“A young man stood on a dock, eating a popsicle from the local ice cream shop. The sky was a stormy gray, though it was supposed to be a nice sunny day. The wind blew the smell of fish up to the coast of Turbrook Lake, and the dock whined, soggy with age, but still strong as the day it was built. It was too cold for a popsicle, or any kind of frozen dessert, for that matter, but this young man didn’t care. His older brother would be returning any minute now with his latest catch, which would be loaded onto the wagon just a few yards away, on the pier, and taken home. The young man looked for his brother’s boat on the horizon, but he couldn’t see anything through the thick, pea-soup fog that blanketed the coast.” Tessa says, the flashlight held under her chin, making shadows dance as she spoke.

“The fog was made of pea soup?” Emie asks, her tiny, rosy face screwed up in confusion.

“That’s disgusting. Was it weird and greenish?” Kelsie asks. I turn to Tessa.

“You shouldn’t be using words like that. They don’t understand.” I argue, sighing and taking the flashlight from her.

“I’m trying to make it more descriptive.” She says, shrugging.

“You’re making them think the fog was made of evaporated pea soup!”

“You tell the story then, Lara, if you’re so clever.” 

“Thank you.” I turn on the flashlight again. “The fog was as thick as pea soup, but it was just regular fog.” Tessa scowls and turns her head away from me, her blonde curls bouncing. “The young man decided to sit down, so he didn’t get too tired standing that long. He finished his popsicle, and tucked the stick into his pocket.”

“That’s not important to the story!” Tessa argues, taking the flashlight from me. I pull it out of her hands, but she steals it back.

“It is, Tessa.” Mom says, coming into the room. “Why aren’t you guys in bed?”

“We were telling Emie and Kelsie the story of the Evans brothers.” Tessa explains. 

“I could tell.” Mom says, and takes the flashlight from Tessa. “You shouldn’t be telling them stories like that. They’ll hardly sleep because of nightmares!”

“But it’s not even a scary story, and half the respectable population in Turbrook believe it!” I argue.

“The Evans family was cursed, that’s for sure.” Mom says. “Mind if I finish the story?” We nod. “The young man tucked the popsicle stick into his pocket, and it was important, because that’s the reason he died.”

“Oh, yeah. It was the Sugar Shark!” Tessa remembers. Emie and Kelsie look confused. “The Sugar Shark was a giant tiger shark that used to live in Turbrook Lake because of the salt water. It refused to eat meat unless it tasted sweet, and the popsicle stick was covered in sticky juice.”

“Exactly.” Mom says. “The young man, being the clumsiest boy around, stood up again, because he heard a ship’s horn. And he tripped. The Sugar Shark devoured the skinny boy in one bite, clothes and all.” Emie bursts into tears, and Kelsie climbs into my lap. “Calm down, Emie. It’s not true. It’s just a story.”

“Finish the story, Mom.” I say, patting Kelsie’s blonde head.

“The older brother, who was a mile away from shore, fought desperately against the harsh winds.” Mom continues. “But his boat was staring to tip, and it could crash down on the rocks at any moment, and be smashed to bits, scattering the day’s catch everywhere, and killing the older brother. And that’s just what happened.” 

“And on foggy days, you can see the younger brother’s ghost walking on the creaky old boards of the dock, waiting for his brother to return.” Tessa says.

“Tessa, that’s not how it goes.” Mom reprimands. “You know the lake’s gone now, and it’s just a valley full of those new houses. And the docks are now buried deep under the Mortimers’ house!”

“Just across the street?” I ask. Kelsie shudders. 

“Y-you mean the ghost is living in their house?” She asks, her lip quivering.

“There is no ghost, Kelsie.” Mom assures her, then looks at Tessa, who shrugs.

“I don’t think it’s a proper ghost story without a bit of paranormal activity.” She says.

“Then I guess it’s not a proper ghost story.” Mom says, taking the flashlight and putting it on the shelf. “Go to bed.”

“Can we get popsicles in the morning?” Kelsie asks. 

“No, silly. Do you want to get eaten by the Sugar Shark?” Emie returns. Mom sighs and looks at Tessa and I. 

“If they get nightmares, you two are to blame.” She says, pointing at us. Tessa yawns and climbs into her bed. I climb up the ladder to my bed, and lay my head down on the pillow. I’m not scared. Why on earth would I be scared of a ghost that doesn’t exist? I look out my window, at the Mortimers’ house, and my mouth drops open.

A ghostly figure is walking through the front garden, hands in his pockets. It’s the younger Evans brother! What was his name again? I really should listen during those stories. I keep an eye on the ghost, and when I hear that all three of my sisters are asleep, I quickly slide down the ladder, and grab the flashlight from the shelf. It’s extra foggy tonight. Perfect ghost-hunting weather, according to Tessa’s encyclopedias. They have more information than all the textbooks in school, so they’re twice as useful than the school books. I tuck the flashlight under my arm and wrap a knitted blanket around my shoulders. I slowly walk down the stairs, my heart beating faster when I hear a creak. I quickly go out the back door, and shut it silently.

I climb over the fence, not wanting to open the gate and make a creaking noise. The ghost is still in the front yard of the Mortimer house. Don’t freak out, Lara. I cross the street, which is old and cracked, so it hurts my bare feet. I crawl over to the fence, and peep through the posts, at the ghostly white figure. He’s almost transparent. His overalls are worn and old. He starts to leave the garden, and walk out onto the road. I hold my breath so I don’t make any noise. The fog blocks my vision, but there’s still a faint white glow heading down the road. I quickly stand up, and run towards the apparition, my feet making padding noises on the road. The ghost smiles at me when I catch up to him. 

“Do you want to walk with me to the ice cream shop?” He asks. His voice is calm, but still ghostly, as if the wind can carry his words far and wide. I nod, and he offers me his hand. Will I be able to hold it? Or will my hand just go through it like it’s smoke or something? I take his hand, which is hot and cold at the same time. We start to walk. I only look back at my house once, debating whether or not to run. He seems like a nice ghost. I tell myself. A benevolent spirit, and not a malevolent one. I really need to stop reading those encyclopedias. It’s an addiction by now. “It’s a nice night.” He remarks.

“Yeah.” I say, too surprised to bring my voice up to an audible level. I’m talking to a ghost! Unless this is a hoax from the mean high school boys. No, that’s not possible.  This is too elaborate. The roads now are dirt. These roads have been here since the Evans boy was alive. We’ve entered Old Turbrook. I look down at the ground. I am leaving footprints in the soft dirt, but the Evans boy isn’t. He really is a ghost.

“Oh, here are some of the others.” The Evans boy says, and points to something next to the ice cream shop. It’s more ghosts. Dozens of them. Ghostly faces with soulless eyes. They turn in our direction, and start flying around me, screeching and wailing. 

I clamp my hands over my ears to keep the noise out. The Evans boy stands next to me, trying to swat them away. One of the ghosts grabs at the bottom of my nightgown, and tries to pull me into the ghost swarm. 

I open my mouth and scream. The ghosts start to fade away, and disappear. Including the Evans boy. I’m all alone.