The Universes Inside the Lighthouse: Balky Point Adventure #1 (Balky Point Adventures)

by Pam Stucky

  “Noted,” said Emma, catching her breath behind him. “Looks empty,” she said as she approached the lighthouse. Could it really be haunted? She knocked on the entrance door. “Hello?” she said, pushing the door open. As Ed had predicted, it was unlocked. “Hello?” she repeated, stepping into the cool, dim room. “Anyone here?” She didn’t believe in ghosts, not really. But she did not particularly want to be proven wrong today.

  Charlie followed her inside. “I think it’s empty,” he confirmed, “but it feels …”

  “… not empty,” Emma finished. Despite there being no signs of life, there was an energy to the air, an electricity, like in the millisecond just before you get a static shock from clothes fresh out of the dryer in the depths of a cold winter. An air of possibility, of something about to happen. Emma shuddered.

  The entrance room was small, maybe ten by fifteen feet, with an opening off to the side that led to a circular stairwell, which curved up to the top of the lighthouse. A few rustic and timeworn forest green benches lined the edges of the room. A small Plexiglas-topped table in the center of the room protected a display map of the land masses around Balky Point that could be seen from the lighthouse. Faded old pictures hung on the walls.

  “I’m going up!” called out Charlie, the words trailing behind him as he raced up the circular stairway as though he hadn’t just climbed one hundred and seventy-nine steps from the beach.

  Emma stayed below scanning the photos on the walls, mostly of groups of people smiling cheerily into the camera. The pictures were labeled: “Balky Point, 1900.” “Balky Point, 1911.” “Balky Point, 1918.”

  “Must be the town residents?” Emma pondered out loud.

  She casually glanced at the first few, but then a chill spread up her spine. She studied the photos more closely. Was that …? She looked at the next photo in line. And that …? But it can’t be!

  “Charlie! Come here!” she yelled in the direction of the staircase.

  Charlie either didn’t hear or was not interested in coming back just yet.

  “Charlie!” Emma repeated, loudly. “Charlie, come down here!”

  This time, Charlie clomped gracelessly but quickly down the stairs. “What? Em! Are you okay? What happened?”

  Breathless, he raced to stand by her side.

  She was staring at the wall.

  Charlie looked at the wall.

  “Neat wall,” he said, glancing at Emma out of the corner of his eye. “Great wall, Emma.”

  She said nothing.

  They stared at the wall.

  Finally, Charlie whispered, “What are we looking at that was so important?”

  Emma reached out to touch the glass on the picture in front of her. “This girl,” she said, pointing to a girl in the background of the picture, not part of the posed group, but separate, apart. She moved her finger. “And this man, beside her.”

  “Huh,” said Charlie. “That girl looks a lot like—”

  Emma, who had moved on to the next picture, interrupted him. “A lot like this girl,” she said, again pointing to a young woman who again was in the background of the picture, almost hiding, but not quite. “And this man.”

  She moved to another picture. “And this girl, and this man.”

  Charlie’s mouth gaped open. “But that’s …”

  “Show me your phone,” she said.

  Charlie, who already knew what Emma was thinking, had his phone out and was scrolling through his photos. He found the one he was looking for, held it up to the wall next to the girl in the picture, the girl in all the pictures. 1900. 1918. 1929. The same girl, the same age, in every picture. And in his phone.

  The girl from the Dogwinkle Days Parade.

  “That’s totally her,” he said. “But … how?”

  Emma pursed her lips. How, indeed? She looked again from one picture to the next. Could it be a younger sister, daughter, different generations through the years? Of course it was possible—everything was possible—but her gut told her this was the same person. The man’s picture was blurrier in most of the shots, as though he’d been moving fast when the pictures were taken, making it harder to tell if he was the same person throughout. But Emma’s instinct told her it was.

  Without looking at Charlie, she said, “We should ask Ben. Maybe he knows.”

  Charlie laughed. “You just want an excuse to see Ben,” he said. “Can’t fool me, Emma-bo-bemma.”

  “Well, so what if I do,” she huffed. “You just want to see this girl, and you don’t even know her.”

  Charlie was not deterred. “Can’t fool me, Emma-bo-bemma, can’t fool Charlie-bo-barley!” he repeated in a sing-song.

  “Can’t fool a fool,” Emma replied.

  “Nice comeback.”

  “Whatever. We should ask Ben, and you know I’m right, so let’s go.”

  As the day was getting late, the twins biked back to the cabin to borrow their parents’ rental car. Balky Point was at the north end of the island, about as far away as one could get on the island from Wishing Rock.

  “What do you want the car for?” asked their mother.

  “Emma wants to see her boyfriend,” said Charlie.

  “Charlie hopes he can find himself a girlfriend,” said Emma.

  “Fantastic,” said their mother, knowing better than to get involved in such a discussion. “Good luck. Be back for dinner.” She handed over the keys, and the twins were out the back door before she could tell them to drive safely.

  They wove their way south on the roads, not quite sure how to get there. But, “We’re on an island,” said Charlie, “How lost can we get?” And he was right; the main road took them straight to the one-building town where they’d spent their winter vacation.

  “Home sweet Wishing Rock,” said Charlie with a dramatic flair.

  As they pulled into the parking lot, they saw several people out at the barbecue area. Emma quickly scanned the group: no Ben. They knew these other people well enough from their visit over Christmas that it would seem rude to walk right past them. And, the fact was, any of them was just as likely to be able to answer their questions as Ben was. It would be weird to walk by, Emma knew, but finding out about the girl was Charlie’s mission. Seeing Ben was hers.

  Just as Emma shut her car door, though, she saw Ben come out of the building carrying a platter of skewers of meat. With his left foot he held the front door open for his mother, who trailed behind him, a pitcher of lemonade in her left hand and a tray of vegetable skewers precariously balanced on her right. Ben’s mother saw the twins first and said something to Ben, who looked in their direction and smiled. He put his tray down on a nearby table and jogged over to meet Emma and Charlie.

  “Hey! What brings you back again so soon?” he said, all teeth and smile and charm.

  Emma found herself tongue-tied. What was it about this young man that left her speechless and blushing? Why couldn’t she have a normal conversation with him like a normal person?

  Much to Emma’s relief, Charlie stepped in.

  “Ben, my man! You still need to tell us more about your trip! We got talking about UFOs and didn’t hear about Iceland! How was it?”

  “What a country,” said Ben. “It’s incredible. Ed’s mom lives there, so we stayed with her for a few days up in the northwest. We drove around the whole island. Fantastic. Unbelievable. Waterfalls everywhere. You gotta go one day.”

  “Iceland, that’s so cool,” said Emma. “Ha! Cool—like, it’s cold, get it?” The words slipped out of her mouth even as her brain willed her to stop. Ix-nay on the umb-day okes-jay, she said to herself. When she was particularly annoyed with her own stupidity, she often chided herself in Pig Latin. Don’t be such an ork-day.

  Charlie, bless his heart. When it was just the two of them, he could be interminable. But when anyone else was involved, he had her back.

  “Cool—cold!” He snorted—literally snorted, relieving the awkward silence. “She’s clever,” he said in solidarity, nodd
ing his agreement with himself.

  Ben laughed too, whether in pity or appreciation Emma didn’t know, but it was better than a blank stare. “Actually, it wasn’t as cold as I thought it would be, but it did get cold in some places. The north gets cold especially. You’re practically to the Arctic Circle, up there. At night, the sun sets but there’s still some light all night long.”

  Emma slipped off into a reverie, her mind racing back to her honeymoon fantasy, details now filling themselves in. Her, and Ben, and … penguins? Polar bears? … Never mind that. Her, and Ben, and …

  “The Land of the Midnight Sun,” Ben said, looking at her as though he knew what she was thinking. “That’s what they call it.”

  “The Land of the Midnight Sun.” She repeated it like a prayer, a solemn wedding prayer.

  Protector or no, Charlie had his limits. He kicked his sister’s shin, just a bump, really, covering it up by making it look like he tripped while reaching for a glass of lemonade. But it was enough to get the message across: she needed to stop embarrassing herself, or, worse, him.

  “So you came to talk more about Iceland?” said Ben. “Are you thinking about going?”

  “No, not Iceland. We’re here on business, sir,” said Charlie. “Mystery is afoot. Adventure is at hand. Curiosity lies ahead.” He stopped to admire his extensive body-part-related comparisons. “Get it? A foot? At hand? A head?”

  Ben groaned. “You two are definitely related.”

  Emma frowned. Gorgeous or not, criticizing her Charlie was not fair game. She reached her arms around her brother in a protective side hug, though it was as much to give her comfort as anything. Emma was always uneasy in groups and many social situations. Charlie could charm a crowd and have them wrapped around his little finger in ten seconds flat. Emma, on the other hand, never knew what to say. As a result, Charlie often went out while Emma stayed home. She said it didn’t bother her, but deep down, it did.

  “We have a very interesting question,” she said. “Have you been up to the lighthouse at Balky Point? That’s not the interesting question. That’s the question leading to the interesting question,” she rambled. “There’s another question after that. That’s the interesting one.”

  Charlie squeezed her to make her stop.

  Ben, of course, had been to Balky Point. “That’s where all the kids on the island go to make out, or get lost, or just think,” he said. “Why?”

  “Have you ever looked at the pictures on the walls?” asked Charlie.

  “That’s the interesting question,” said Emma, half to herself.

  A red tinge rose up Ben’s neck. “We don’t—I don’t usually go inside when I go there,” he admitted. “A lot more sitting on the cliffs and … looking out at the sea. And stuff.”

  “You should look around inside more,” Emma said, annoyed at the implication. The honeymoon vision floating in a bubble over her head disappeared, popped by a young woman as blonde as the girl in the pictures.

  “What’s inside?” asked Ben.

  Charlie explained. “Photos on the walls, going back a century.”

  Ben shrugged: this was exciting, how, exactly?

  “But,” Charlie continued, “the same girl is in all of them.”

  Ben furrowed his eyebrows in exaggerated confusion. “The same girl? You mean in a few pictures?”

  “A lot of pictures. Decades apart,” said Charlie. He held out his phone for Ben to see, the same picture he’d shown Ben the other night. “This girl.”

  This time, Ben’s confusion was real. “There are old pictures of the girl from the parade in the lighthouse?”

  “Interesting, isn’t it?” said Emma, feeling vindicated. “Same girl. She’s in more than half the pictures. Her, and another guy, an older guy. Not recent pictures. Old pictures. More than a century old.”

  “How is that possible?” said Charlie, affecting a deep movie announcer voice. “Explain that, compadre. First UFOs, then this. Dogwinkle Island, you are a crazy place. In a world where dogs and cats marry and fish walk on land, where giraffes can swim, where north is east and time travels backward …” He trailed off. “Yeah, that’s all I got,” he said, his voice back to normal.

  Ben shook his head. “I don’t have a clue who she is. Never saw her before you showed me that picture.”

  Charlie was deflated, Emma disappointed. “But Obi-Ben-Kenobi, you were our only hope,” said Charlie. “How will we find her now?”

  Ben thought a minute, his gaze wandering to his friends at the barbecue, skewers smoking on the grill, people laughing and chatting. His eyes lit up, and he snapped his fingers. “A potluck!” he said. “Potlucks bring out people. We’ll have an island-wide potluck. Mom’ll organize it, no problem. Her sister is coming into town tomorrow. I’m sure they were going to do something anyway. We’ll just invite everyone. Maybe we can bring that girl out of hiding.”

  “What if they’re gone from the island already?” said Emma. “We don’t want to miss them.”

  “You said they’ve been in pictures on the walls for decades,” said Ben. “Seems they’re here to stay.”

  Emma had to admit Ben had a point. “But a potluck?” she said. “Doesn’t that take time to plan?”

  “Are you kidding?” said Ben. “In Wishing Rock, we potluck like we breathe.”

  chapter two

  In the end, there was slightly more to putting together a potluck than Ben had indicated, but not much. Ben’s mother and aunt, well-versed in potlucks, worked their magic, with Emma helping as much as she was able. By the next weekend, everything was in place for a potluck, hoedown, and, at Ed’s insistence, a karaoke stage. Despite having just come down off the parade events less than a week before, or maybe because of it, everyone was in a party mood. Come Saturday afternoon, nearly every person on the island was in attendance.

  “Small island,” Ed had explained. “We gotta make our own fun.”

  Emma had agreed to help with the refreshment table; Charlie had finagled himself a job as D.J. The karaoke stage would only operate between hoedown sessions (all had agreed that no one needed nonstop karaoke), and Charlie was quite pleased with himself for managing to get out of doing much work.

  Emma, on the other hand, was an emotional wreck. In deciding what to wear, she had tried to reach the perfect balance between actual casual and glamorous casual—that is, casual that looked casual but actually required hours of work to achieve. She’d meticulously applied her makeup but then sneezed moments after swiping mascara on her lashes, thus smearing it all around her eyes. This necessitated her washing her whole face and starting over. Stupid allergies, she grumbled mentally. While brushing her teeth, she dropped a clump of toothpaste on her carefully chosen shirt. The toothpaste came out with water but left a stiff and shiny spot on the fabric. Frantically ironing her back-up outfit, Emma wondered what else could possibly go wrong. If she wanted to impress Ben, tonight was her best chance. She sat in her room for a while, practicing the art of conversation to try to build her confidence, but in her mind she never could get much beyond, “Hi, Ben!” What to say next? No wonder I never get any dates, she thought.

  Even as he mocked Emma’s struggles, Charlie himself was putting extra effort into his appearance for the evening. Rather than just swishing a hand through his wavy light-auburn hair, Charlie ran a brush through it, and he checked his dark blue shirt for stains before putting it on with his khaki shorts. Thus finished with his own preparations, he went to Emma’s room to check on hers. Seeing her sitting on the end of her bed talking to herself, he punched her on the shoulder.

  “Dork,” he said.

  She punched him back. “Dork,” she said.

  On arriving at Wishing Rock shortly before noon, the twins were met by the conversation and activity that regularly hummed through the tiny town. Emma rushed off to the refreshment table to keep her mind occupied; Charlie immediately and easily mingled with the locals and introduced himself to people he didn’t already know, his eyes alway
s on the lookout for The Girl.

  Soon enough, the party was going strong, and both Emma and Charlie forgot their missions. Rather, Charlie forgot his; Emma was struggling with hers. Ben’s aunt was busy calling the hoedown steps, and people from all over the island were swinging and stepping and laughing. Emma slowly maneuvered herself closer to Ben, trying not to be obvious about her intentions while at the same time trying to get his attention, smile at him, ignore him, and pretend to be nonchalant yet attractive. She tried to join in the dancing, but the concentration required to follow the hoedown calls while at the same time flirting without looking like she was flirting exhausted her introverted soul.

  So when The Girl appeared, Emma didn’t even notice until she felt Charlie’s elbow poke most unceremoniously into her side.

  “That’s her!” he whispered loudly.

  “What?” Emma said, barely able to hear him over the music and the general party pandemonium.

  Charlie rolled his eyes in a giant circle to point in the direction of the drinks table, and nodded his head with little subtlety. “The Girl!” he said. “She’s here!”

  Emma looked in the direction Charlie indicated and saw The Girl standing there. An older man stood next to her, though it wasn’t clear whether they were together or simply standing next to each other. They spoke a few words, then The Girl nodded and the man walked away. It was definitely The Girl from the pictures, Emma thought. She’d stared at the photos on the wall of the lighthouse and on Charlie’s phone enough that of this, she was certain. She exchanged an excited glance with Charlie, who was grinning from ear to ear. Their plan to draw out this girl from wherever she was hiding had worked! Emma had had her doubts as to whether a potluck was interesting enough to bring in a stranger, but she was not going to put down Ben or his suggestion. And somehow, magically, it worked!