Someone sucked in a breath. I couldn’t tell who it was. I couldn’t see anyone. I could hear nothing but soft breathing, the creak of the boards as people shifted their weight, the rustle of the breeze in the long grasses, the gentle movement of water lapping the pier at the end of the boardwalk, and Louise Jane’s steady voice.
“It’s 1861, and armies are on the move. A few lamps burn in tents or from the front of supply wagons, but we’re a long way from the nearest town, and the night is treacherous. Where you have armies, you have camp followers and deserters and very nervous soldiers.”
A loud splash came from ahead and to my right in the vicinity of the pier at the end of the boardwalk.
A light broke the night and shattered the spell of Louise Jane’s words. “Wasn’t that interesting? Thank you, Louise Jane.” Bertie shone her flashlight across the ground. “Shall we carry on?”
“That’s enough for me,” Mary-Sue said. “Almost scared the living daylights out of me.”
“Are there records of Civil War–era soldiers haunting this area?” Sheila asked.
“Oh yes,” Louise Jane said. “Sergeant O’Leary lives in the lighthouse.”
“He does not,” I said.
She ignored me as she usually does. “He died before the lighthouse was built, but he was hastily buried in an unmarked grave, and the building was put up over him. Building the lighthouse itself was a highly dangerous job. Several workmen are believed to still be hanging around outside.”
“They are not,” I said. As usual, no one paid any attention to my feeble protests. Why bother with the truth, when Louise Jane’s stories were so much more interesting? I led the way down the boardwalk to the water.
I was first to reach the small pier marking the end of the trail. Here people can tie up their boats and get out to have a look around. Bertie and Ronald walked behind me. I turned to see a couple of lights bobbing along the boardwalk, followed by dark indistinguishable shapes. At least one person had ventured into the edges of the marsh itself, but I couldn’t tell who it was.
“We seem to have lost a few people,” I said to Bertie.
“Louise Jane and her tall tales,” Bertie said.
“I thought she was pretty good,” Ronald said.
“If I didn’t know her and her stories as well as I do,” I said, “it would have scared the life out of me too.”
“Everyone,” Bertie called, “it’s time to turn back. We don’t want to lose anyone.”
“I can’t see a blasted thing,” Mary-Sue called out.
“Don’t you have a light?” Ronald asked.
“No. I was with Sheila, but I’ve lost her.”
“Over here,” Louise Jane called.
“Come toward my light.” Ronald held the Maglite up and waved it over his head. “And we can all walk back together.”
No one could get lost, no matter how dark it was, with the lighthouse looming overhead, but we didn’t want any twisted ankles or anyone stumbling into the dark waters.
“Lucinda went back by herself,” I said.
“Where’s Helena?” Bertie said. “Helena!”
No answer.
Louise Jane stepped onto the pier. “Sheila was with me, and then she wasn’t.”
“I’m here,” Sheila said. “Gosh, that was interesting. You should do ghost tours. You’d make a fortune.”
Louise Jane preened.
“Ow!” Mary-Sue’s voice came out of the dark.
“Are you okay?” Bertie called.
“I stubbed my toe.” Mary-Sue hobbled into the circle of light. “No harm done. I think.”
We were all here except for Lucinda and Helena. Helena had said nothing about turning around, but she didn’t seem the type to worry about other people worrying about her.
“Helena!” Bertie yelled. “Are you out there?”
Silence.
“She probably gave up on the walk and is waiting for us at the library,” Ronald said. “Is everyone ready to go back?”
“I need to come out here tomorrow,” Ruth said, “and have a proper look around in the daylight. It should be at its best as the sun’s rising. Anyone want to join me?”
“Not me,” Sheila said. “I’m looking forward to a huge pot of coffee and a long luxurious breakfast in the hotel restaurant.”
“Must be nice,” Mary-Sue said. “My husband will be wanting a full cooked breakfast as he does every Saturday and Sunday morning.” I’d overheard snatches of conversation earlier and knew that Mary-Sue lived in Nags Head. She was no longer a librarian, but worked as a realtor.
“You must get an incredible number of birds out here in the morning,” Ruth said.
“It’s a popular spot for birders,” I said. “Particularly in the fall, when migrating birds stop here for a rest on their way south.”
Ruth leaned over the railing and peered into the dark water. “I thought you said there aren’t any crocs around here?”
Mary-Sue squealed, leapt back, and crashed into Louise Jane. Louise Jane grabbed her arm to keep them both from falling, and Mary-Sue mumbled apologies.
“There aren’t,” Bertie said. “You must be looking at a log.”
“I don’t think that’s any log.”
I leaned over the railing next to Ruth and peered into the darkness. Something was floating in the water, bumping gently against the pylons holding up the wooden dock, and it was a lot bigger than a duck or a Canada goose.
“Ronald,” I said, “shine that light down there, would you?”
He did so. The Maglite caught a flash of white skin and brown cloth and tendrils of gray hair caressing the surface of the water.
“Oh my gosh!” Ruth yelled. “Someone’s in there.”
Ronald clambered over the railing and jumped into the water. I was right behind him. The rest of the women rushed to the edge. Mary-Sue screamed and kept on screaming. I’d jumped without thinking, but thankfully the water only came up to my waist. Ronald still had a firm grip on the Maglite, and he held it high so we could see.
