while I start thinking that something feels different. I canât put my finger on what it is, but something is out of place. I feel like Iâve half noticed something, but itâs taking a while to get into my brain. I look around. Everything looks the same, doesnât it? Whatâs different?
I walk back to the entrance of the shed and look outside. Nope. Everything looks right thereâthe rubber tire that we use as a bumper on the dock, the bucket and hose we keep for rinsing salt water off our gear. Thereâs a barrel of strawberries Mom planted to make the place prettier. I turn back to the shed and look around inside. Everything is in the shed that should be. Isnât it? Maybe itâs just my imagination.
I put this thought out of my mind and finish cleaning. When Iâm done, I step onto the wooden planks leading from the shed to the dock. And I figure out what is missing.
A chill creeps up my back. I swear, when I walked into this shed half an hour ago, there were muddy footprints on the dock. They arenât there now.
Chapter Two
The thing about a small island with only one lighthouse keeper and his family living on it is that anyone who comes to the island always stops in to say hello. Always.
Thatâs why it is so weird that I saw footprints. No one has come to visit. If someone came to the island without visiting, it wouldnât be the end of the world. Itâs strange but not illegal. I stop worrying. Besides, now that my chores are done, I can head off for the day.
At home, I wrap my sandwich and shove it into a small backpack with a water bottle. It is chilly outside, so I shuffle through the clothes on the floor in my bedroom until I find my old blue sweater. I stick it into the backpack, and Iâm ready to head off.
As soon as I step outside, I let out a groan. In the short time it took me to grab my stuff, the weather has turned windy. That happens here a lot. Weather springs up out of nowhere. Today itâs an enormous pain in the rear, because now I have to check outside the light tower to make sure nothingâs been left lying around. Dad always sends us to check when a wind comes along, so I know itâs what he would expect.
I consider letting Ellen deal with it, but I donât feel like facing her. And if anything did get lost in the wind, weâd be in trouble. Iâd have to explain why I didnât check. With a sigh, I take the path toward the tower.
Itâs not far. If I walk fast, it only takes a minute.
There is a small hill between the house and the tower, so I donât see the gray tent until Iâm almost walking into it. Itâs old-fashioned, with straight poles making an A shape. The door is open and flaps in the wind. Thereâs stuff all around. A sleeping bag spills out the tent door onto the grass, and a bag of clothes lies half-opened beside it. On the other side of the tent is a campstove with a pot half-full of water. The wind has pinned a map of the area to the wall of the tent. Iâve never seen such a messy campsite.
âHello?â I call. Thereâs no answer. âHello!â I poke my head inside the tent. Itâs empty. I stand up and cup my hands around my mouth. âHello! Anyone here?â
I get no answer. Iâm starting to feel strange about this. No one has ever set up a tent on the island without asking. When they do ask, Dad always sends them to the meadow on the other side of the island to sleep away from the bright light. Why would someone pitch their tent under the light? Why would they do it without asking? Itâs totally weird. And itâs the second weird thing to happen today.
As I look around, I wonder if the tent belongs to the same person the footprints did? It would be weirder if two separate people were doing strange things on the island, so Iâm going with the idea that itâs the same person. I donât know why, but thereâs something creepy about
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