The sun shone brightly, casting a golden glow over the beach. Footprints dotted the sand, weaving a path along the shoreline. In the rippling surf, a small, weathered case bobbed gently. A wave coaxed it toward the shore, where it came to rest in the wet sand against someone's foot.

"Whoa!" Iris stepped back in surprise, accidentally dropping the waffle she was holding. "Oh, gross." She picked up the soggy waffle and shook it half-heartedly, scattering grains, then tossed it aside.

Her attention shifted to the strange box at her feet. It sat exposed in the glaring light, a battered thing moldered and crusted with sea growth. It seemed barely able to hold itself together. Crouching, she picked it up and shook it. Something rattled inside.

Curiosity piqued, Iris glanced around the empty beach. Officially, the area was closed due to prior accidents, but she had snuck in anyway. It was practically in her vacation home backyard. Carefully, she examined the lock—a small, rusted mechanism about the size of a bobby pin.

She grinned. "Maybe there's money in here. It'd be lucky...for once."

Wrestling a pin from her hair, she worked at the lock. After several tense moments of vigorous twisting, it gave way with a dulled yet distinct click. Inside was a pocket-sized notebook and pen.

"Really? A diary?" Slightly disappointed but intrigued, she flipped to the first page.

Hello! You're my new journal. I've decided to call you Wonder! I'm so excited to use you—

Iris skimmed through the entries until she reached the last one, dated months after the others. What had caused the time lapse?

Misery.

The ocean has taken everything from me. My father, my house, my dog...but I still forgive it. Dad always told me to forgive. Even though it has its secrets. That forgiveness might just cost me my life. Dad also said to never trust the sea. It'll steal you, drown you, bury you to rot. But I'll give it a chance. I'll go speak to it now. Get it to listen.

Goodbye, Wonder.

Yours, Rose Caster

"Caster?" Iris stared, dumbfounded. Throughout her whole journal, the writer had signed off as Rosie, Rose, or Primrose—never her full name. "Rose Cast—"

"Iris Caster, come here right this minute!" The stern voice cut through the air, slicing clean through Iris's focus.

She raced up to the rented house and jumped the wooden stairs to her back porch two at a time, the small diary clutched tightly in hand. The back door burst open with a cringe-inducing screech. Her family's calico cat startled from sleep and hissed at her intrusive entrance, slinking away into the shadows.

"Yes, mom?"

"Iris, you still need to fold your clothes. You also conveniently happened to forget to wash the dishes this morning. It's stinking up the house, girl." Iris's mother turned around in her swivel chair, sharp eyes narrowing. Dark hair tumbled over wire-thin shoulders. Magnolia Caster was small in frame, Irish in ethnicity, and stern as a whip in personality. She noticed the journal. "What's that?"

"Oh, it's a journal I—"

"My goodness, Iris! You can't just buy things because you want them. It's wasteful of you, and I know it's Christmas Eve, but you shouldn't spend your time and money shopping."

Over her mother's shoulder, Iris glanced at the screen. It was an Amazon order for a frivolously frilled, excessive velvet feather hat. Talk about being hypocritical.

"Mom, I didn't—"

"I have a toothache and a headache, Iris. I can't deal with this—or you—right now."

"Mom! It's a diary I found! It-it says 'Rose Caster.' Do you know...?"

Her mother's face went pale. Her hard eyes dropped to the diary. "Where did you find that?"

"Washed up on the beach shore. Who was she?"

Five seconds of silence stretched and died between the two, before an answer finally filled the silence.

"Do you remember how I told you once that you had a sister?"

Iris froze. "Yes."

"She was five years older than you. Lived right around here, actually."

"Really?"

"Yes. Her name was Primrose Caster. She had fire in her, that one. Rose disappeared five years ago during a...during a storm." It was becoming very hard to breathe.

Magnolia continued harshly. "It was Christmas Eve...the same night your father—your father drowned." Her voice faltered with the last words.

Iris's breath caught. Without another word, she bolted out the door. Down the path she ran, toward the sea.

Word Count: 706