Blas tugs on his fishing line:
“I wonder who lived there
before it was abandoned.”
“Mr. Glaze said it was Lucy.”
the sudden chill that wraps its fingers
around me reaches for Blas
“For real?”
he shudders
makes that mailbox mouth again
“Could the ghost really be Lucy?”
train my eyes on the house next door
“In the letter, didn’t he, or she, say she was
‘as old as the lake’?”
“Yeah.”
shudder despite the sun blazing on my back
a weird feeling replaces the chill
we’re being watched
overheard
spied on
tide is low
a raft can fit under the dock
I meander over the decking
checking the spaces between the slats of wood
“What’s up?”
Blas asks
“Just having a look.”
clouds cover the sun
a cool breeze puffs across the lake
Blas stands and knocks over his chair:
“Look behind you.”
my feet freeze
like I’m standing on
an air-conditioning vent.