Widow’s Bay
“Welcome to Widow’s Bay”
April 29, 2026
Yep. I’m doing it. There will be a lot of chit-chat at the end, so let’s get on with it.
We’re on a boat!
It’s night, and a fisherman, Shep, is by himself on the open sea, bitching over the radio to the harbormaster Lonnie, that the divorce came out of nowhere (but that he was the one to declare it over once he noticed she had put his suitcase by the door).
On the other end, Lonnie becomes alarmed, seeing something ominous on the radar, and begins asking for Shep’s heading. But the radio, along with the lights, goes out before Shep can reply, and he’s drawn out onto the deck by the aberrant flock of gulls screaming overhead, and a fog, THE fog, rolls in.
As we pan up and out, an island hovers in the distance.
On that island, a trio of teen boys is getting high in a Volvo station wagon, giggling, when the radio begins stuttering. Immediately after, the lights inside the car and down the street snap off.
And according to the alarm clock on Tom Loftis’ nightstand, it’s 2:06 in the A.M. when the earthquake rattles the island, jolting him awake. Tom hurries to his teen son’s bedroom in a panic, to find it empty just as the rumbling stops.
The next morning, Mayor Tom Loftis arrives at the Town Hall to learn that half of the island is without power, which is inconvenient as he’s anticipating a travel writer from The New York Times to arrive later that day. Tom checks in with his staff, notably Rosemary, on the location of another staff member, Mitch. Rosemary assures Tom that she’s called him several times, but he’s not called her back. And not that it’s any of Rosemary’s business, but Mitch shouldn’t feel so superior when he can’t pay back his loans. Tom’s not interested in gossip, and neither is Rosemary, but apparently there’s no age limit on syphilis. And she’s run Mitch’s genealogy, and he’s not a quarter Cherokee like he claims.
Tom doesn’t have time for such nonsense, and calls Wayne, the owner of the nicest restaurant in town, The Salty Whale, to make sure he’s up and running ahead of this reporter arriving, and to make a reservation for that evening, at a window table, and NO KATHY.
Tom’s assistant, Patricia, brings Tom some coffee, asking when the article will run, and Tom, checking his WOLVES calendar, assumes that if it is published, it will be before the booking season …
The sweet elderly receptionist, Ruth, reports to Tom the calls he’s missed: his lunch was moved to Monday, Wyck Crawford has called twice, and the sheriff, Bechir Clemmons, has called a couple of times.
Because Crawford is a crank, Tom calls Clemmons back first, only to learn that Shep the fisherman has gone missing. Tom is unimpressed and suggests that Clemmons check the local bar, but Clemmons has. The harbormaster said Shep disappeared in the fog, and he wants to issue a cancellation due to the conditions. Tom is absolutely NOT HAVING IT; they have fog 360 days a year, they can’t just shut everything down. Clemmons insists the harbormaster is saying it’s not a usual fog … but Tom doesn’t hear it, distracted by the early arrival of the 11 a.m. ferry.
Expecting his New York Times reporter, Tom rushes out to greet him, only to learn the writer has been sent ahead to the Widow’s Bay Historical Society to Tom’s great dismay.
And based on the Historical Society’s exhibits highlighting some of the darker moments on Widow’s Bay …
… Tom’s apprehension is understandable.
Tom finds the New York Times reporter, Arthur, being lectured by the Historical Society’s docent Gerrie about the island’s past as a whaling community. Tom interjects that the island’s history is a remarkable story: 42 passengers from the mainland embarked by sea to find a new home … Gerri interrupts that it was actually 43 passengers, but Tom insists they don’t have time for THAT story. But just imagine arriving in an untamed wilderness … a completely empty island, a blank canvas … and Gerri interjects:
Except for the teeth.
Tom:
Tom continues, explaining that the first settlers survived what is still believed to be Widow’s Bay’s harshest winter thanks to their first mayor, Richard Warren.
Gerrie interrupts again: she was just about to show Arthur the witch trial:
Great source of pride. We caught ’em. We burned ’em…
With that, Tom takes over, and Arthur asks him about something odd a guy on the ferry told him: that bad things happen here. Tom poo-poos this, old seafaring towns tend to be supsersititous, it’s part of their charm. Arthur asks if there was cannibalism on the island, and Tom insists there wasn’t.
Tom insists that the stories are exaggerated over time, and that the best way for Arthur to learn about the town is to explore it himself. Arthur notes that he’s having trouble getting reception on the island, and Tom offers that he should embrace their slower pace and the quiet. Tom sends him off to check out the second-oldest lighthouse in America, and invites him to meet him that evening at the Salty Whale for dinner. It’s got the best lobster in America. Better than Cape Cod? Arthur asks. Tom spits back:
Fuck Cape Cod.
Tom returns to Town Hall, where the employees are deep in conversation about Rosemary’s color-blindness:
Basically, what you see as blue, I see as blue-green.
Tom urges his employees to keep an eye on Arthur, and make sure he sees the highlights of the island. After all, Gerri has been filling his head with nonsense. One employee, Dale, asks if he should avoid taking Arthur to the “old hospital,” which Tom confirms: do not take him to the “old hospital,” though Rosemary assures them that it’s safe to drive by the old hospital. They just can’t stop.
Tom reminds everyone that their peaceful little island is a tourist spot for families to relax, only to be interrupted by the previously mentioned crackpot, Wyck, who is wound up about the missing Shep.
“SHUT IT DOWN! SHUT IT ALL DOWN! THE FOG TOOK HIM!” Wyck insists.
But Tom isn’t interested, convinced that Shep is just off drunk somewhere. Wyck informs Tom that Shep stopped drinking three weeks ago, and Tom needs to sound the siren. Tom refuses, and Wyck fumes that Tom has never accepted their history, and it’s going to get people killed. Tom protests that the only thing that is going to get people killed on the island is its lack of an updated power grid, or wi-fi, or decent roads — its lack of infrastructure. They need visitors to increase the tax base so that they can improve the island.
But Wyck is undeterred: the island is waking up, and that fog is coming to take the rest of them.
It’s a HAUNT.
Despite Tom’s mockery, Wyck continues to press that the island is cursed. But Tom isn’t interested. He’s pretty sure that there are just some islanders who want to be miserable and blame it on an ancient curse, and Tom is not going to humor them.
The sheriff’s office calls, and Tom takes it in front of the assembled, exclaiming that it’s “Great news!” before explaining to the others that they found Shep and excusing himself to his office to continue the call. There, we learn that he lied to everyone: Shep has NOT been found, and Sheriff Clemmons has a lot on his plate these days, what with wild teenagers running rampant. He can be more specific, if Tom would like. ~cough~Evan~cough~
Tom would not like, and sticks his head into Patricia’s office to let her know he’s going to be stepping out for a bit. Patricia knows the truth: they haven’t found Shep. Tom tries to discourage her from believing in this curse nonsense, but Patricia reminds him of her own trauma: the Boogeyman who came for her in high school. Tom reminds her that he has, in fact, heard this story before, and Patricia replies that she sleeps with her dresser in front of her door to this day.
Tom is unimpressed:
But he … he murdered teenage girls. You’re in your 40s, you’d be fine.
Patricia, understandably, storms off in a huff.
As for Tom, he heads home to find his teenage son, Evan, smoking pot on the backsteps. Tom confronts him about sneaking out at night, before telling Evan that he gets his adventurous spirit from his mother. Tom goes on to tell Evan that he fell in love with his mother’s laugh before he ever laid eyes on her, and four months later, they were married and expecting Evan. Tom tells Evan that he was the best surprise of Tom’s life, and he just wants to keep him safe, before adding that the pullout method doesn’t work.
When Tom asks his son why he can’t just keep normal hours, Evan argues that there’s nothing to do on the island during “normal” hours: the island is a prison. Tom promises that things are going to change, but Evan has a skeptical.
And that’s when the sirens begin wailing.
Tom and Patricia arrive at the harbor where Wyck is still shouting that they need to shut down the island: the fog’s coming. Tom and Patricia offer to hear Wyck out if he just turns off the siren; they will give him five uninterrupted minutes to tell them his theory about what is happening.
Once in the Salty Whale, Wyck sets up some ground rules for this little talk:
I don’t want you correcting my grammar. I don’t have time to sit here and go tit for tit with you.
Wyck goes on to explain that the haunt began with the quake; it means the island is waking up. And that’s when the “terror” starts.
Wyck then passes over an article from 1846 entitled, “Fog that Stole Souls”:
Stage One: Eyes turn white.
Stage Two: Loss of the five senses and delirium.
Stage Three: Loss of erection.
Stage Four: … but before Wyck can continue, Patricia interrupts:
Who the hell is trying after stage two?
Or, Wyck continues, maybe we’re paid a visit by the revenants of doomed sailors. He then goes on to tell the story of the SS Mary. In 1873, the ship and its crew had been missing for 62 years. The mayor shut off the lighthouse to confound the ship, as the mayor had “coveted the captain’s young bride.”
“How young?” Patricia inquires.
“16.”
“How old was he?” She asks.
“53.”
“What?! She loved him!” Wyck protests before asking if old men aren’t worthy of love.
Patricia is disgusted:
Are the older women dead in this scenario?
Tom, once again, has no time for this foolishness and reminds the two that they have a New York Times reporter on the island — if they get a good write-up, they could be the next Bar Harbor.
Tom then wonders if what is going on with Wyck is personal against him, and Wyck answers honestly: in fact, it is personal; he doesn’t think Tom is a leader. Wyck reminds Tom of when he was a little boy and would come to the island for the summer. One year, he and his friends would take turns doorbell-ditching, but Wyck watched him from inside: Tom only pretended to ring the doorbell before running back to his friends to take the glory. That’s how Wyck knows Tom isn’t a real leader: he’s a coward.
The tension of the moment is broken, happily for Tom, by Shep, who comes staggering in, soaking wet, and collapses.
At the hospital, the doctor tells the gathered in the waiting room that Shep is in stable condition, but they had to sedate him to allow the swelling to go down.
I’ve given him enough Propofol to knock out a horse. Of course, I probably shouldn’t tell any of you that. But where do you draw the line?
After smirking at a sheepish Wyck, Tom heads to Shep’s room, where Patricia is busy yammering at an unconscious Shep about her biological age being 28. When Tom questions what she’s doing, Patricia storms out in a huff, again, leaving Tom alone with Shep.
Tom takes a peek at Shep’s records:
But aside from Shep’s age not being right, Tom also notes that his blood alcohol is, in fact, negative.
And that’s when Shep’s milky white eyes snap open, and Shep the Wight begins to attack Tom.
Eventually, Wight Shep collapses, and Tom is able to pull away from him as the medical team rushes in with a crash cart.
And Tom? Tom is shooketh.
Back in his office, Tom watches the fog approach the island via radar, and takes a call from the doctor to see if they found anything … unusual in Shep’s autopsy, noting that Shep said that “something didn’t feel right …”
Well, he died, Tom.
Patricia, concerned Tom is going to miss his scheduled dinner with the reporter, reminds him that he’s already late, but Tom, he’s freeeeeeeeeaked out, and dithers for as long as he possibly can.
As he makes his way to the door, he tells himself Patricia that they can’t let these people get into their heads and allow fear to win.
At the Salty Whale, Tom dissociates over a glass of brown, only to snap to in time to hear Arthur the reporter tell him that he loves the island. In fact, he doesn’t understand why it’s not Martha’s Vineyard. Tom, with his meager Bar Harbor ambitions, cackles in shock at the Martha’s Vineyard comparison.
But Arthur does have some questions about this idea that some folks have that people who are born on the island can’t leave. Tom insists that this is just an old wives’ tale, but Arthur insists he met a 60-year-old man who claims he’s never set foot on the mainland, and went on to tell him about his cousin who died of a heart attack, and another woman who had a stroke a day after she left the island.
Tom dismisses this, noting that he goes to the mainland all the time, to which Arthur asks the obvious question: Was Tom born on the island? Well, no. And what about Tom’s son? Tom replies that Evan was born and raised on the island, but when Arthur asks if Evan’s been to the mainland, Tom is a bit more … equivocal.
Arthur laughs the whole curse thing off as obviously not true, but is fascinated by how powerful superstition is on the island. He goes on to talk about his article and how the summer tourism business could be huge, but Tom is distracted by the fog he is watching rolling in over the windows.
As Tom gets up to call his son, the lights begin flickering before shutting off altogether, causing the patrons to sigh in irritation and collect their things. Tom, panicking that whatever is in the fog that turned Shep will prey on the other good people of Widow’s Bay, pleads with them to stay at the Salty Whale until the power returns. But folks would rather sit in the dark in their own homes. As they ignore his pleas, Tom is driven to desperately scream at them:
There’s something in the fog!
This, of course, is when the lights are restored, and one of the patrons points out to Tom that the fog is lifting. Arthur takes his leave along with the rest, noting on his way out that he sees what’s going on here: Widow’s Bay wants to be Salem instead of Nantucket. It’s a nice town, he assures Tom, they cut it out with the gimmicks.
Tom, shellshocked from the events of the day, sits with his drink as Wayne, the owner of the Salty Whale, orders him to lock up the place behind him. On his way out, he’s startled by Kathy the Bad Waitress, before self-deprecatingly laughing at his own skittishness, having believed for a moment that there actually was something in the fog.
And that’s when the camera pans down, down, down into the basement, down into a tunnel, down into another tunnel …
… resting on a chair with restraints …
… which faces a pair of metal doors …
… behind which something … something horrible … is waiting.
HI OK HI. So if you’ve ever read my Lost recaps, you are familiar with my whole schtick: I try to break down the symbolism and references the show makes in an attempt to get a better understanding of what the show is telling us, and where it might be going. Now, this is a little different than my real-time recaps of Lost in that all 10 episodes of the first season have dropped, and I’ve watched all of them (and I assume you probably have, too), so we all know where this is all going, at least in this first season. So I’m going to try to not be too spoilery about what might happen in the episodes that follow, but in some instances, it might be difficult to avoid altogether.
To get started, let’s talk about the horror references the show is making in this first episode and in general. The first, most obvious, is the show’s deep love for all things Stephen King. Like King’s greatest novels, Widow’s Bay takes place in a quaint, somewhat removed New England town, full of quirky characters who seem to just roll with all the supernatural hookiness happening around them.
And, like Stranger Things before them, there’s the Stephen King Font of it all:
As for this episode, it begins and ends with a fog, reminiscent of Stephen King’s novella, The Mist, in which a small town in Maine becomes enveloped in a supernatural mist that conceals dangerous and mysterious creatures. I won’t give away the ending of the novella, or the movie adaptation (which altered the original ending), but I will note that both involve the issue of making sacrifices to appease the mist.
A more immediate reference is to the 1980 movie, The Fog, whose tagline was, “Bolt Your Doors! Lock Your Windows! There’s Something in the Fog!”
As for the plot, tell me if this sounds familiar: On the centennial of a small California coast town, an old man tells the local kids ghost stories, including one about a clipper ship crashing into the shore after traveling through an unnatural fog. Then, at the stroke of midnight, paranormal things start happening around the town, including the discovery of a diary from 1880 that reveals the clipper ship was deliberately crashed to prevent the establishment of a leper colony by the owner of the ship, Blake. But then! “Out at sea, a strange, glowing fog envelops a fishermen’s trawler. The fog brings with it the Elizabeth Dane, carrying the vengeful revenants of Blake and his crew, who kill the three fishermen.” Yadda yadda yadda, the power goes out, the town is attacked by revenants, the townspeople take shelter in the town’s church, and sacrifices must be made.
The other major horror reference in the episode is Jaws. The main conflict of the episode, and the series in toto, is that an island mayor, desperate to turn his idyllic seaside town into a tourist destination, willfully turns a blind eye to a massive threat to his own people.
Tom is not as sleazy as Mayor Larry, and, as evidenced in this episode, unlike Mayor Larry, he’s starting to believe there might be something to this curse. He’s led to this conclusion by Wyck, a local fisherman who insists the fog is a harbinger of the island waking up. There are some obvious comparisons to Jaws‘ Quint, a crusty shark hunter who bears a grudge against sharks as a whole. But Wyck is also very much a riff on Jaws‘ main character, Brody, Amity Island’s sheriff, who desperately tries to convince the mayor to shut down the island, only to lead the shark hunt himself.
And though it is not as explicit as the above references, there’s Patricia’s entire look, which is similar to Wendy’s in The Shining:
There are more, so many more horror references all season long. But we’ll get to those.
There are a few things I want to stick a pin in that I believe (I know) we will return to over the course of the season.
The first item is the use of pictures, paintings, and documents.
For instance, that “Cannibalism in God’s House” article in the Historical Society, you’ll notice the first letter of each paragraph spells out, “SOS DAMN US”:
But more than that, and this is a slight spoiler for the rest of the season, but the pictures on that wall, as well as other portraits and pictures hidden in plain sight, will continue to hold clues for the rest of the season, and presumably the series. If you spot a picture or an item on display, pay attention to it.
A side note: in a Hollywood Reporter interview with Kate Dippold, the creator and showrunner, she discussed the process of creating the show. As you might know, this episode, the pilot, was written as a writing sample while seeking a writing job on Parks and Recreation. When she decided to turn this script into its own show, she had a process:
So, it was just years of working on it, taking it apart, putting it back together, throwing things out, trying things. This is ridiculous, but whenever I went to New York, I’d go to the Museum of Natural History. I’d walk around and I would imagine what the Widow’s Bay version of the display cases would look like. That, weirdly, opened things up for me. The more I thought about the history of this island, that made it feel like a real place.
The other item from this episode I want you to remember for later, which we can (will) discuss later, is the fact that Patricia is an unmarried woman in her 40s. It’s a reference that is made twice in the episode; once when Tom reminds her that the Boogeyman isn’t coming for her since she’s in her 40s, and later when she tells an unconscious Shep that biologically, she’s 28. This idea of unmarried women in their 40s returns a few more times and is worth discussing in a later episode.
Speaking of ages, I want to clear up a point that people have been tripping over themselves trying to theorize about: Shep’s age is listed as 37 when he’s in the hospital.
Some people have suggested this means time moves strangely on the island, but Dippold clears that up:
“I’ve seen those theories online, and it’s delightful, but actually, the age of Shep in the hospital was just a joke on how terrible that hospital doctor is. Dr. Morgan does not run a tight ship. It was a standalone joke, they got it wrong in his medical file.”
The other item I want to plan to discuss later is the issue of teeth. When they are in the Historical Society, Tom says that the island was completely empty, only to have Gerry interject, “Except for the teeth…” We can discuss what teeth represent more later, but here I think it’s mostly intended to both create a sense of dread and horror, but also to be funny. What kind of teeth? Human teeth? Teeth of some … other description? The point is, keep your eye on the teeth.
And somewhat less consequentially, the song Evan and his friends are listening to in the car in the early part of the episode is “Quality Control” by Jurassic 5.
“Ayo my quality control, captivates your party patrol
Your mind, body, and soul
For whom the bell tolls, let the rhythm explode
Big, bad, and bold B boys of old”
Before we move on to the symbolism embedded in the episode, I want to talk about name meanings. While I truly believe these are probably coincidental and probably ultimately meaningless, I’m going to put them here. You know, just in case you find some significance:
Tom: Thomas is of Aramaic origin and means “twin.” What I will posit that might carry more weight is the Biblical character, “Doubting Thomas,” the apostle who did not believe in the Resurrection of Christ until he saw him with his own eyes (and in the Catholic version, touched his wounds). Here, again, we have a Tom who refuses to believe the testimony of others until he, himself, experiences the supernatural.
Loftis: It is from an old Norse word that means “loft house,” or a house with a second story, which in the Middle Ages was a sign of status. It’s related to “lofty,” which of course often refers to someone who is haughty and arrogantly superior.
Evan: This is a Welsh word that relates to “God is gracious.”
Patricia: This is derived from the Latin word for “Patrician,” which means noble, referring to the elite class in ancient Rome. I have my own theories about Patricia being a descendant of an elite class of a sort, but we can talk about that later.
Moyer: Patricia’s last name is “Moyer,” which, appropriately enough, in Gaelic means “steward,” “assistant,” or “right-hand man.” In German, it’s related to “Meyer,” in which case it means “mayor” or “chief.”
Wyck: This is a Dutch word that means “village,” “settlement,” or “dwelling place.”
Crawford: Wyck’s last name is “Crawford,” which is Old English/Scottish for “river crossing frequented by crows.”
Bechir: This is an Arabic name that means the “bringer of good news.”
Clemmons: And Bechir’s last name is “Clemmons,” which is related to the Anglo-Saxon and Latin word Clement/celmens, meaning “mild, gentle, or merciful.”
I’M STILL NOT DONE YET! Because we still have to do the business of symbolism.
First and foremost, this series takes place on an island, an island that some people, like those on Lost, cannot leave. Islands are deeply symbolic spaces, magical worlds that are set apart from the ordinary. They are often enchanted, or inhabited by Gods. They are paradises, dwellings of the elect (often women), a source of knowledge, and spiritual centers. They also represent isolation, loneliness, a primordial, untamed, dangerous space. They are liminal spaces, places between the known and the unknown, closer to Heaven or Hell than the common world. Similarly, in psychological terms, islands represent the subconscious, the depths of the mind that are more difficult to access, that are removed from the conscious mind. Thus, going to an island represents plumbing the depths of one’s own inner world, seeking enlightenment, or, perhaps, annihilation.
And then there’s the fog. With its obfuscation, its opaqueness without darkness, fogs and mists are ominous forces of change. Mists and fogs are water and air — neither rain nor wind, but both at once. They are ghost-like in their appearance, their forms, or lack thereof. They transform the landscape; a fog is another liminal phase between what was and what is becoming. Old forms vanish, and new forms emerge. They are often preludes to manifestation and revelation. Mists and fogs are the leading edges of a supernatural transformation.
We will spend more time on this symbol later, but the basement and the spaces beneath the restaurant, those tunnels, they are related to caves, which are the most ancient of shelters. Caves represent the womb; entering into a cave and reemerging from it are often elements of initiation and rebirth ceremonies, representing the death of the old self and the advent of the new. Again, they are a threshold between the known world and the unknown, the subconscious and the conscious. Caves and other subterranean spaces are where the earth’s primordial powers are most concentrated, the entrance to the underworld, the place where monsters abide. It is a space for magical practices. It is a space for sacrifice.
But we’ll get to that conversation soon enough.
Widow’s Bay streams on Apple TV.