everyone to see.”

Maggie stepped forward, her face pale but determined. “We have the mark. We’re meant to uncover the truth.”

The reflection tilted its head, as if considering her words. “Perhaps. But the truth comes at a cost. Are you prepared to pay it?”

Maeve and Maggie exchanged a glance, the weight of the moment settling over them. They had come this far. They couldn’t turn back now.

“We are,” Maeve said firmly.

The reflection’s smile widened, its eyes glowing with an unnatural light. “Very well. Follow the light, but remember the warning. Not all who seek the truth return unscathed.”

With that, the mirror’s surface shimmered once more, and the door behind them creaked open, revealing a dark passageway leading down beneath the lighthouse.

Maggie and Maeve took a deep breath and stepped forward, descending into the unknown. The light flickered ahead of them, and the deeper they went, the more they felt the weight of the watchers’ secrets pressing in on them from the shadows.

Search for Seekers and Secrets 

Chapter 11

Maggie and Maeve descended cautiously into the dark passageway beneath the lighthouse, the weight of the warning still hanging over them:

“Not all who seek the truth return unscathed.”

The air was damp and cold, the walls of the tunnel lined with jagged stone, making every step feel like they were moving deeper into an ancient, forbidden world.

Maggie reached into Maeve’s backpack and pulled out the tunnel system map they had found earlier in the widow’s walk. Unfolding it carefully, she held it up to the flickering light from their candle. “We need to find the right tunnel,” Maggie said quietly, her voice steady but cautious. “If this map is right, we should be able to navigate under the whole town.”

Maeve leaned over the map, her pulse quickening. “We need to find the passage that leads toward the harbor. It’s marked right here,” she pointed at a faded line on the map. “That’s where the light from the mirror was pointing.”

The faint glow from their candle flickered against the walls, casting long shadows. They scanned the darkened tunnel for clues, trying to make sense of their surroundings. The floor beneath their feet was uneven, and the stone walls were covered in faint markings—symbols like the ones they’d seen in the books back at the widow’s walk.

Maggie knelt closer to one of the symbols. “Look at this,” she whispered. “These markings match the ones from the map. I think they’re showing us which tunnels are safe.”

Maeve bent down beside her, running her fingers over the stone. “You’re right. These symbols—some of them lead to dead ends. But these…” She pointed to a symbol of a spiral next to the passageway ahead. “This is the same spiral as on the map. This tunnel should lead us in the right direction.”

They pressed on, their footsteps echoing faintly through the dark as they followed the spirals marked on the walls. The tunnel grew narrower, the ceiling lower, and soon the air became thicker, more oppressive. The further they went, the more they felt the weight of something watching them from the shadows, as if the walls themselves had eyes.

As they rounded a corner, they noticed something unusual—small, flickering lights further ahead. They exchanged a glance and moved forward cautiously, the map clutched tightly in Maggie’s hands. The tunnel opened up into a larger chamber, where the flickering lights turned out to be lanterns, hanging from hooks in the walls.

There, in the center of the chamber, was something neither of them expected to find—an altar. It was made of smooth, polished stone, with intricate carvings all around it, and in the center lay an old wooden box, just like the one Maeve had found under her house. Around the box were more of the same symbols—spirals and knots—etched into the stone.

Maggie’s words were caught in her throat. “This… this must be where the watchers perform their rituals,” she whispered, her eyes wide with awe.

Maeve nodded, her gaze fixed on the altar. “But why is there another box here? What’s inside?”

They approached the altar slowly, their nerves on edge. Maeve reached out hesitantly, her fingers brushing the top of the box. It was cool to the touch, and the wood was worn, as if it had been opened and closed many times before. With a deep breath, Maeve unlatched the box and carefully lifted the lid.

Inside, they found a rolled-up piece of parchment, tied with a faded ribbon, and beneath it, a small, intricately carved stone disk. The symbols on the disk matched the ones they had seen throughout the tunnels.

Maeve gently unrolled the parchment, her hands trembling slightly. The writing was in the same old, spidery handwriting as the notes they had found in the widow’s walk:

“The light is both guide and test. Only those who bear the mark and walk the path of the watchers may truly see what lies beneath the harbor. The truth is guarded not by men, but by the sea itself. To enter is to face the waves of fate, but beware—once the light shows you the way, there is no turning back.”

Maggie’s eyes widened as she read over Maeve’s shoulder. “The sea… It’s under the harbor, isn’t it? That’s where they’ve been hiding whatever it is we’re looking for.”

Maeve nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. “It must be. But what does it mean by ‘the waves of fate’? Is there some kind of test we have to pass?”
Or is it a challenge that will determine our fate?

They stood there in silence for a moment, both of them trying to make sense of the cryptic message. The carved stone disk in the box caught Maeve’s eye. She picked it up, feeling its weight in her hand. The spiral symbol on its surface seemed to pulse with a faint energy, as if it were alive.

Maggie looked down at the disk, then back at Maeve. “We have the mark,” she said softly, holding up her left hand where the Celtic Sisters Knot symbol was faintly visible in the lines of her palm. “Whatever this is, we’re meant to do it together.”

Maeve nodded, her resolve hardening. “Then we follow the map to the harbor. We have to know what’s hidden beneath the sea.”

With the stone disk and the map in hand, they left the chamber and continued down the tunnels. The path grew steeper as they moved toward the coast, and soon the sound of the crashing waves grew louder around them.

As they neared the final passage, Maeve felt the ground tremble slightly beneath her feet, as if something massive was shifting below the surface. They reached the mouth of a tunnel that opened out to a cavern beneath the docks, the walls slick with sea spray. The light from the lanterns flickered wildly, casting strange, distorted shadows on the walls.

Maggie and Maeve stood at the edge of the cavern, the air thick with salt and tension. The sea roared beneath them, crashing against the rocks, and there, in the depths of the cavern, something glowed faintly beneath the water.

“It’s the light,” Maeve whispered. “The light that the watchers guard.”

But as they stepped closer, the ground trembled again, and the words of the letter echoed in their minds: “Beware the light… for it holds the power to change the fate of those who seek it.”

They had come too far to turn back now.  They knew they needed to move keep pressing forward. 

“We’re going in,” Maeve said, determination in her voice. Maggie nodded, and together, they prepared to face whatever truth the light was about to reveal.

What Lies Beneath The Sea

Chapter 12
 

Maeve and Maggie gripped each other’s hands tightly, their hearts pounding as they leaped into the deep blue sea. The icy water rushed past them, and for a moment, the world around them was nothing but darkness and cold. But as they descended, the faint glowing light beneath the water began to grow, wrapping itself around them like a protective bubble.

The light shimmered softly, and to their amazement, it filled the bubble with air, allowing them to breathe. Maeve gasped, looking around in awe as the bubble held them suspended in the vast ocean. They were sinking deeper and deeper into the sea, the surface above growing fainter, but the light beneath growing stronger, guiding their way.

As they continued their descent, the world around them began to shift and change. What was once the dark, empty void of the sea transformed into something entirely new. Shapes and structures began to emerge in the glow of the light. Shadows became clearer, revealing the outlines of ancient ruins scattered across the ocean floor. Towering columns of stone jutted upward, covered in strange symbols that mirrored the ones they had seen in the diaries and tunnels.

Maeve’s eyes widened as she took it all in. “It’s a city,” she whispered, her voice echoing in the enclosed bubble. “A city beneath the sea…”

Maggie nodded, equally entranced by the sight before them. “This must be what the watchers were guarding,” she said. “The secret of Newburyport… this entire city hidden below the harbor.”

The deeper they went, the clearer the ruins became. Massive statues carved from stone stood tall, their faces worn by time, yet still watching over the sunken city. The buildings were grand, some still intact, others collapsed into piles of rubble. It looked like a civilization long lost to the sea, forgotten by time, and hidden away from the world above.

They reached the ocean floor, the light guiding them to a central plaza where a grand temple stood at the heart of the sunken city. The temple was immense, with towering pillars and intricate carvings lining its walls. At the top of the temple, a large circular window glowed with the same faint light that had guided them beneath the waves.

Maeve felt a strange pull toward the temple, as if something inside was calling her. “This is it,” she said, her voice filled with a sense of urgency. “This is where the answers are.”

Together, Maeve and Maggie moved toward the temple, their feet touching the stone floor of the city for the first time. The bubble of light remained around them, protecting them as they approached the temple’s entrance.

Inside, the temple was even more magnificent. The walls were lined with golden engravings of spirals and knots, symbols of the ancient world. At the center of the room stood a large stone pedestal, and resting upon it was an orb, glowing with the same light that had guided them all this way.

Maeve and Maggie exchanged a glance. They knew that this was the source of the light—the object the watchers had been guarding for centuries. But as they stepped closer, Maeve felt a strange energy radiating from the orb. It was powerful, ancient, and filled with a sense of both danger and wonder.

Maggie hesitated. “Are you sure about this, Maeve? The warning said that the light has the power to change fate…”

Maeve nodded, her mind racing. “I know. But I think this is the key to everything. The watchers, the diaries, the tunnels… it all leads to this.” She reached out her hand, feeling the energy of the orb pulse in the air around them.

As her fingers touched the orb, the room lit up with a brilliant flash of light. The walls of the temple glowed, and suddenly, Maeve and Maggie found themselves surrounded by images—visions of the past, the present, and the future.

They saw the watchers, cloaked figures standing guard over the city, performing rituals to protect the orb. They saw the city before it had sunk beneath the sea, a thriving civilization that had harnessed the power of the light. They saw the faces of those who had come before them, fishermen, sailors and neighbors lost at sea—those who had sought the truth and been changed by it.

And then they saw something else—something that sent a chill down Maeve’s spine.

They saw themselves.

In the vision, Maeve and Maggie stood side by side, just as they were now, but something was different. In the vision, they were holding the orb, and behind them, the city was rising from the depths, the sea parting to reveal its glory. But as the city rose, so did something else—a darkness, creeping from the edges of the vision, threatening to consume everything in its path.

Maeve pulled her hand away from the orb, her heart pounding. The vision faded, and the room returned to its normal glow.

“What… what was that?” Maggie asked, her voice shaking.

Maeve shook her head, trying to process what she had seen. “It’s the future,” she whispered. “Or… it could be. The power of the light—it’s not just about knowledge. It’s about changing the fate of the world.”

Maggie looked at the orb, her face pale. “But the darkness… what if we’re not ready for this?”

Maeve took a deep breath, her mind racing. She knew they had uncovered something incredible—something that could change everything. But the visions had shown her that the light was not without its dangers. The watchers had been right to guard it so fiercely. It had the power to bring both salvation and destruction.

“We have to be careful,” Maeve said, her voice steady. “Whatever we do next, we need to be sure we’re doing the right thing.”

Maggie nodded. “Then let’s start by figuring out what this light really is. We’ve come this far. We can’t turn back now.”

With the orb glowing softly beside them, Maeve and Maggie knew they had only scratched the surface of the mystery beneath the sea. The truth was far more complex than they had ever imagined, and the power of the light was something that could shape the world in ways they had yet to understand.

And as they stood together in the heart of the sunken city, they knew that their journey was far from over.  But they were close to finding the answers to the questions about the light, close enough they could almost taste it.  The most important questions to solve immediately are… if the the power of the light was really so powerful that it could shape the fate of the world, what actions caused the darkness, to come creeping from the edges of the vision, threatening to consume everything in its path?  And why did the vision include an image of themselves holding the orb, and behind them, the city was rising from the depths, the sea parting to reveal its glory. But as the city rose, the darkness?

These were questions that needed answers and both Maggie and Maveve needed to back home to figure out the answers.  The fate of the world was in their left hands.  

Fate Of The World

Chapter 13

Maeve and Maggie stood in the glowing chamber of the sunken temple, the weight of their discovery pressing down on them like the ocean above. They exchanged a glance, both knowing that the answers to the questions swirling in their minds would not come easily. The orb sat on the pedestal, still humming with the power of the light, and yet the darkness that had crept into their vision lingered in the back of their thoughts.

The vision had been clear: the light had the power to shape the fate of the world. But why had they seen the darkness rising as the city emerged from the sea? What had triggered it? And why had they seen themselves in that future, holding the orb?

Maeve stepped back from the orb, her hand still tingling from the energy it had radiated. “We need to understand what we’re dealing with,” she said, her voice steady but filled with urgency. “The darkness didn’t come out of nowhere. Something caused it. But what?”

Maggie’s brow furrowed, deep in thought. “Maybe it’s not just the light that holds power, but the way it’s used. If it can raise a city, it must have the ability to change other things, too. But if we don’t know how to control it, maybe that’s what brings the darkness.”

Maeve nodded, but there was something more bothering her. “And why were we in the vision, holding the orb? What does it mean? If the city rises, does that mean we caused it? And if we did… does that mean we brought the darkness with it?”

The questions hung in the air, unanswered. Both girls knew they couldn’t stay in the sunken city much longer. There was so much more to learn, but it wasn’t safe—not until they understood what the light truly was and why the watchers had guarded it so fiercely.

“We need to go back,” Maeve said, breaking the silence. “Back to the diaries, back to the widow’s walk. There’s more we haven’t discovered yet, and I think the answers are there.”

Maggie nodded in agreement. “We’ve seen the power of the light, and we’ve seen the danger it brings. If we can figure out what triggers the darkness, maybe we can stop it before it’s too late.”

With a deep breath, the two girls turned away from the glowing orb and made their way back through the temple, their footsteps echoing in the stillness of the sunken city. As they retraced their steps through the ruins, they couldn’t help but feel the weight of the task ahead. The fate of the world was no longer just an abstract idea—it was something they held in their hands, something they could shape or destroy.

They emerged from the city, the protective bubble of light still encasing them as they rose through the dark waters. The ocean stretched endlessly above them, but the light guided them back toward the surface, toward the lighthouse, and toward the answers they so desperately sought.

As they broke through the surface of the water, gasping for breath, the lighthouse stood tall above them, its beam still circling, as if watching over them. Maeve pulled herself onto the rocks, soaked and shivering, but her mind raced with new determination. She had a sense now that the watchers weren’t just protectors—they were gatekeepers, safeguarding something far more powerful than she had ever imagined.

Maggie followed, pulling the map from her soaked backpack. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover when we get back,” she said, her voice steady despite the cold. “The map, the tunnels, the diaries—they’re all part of this puzzle. We have to figure out what connects them.”

Maeve nodded, her mind already turning toward their next steps. “And we need to find out more about the watchers. If they’ve been guarding the light all this time, they must know what triggers the darkness. We need to understand their role in all of this.”

As they climbed the rocky path back toward the lighthouse, the moonlight illuminated their way, casting long shadows behind them. The vision of the rising city still haunted Maeve’s mind—the image of the city parting the sea, glorious and terrible at the same time. And the darkness… always creeping at the edges, ready to consume it all.

They needed to know more. And fast. For now, the only thing that was clear was that the fate of the world rested in their hands—the hands marked with the Celtic Sisters Knot, the symbol of trust and loyalty. It was a bond that would guide them through the mysteries ahead, but they would have to tread carefully.

As they reached the base of the lighthouse, Maeve turned to Maggie, her voice firm but quiet. “Let’s go home. We have work to do. The answers are waiting for us, and the world might not have much time left.”

Together, they made their way back toward the house on High Street, the weight of their discovery settling on their shoulders. They knew that the light held unimaginable power, but the darkness was always close behind, threatening to unravel everything they had worked for.

And as they walked in the stillness of the night, they understood one thing with terrifying clarity: the truth they sought might not only change their fate but the fate of the entire world.

The Inner Light

Chapter 14

Maggie and Maeve exchanged glances, their minds racing with the possibilities. The “Inner Light” book felt like a key—one that might unlock the very mystery they had been chasing all along. Sitting together on the floor of the widow’s walk, surrounded by dusty old tomes, the meaning of the hidden text began to take shape.

Maeve leaned in closer to the book, tracing her finger along the words. “If this ‘Inner Light’ is real, it would mean that what we feel inside, our goodness or badness, could actually affect the world around us. Maybe the orb at the lighthouse isn’t just some magical object—it’s a reflection of this inner power. It mirrors what’s inside of us.”

Maggie nodded thoughtfully. “That makes sense. If the light shines brighter when we do good things and dims when we do bad things, it explains why we saw the city rising from the sea when we held the orb. But the darkness that followed…” She trailed off, her voice tinged with worry.

Maeve frowned, flipping back through the pages. “Maybe the darkness we saw isn’t just a warning about the world. Maybe it’s about us—about the choices we make. The watchers… they must be the ones who have learned to control their Inner Light, the ones who keep it bright, even in the face of the darkness.”

Maggie took a deep breath. “If that’s true, then the orb we found, the light from the lighthouse, all of it… it’s connected to us. To everyone. Maybe the watchers are here to guide people, to protect this Inner Light so it doesn’t fade away.”

“But why would they hide it?” Maeve asked, flipping through the rest of the hidden book. “Why keep it a secret? This is something everyone should know—how to protect their light, how to make sure the darkness doesn’t take over.”

Maggie thought for a moment. “Maybe it’s because people aren’t ready to understand it. The watchers might have seen what happens when the darkness gets too strong, when people let their inner light fade. They have to be careful about who knows, who’s trusted with the power.”

Maeve sat back, her thoughts a whirl. “But what if that’s why we’ve been drawn into this? Maybe we’re meant to figure out how to keep the light strong, not just in ourselves but in everyone. Maybe that’s why the orb showed us the city rising—it was a vision of hope. But it was also a warning, that the darkness could consume it all if we don’t act.”

Maggie tilted her head, pondering. “And if we don’t act, maybe the watchers will.”

Maeve shivered at the thought. “We have to make sure we don’t lose control of the light. If the watchers are here to protect it, we need to understand them better. And we need to figure out what triggers the darkness.”

The two girls sat quietly for a moment, the gravity of their discovery settling in. They had stumbled upon something far more important than they had imagined—a power that connected everyone, a light that could either shine brightly or be smothered by the weight of bad choices and ill intentions.

Maggie broke the silence. “So what do we do next?”

Maeve smiled, her determination renewed. “We keep reading. We need to know everything about the watchers, about the light, and about how we can protect it. And we need to figure out if we’re ready to carry this responsibility—because if we aren’t, the darkness will spread.”

Maggie nodded. “And if the watchers have been protecting this power all along, maybe we can find them. Maybe they can help us.”

They stood up, carefully placing the little book back into the hollowed-out space. It was clear now that the journey they had begun wasn’t just about uncovering a mystery—it was about understanding their own inner power, the light that they each carried within themselves. And, more importantly, it was about figuring out how to protect that light, not just for themselves but for the world around them.

As they left the widow’s walk, their hearts were heavy with the knowledge that the answers they sought were just within reach. But with that knowledge came a new weight—a responsibility to ensure that their light stayed bright, even when the darkness threatened to overtake them.

For now, they would return to the diaries, the maps, and the hidden passages beneath the town. They needed to find out who the watchers truly were and why the light was so important. But Maeve knew that the answers were within them, too—inside their hearts, where the Inner Light pulsed with the power to shape the world around them.

If they could unlock its true potential, they just might be able to save the city and, perhaps, even the world.

Coming Soon …. Maeve and Maggie continue the hunt for clues