Juno tumbles out of the surf, sneakers squelching on the crooked sand. Her snack bag is ripped — crumbs scatter everywhere. The mossy lighthouse glows ahead.
Juno tiptoes up the crooked path to the mossy lighthouse. "Just one cracker," she whispers. The door swings wide on its own.
She bumps the crooked shelf. Jars go PLINK, clatter, THUMP. A tiny silver bell rings out into the dark.
Two residents peek from the doorway — one in a fish-net hat, one dragging a teapot the size of a barrel. "THE FESTIVAL LIGHTS!" they whisper-shout. Both back flat into the wall.
Juno creeps down the hallway. Glowing shapes press behind the bricks like hidden fireflies. "A secret! A real mystery!" she whispers.
WHOOSH. A hundred paper lanterns burst through the wall, tumbling like glowing butterflies. Juno sneezes so hard they scatter into the dark.
Old Captain Marlow waddles in, his long coat trailing lanterns like a comet tail. "Oh no. We're early," he says, scratching his ear.
The sleepy harbor blazes with warm golden light. A hundred lanterns drift like slow fireflies above the crooked rooftops. The whole island hums.
Juno's eyes go wide. No mystery, no secret. Just lanterns, and every face turned pink and grinning.
Juno and Captain Marlow sit on the steps, a plate of black, cracked cookies between them. He takes a bite. "Crunchy," he mumbles.