Amanda Cooper // Woodford County

     It was a deep, lazy summer night. In a little town by the river the air was thick with humidity and fog, which mixed together to create an intoxicatingly drowsy atmosphere in which no child wanted to play. The air was much too thick for running or yelling; instead, this was a night to sit on the porch steps and gaze out over the water. To count the lights across the shore and try to imagine what was happening behind each one.

     This was supposed to be a peaceful endeavor, but as one of the older boys in town counted the lights, he noticed one that seemed to drift over the center of the river. This made no sense because there was no ship, not even a rowboat, to cast such a light. Dazed by the mystery, his mind clouded by the weather, he walked toward the bank to investigate.

     It appeared that someone else had the same idea.

     An old man stood alone on the bank. Despite the weather he was dressed in a thick coat and hat, the likes of which the boy had never seen. Stranger yet a lit lantern dangled at the man’s side, though the sun hadn’t fully set. When the boy stood beside him he payed him no mind. He looked into the fog almost desperately.

     After a moment he spoke, his voice heavy and low.

     “It happened here.”

     The boy blinked.

     “Sir?”

     “On a night just like this.” His head bobbed as he nodded towards the river. “We couldn’t see through the fog. Something went wrong.”

     “What went wrong?” The boy stood on his tiptoes in an attempt to see what the old man was staring at, or what he himself had seen before, but only fog hung over the river.

    “What are you looking at?”

     “Don’t you see?” He croaked, “I stayed with her. I had to stay with her. She was mine.” Pain hung heavy in his voice. “But I could see the shore. It was right in front of me. The whole time I could see the shore, but I had to stay with her because she was mine.”

     Though the boy saw nothing, a sense of dread began to crawl up his spine. The fog had been still before, but now it seemed to move.

     He didn’t know why but his voice shook when he spoke.

     “Who are you talking about?”

     Why didn’t the man look at him when he spoke? No matter which way he turned he couldn’t seem to see his face.

     “Can’t you see her?”

     “Who?”

     “It happened right here.” He repeated desperately, urgently, “Can’t you see her?”

     “No.” The boy stared into the fog. “Show me where she is.”

     Impassioned by grief and rage, the old man grabbed the boy by the arm. He swung his lantern three times and slowly the schooner appeared. 

     The boy stared up at the ship with wonder and terror. It appeared to melt in and out of the fog, and yet he could see light glowing from her cabins. He could hear men calling from her deck.

     “Don’t you see?” The man rasped, his grip on the boy’s sleeve slacking, “I stay with her. I have to stay with her. She was mine.”

     When the boy looked back the ship disappeared.

     And so did the man.