One page simply read, “It showed itself again before sunrise—same path as before.” Another said, “Not what they think. Still dangerous.” There were no explanations, only fragments. Nora traced his handwriting with one finger and felt a chill pass through her that had nothing to do with the sea wind.
The next morning, she visited Mrs. Wren, the oldest woman in the village, who kept a coal fire burning even in mild weather and seemed to remember every birth, marriage, and drowning in Blackwater Cove. If anyone knew where the story began, it would be her.