Fiction Reading Comprehension

The old lighthouse keeper's cottage had been empty for three years when Maya first discovered it. Perched on the edge of the cliff, it overlooked the wild Atlantic Ocean, its windows like hollow eyes staring out to sea. Maya had stumbled upon it during one of her afternoon walks, when the coastal path led her further than she'd ever ventured before.

She pushed open the weathered wooden door, which groaned in protest. Inside, dust particles danced in the shafts of sunlight that pierced through the grimy windows. The room was sparse—a rickety table, a broken chair, and in the corner, a leather-bound journal covered in a thick layer of dust.

Maya's curiosity overcame her hesitation. She carefully picked up the journal and blew off the dust, causing herself to sneeze three times in quick succession. The first page bore an inscription in faded ink: "The Daily Record of Thomas Brennan, Lighthouse Keeper, 1967."

As she flipped through the yellowed pages, Maya became absorbed in Thomas's world. He wrote about the storms that battered the coast, the ships he'd guided to safety with his beacon, and the loneliness of his isolated post. But it was the final entry that made Maya's heart race: "Today I saw something in the water that I cannot explain. I must investigate further tomorrow."

There were no more entries after that date. Maya looked up from the journal, her mind swirling with questions. What had Thomas seen? Why had he stopped writing? She glanced out the window at the churning sea below, wondering if it still held secrets from that distant day in 1967.