Dawn and the Surfer Ghost

by Ann M. Martin

  “Girls, girls,” said Mrs. Arnold, running down the stairs. “How about some quiet time now? I think Carolyn could use a rest.”

  “That’s right,” said Marilyn, in her “nurse” voice. “You need a rest, now. Come on into the living room, and I’ll get you settled.” She gave the crutch back to Carolyn and led her along the hall, walking very slowly so that Carolyn could keep up.

  “Well,” said Jessi to Mrs. Arnold, “Marilyn seems to be taking good care of her sister.”

  Mrs. Arnold rolled her eyes. “You don’t know the half of it,” she said. “But you’ll see how things are. I have to run. Would you make sure the girls get their homework done? Also, Marilyn needs to practice the piano, and Carolyn has a science project to work on. They can have a snack first, though.”

  With that, Mrs. Arnold was gone, and Jessi was left alone with the girls. She headed into the living room to check on them, and found Carolyn lying on the couch propped up by five big pillows. Marilyn was fluffing up the sixth, getting ready to arrange it under Carolyn’s head.

  “Wow, you look pretty comfortable,” said Jessi.

  “She is,” said Marilyn.

  “I am,” agreed Carolyn, smiling. She seemed to appreciate the attention her twin was giving her.

  “Are you guys ready for a snack?” asked Jessi.

  “Sure!” said Marilyn. “I’ll help you get it. Or — no, I better stay here with Carolyn.”

  “It’s okay,” said Carolyn.

  Marilyn looked torn, so Jessi spoke up. “Why don’t I fix your snacks,” she said. “I’ll let you know when they’re ready.” She went into the kitchen and put some graham crackers on a plate. Then she poured two glasses of milk and laid out two bananas. “All set!” she called to the girls.

  Marilyn came running. “I’ll bring Carolyn’s to her,” she said. She kept looking over her shoulder, back toward the living room, as if she were worried that Carolyn might disappear while she was away. In a flash she set the cookies and milk and fruit on a tray. She added a vase with a red silk rose and stood back to see how it looked. “Perfect!” she said, picking it up.

  Jessi raised her eyebrows. Then she followed Marilyn back to the living room and watched as Carolyn accepted the tray. Carolyn seemed to be getting used to her princess treatment.

  “Would you like me to turn on the TV?” asked Marilyn. “You can choose whatever channel you want,” she added generously.

  “Let’s not turn on the TV,” said Jessi. “You guys have homework and piano practice and stuff.”

  “Okay,” agreed the twins. They ate their snacks, talking excitedly about a birthday party they were going to that weekend. When they were finished, Jessi said, “Why don’t I help Carolyn with her homework upstairs, and Marilyn, you can start on your practicing.”

  “I’ll help her,” insisted Marilyn. “I’m the only one who knows how.”

  Jessi didn’t want to start an argument, so she let Marilyn help Carolyn up the stairs and into Carolyn’s bedroom. Jessi smiled as she looked around the room. She had forgotten, she wrote me later, about Carolyn’s decorating scheme — a shaggy blue rug, and blue-and-white-striped wallpaper. The matching curtains and the bedspread were printed with little black and white cats, and on the bed were two pillows in the shape of cats. Jessi even saw a cat wastebasket with pointy cat ears and a furry tail. But one thing in the room did not belong there. It was a cot, next to Carolyn’s bed.

  “What’s the cot for?” Jessi asked.

  “That’s where I’ve been sleeping,” said Marilyn. “My room is too far away from Carolyn’s. I want to be sure I’m here if she needs me in the night.”

  Jessi nodded. She was beginning to understand. Marilyn had been one-hundred percent serious when she said she would never leave her sister’s side. What was amazing to Jessi was how well Carolyn seemed to be taking her twin’s protectiveness. Jessi wrote to me that she, herself, would have gone crazy if someone had been hovering over her all the time. But Carolyn seemed perfectly content to be waited on every minute and to have her twin nearby all day.

  “So, tell me about your science project,” Jessi said to Carolyn. Marilyn walked to Carolyn’s desk, picked up a small light bulb, and started to explain to Jessi how her sister was making a tiny generator set.

  “Aren’t you supposed to do science projects on your own?” Jessi asked Carolyn. “I mean, without help?”

  Carolyn nodded. “She’s not really helping me,” she said. “I know much more about science than she does, anyway. But when I need a part or something she gets it for me.”

  “Well, how about if we leave you to work for awhile?” Jessi said. “Marilyn needs to practice for her piano lesson.”

  “No way!” said Marilyn. “I’ll do that later, when Carolyn can be downstairs, too. I can wait while she does her stuff.”

  Jessi rolled her eyes. “Marilyn, don’t you have homework, too?” she asked. “How about if you bring it in here?” Her suggestion seemed to please Marilyn, and before long the twins were elbow-to-elbow at Carolyn’s desk, working quietly together. The girls didn’t have much space, but they looked happy.

  After about an hour, Carolyn said that she needed an extra part for her generator and that she couldn’t do anything else until she had it. “I’m done with my work, too,” said Marilyn.

  “Great,” said Jessi. She had been sitting quietly in a corner of Carolyn’s room, reading a Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle book she had taken from the shelf. “I guess we could go downstairs, then, and Marilyn can practice.”

  They headed down the steps (with Marilyn sticking close to Carolyn in case she needed help), and Marilyn hurried to set up a chair and pillows for Carolyn next to the piano bench. Carolyn made herself comfortable in the chair, and Marilyn fetched her a book to read. Then, finally, she settled in to practice.

  Marilyn is very good at the piano — she’s been taking lessons since she was four — and according to Jessi, the next half hour was very pleasant. She and Carolyn sat and read while Marilyn played through the pieces she was working on for her lesson.

  Afterward, they decided to play a game of Go Fish. As she picked up her cards, Jessi found herself wondering how Marilyn managed to take care of Carolyn all day at school. There was no way she could be near her every second during a school day. Finally, Jessi’s curiosity got the better of her, and she asked, “Marilyn, how do you take care of Carolyn at school?”

  Marilyn giggled. “I try to stay near her as much as I can,” she said. “But when I can’t be with her, Gozzie takes care of her.”

  “Gozzie?” repeated Jessi.

  “Gozzie Kunka,” said Marilyn. “She’s a good friend of mine.”

  That was when Jessi remembered that Gozzie Kunka was an imaginary friend that Marilyn had made up once when the twins weren’t getting along very well. She smiled at Marilyn. “That’s great,” she said. “I bet Gozzie does a good job.”

  Carolyn nodded, smiling. “She’s fun,” she said. “But I like Marilyn better.”

  Jessi could see that, Gozzie Kunka or no Gozzie Kunka, Marilyn was going to stick pretty close to Carolyn for quite a while.

  I wrote that letter to Mallory when I returned home from the beach on Saturday evening. It had been a beautiful day, sunny and warm. I had spent the morning working at the beach program, with Sunny. The kids had just about worn us out, and when the program ended we practically collapsed, glad we had decided to spend the rest of the afternoon just relaxing. We set up a spot in the sand with our blankets laid out neatly and our thermoses of juice close by. Then we sat back and watched the waves for a while.

  “Hey, guys!” said Jill, from behind us. She and Maggie were floundering through the sand, weighted down with blankets and beach bags. Jill’s sister Liz had driven them to the beach to meet us, and the plan was for Liz to pick us up at the end of the day and drive us home.

  “We brought some great munchies,” said Maggie, setting her bag down next to me.

  “We could stay here
for a week, with all this food,” said Jill, laughing. “Maggie fixed sandwiches, and I made oatmeal cookies. Plus, we brought a whole bunch of fruit.”

  I realized I was starving, and I guess Sunny was, too. We helped ourselves to sandwiches and offered our juice to Maggie and Jill. For a while, nobody said a word. We were too busy eating.

  “How come you guys aren’t surfing today?” asked Jill, when she had finished the last bite of her sandwich.

  “We decided to take a day off,” Sunny answered. “The waves seem a little high.” We looked out at the waves. They were high, but plenty of surfers were out. The really good surfers love to ride those screamers. As I mentioned before, they use extra-large boards, called guns, when the waves are big. Actually, some surfers call those boards rhino-chasers. Great name, isn’t it? I think surfing slang is almost as much fun as surfing itself.

  “The contest is still on, isn’t it?” asked Maggie. “I heard a rumor that it was going to be cancelled.” Maggie and Jill like horseback riding better than surfing, but they pay attention to a good surfing rumor when they hear one.

  “No way!” said Sunny. “It’s definitely on.”

  “But some people are dropping out,” I added. “They think the contest is jinxed or something. Because of Thrash disappearing.”

  “Not just that,” said Sunny. “What about all the accidents?”

  There had been several minor accidents in the past week or so. A couple of surfers had been hurt, but neither of them badly. Some people said it was just coincidence. Others claimed that the ghost of Thrash was responsible, that he was haunting the beach and trying to mess up the contest. Guess which theory I believed? Right. I was still convinced that Thrash would haunt the beach until his murderer was exposed and justice was done. But I didn’t know how to find out who the murderer was.

  “Check out Paul!” cried Sunny suddenly, pointing toward the waves. “He’s really carving that breaker!”

  Carving, in case you’re wondering, means surfing very well. And a breaker is a wave, of course. I watched Paul surf toward shore. He did look good. He and Carter had been practicing nonstop for the competition, and I had a feeling he might do well.

  I leaned back and studied the surfers for a while, enjoying the sight. The more you know about surfing, the more fun it is to watch. After all the lessons I had taken and all the practicing I had done, I could appreciate how hard just standing up on a surfboard is, much less looking cool doing it. And I was really impressed by the moves some of the guys could do. It was as if they understood the waves, and could use each one to do exactly what they wanted. They had perfect balance, and could make the boards turn through the waves so they looked as if they were cutting through butter. And at the ends of their rides, most of them executed this great move called a kick-out, a quick, short turn in which you step to the back of the surfboard and get off the wave. It looks incredibly cool.

  Of course, I’m more likely to take a nosedive with my board at the end of a ride, and fall headfirst into the water! I’m sure everybody who sees me surf knows I’m a grommet. That’s what experienced surfers call inexperienced surfers. I try not to let it bother me. After all, everybody has to start somewhere. Every surfer was a grommet once, I figure.

  I picked up a handful of sand and let it trickle through my fingers. I thought about Thrash, and how even he had once been a grommet. After a lot of practice and hard work, he had become one of the best surfers around. And now he was gone. It didn’t seem right. I turned away from the waves and picked up a book of ghost stories Sunny had lent me. It looked like a good one, full of creaky staircases and skeleton hands. I settled in to read for a while.

  Jill had brought a pile of magazines, and she and Maggie were leafing through them. Sunny was trying out a new shade of fingernail polish, putting it on her toes before she applied it to her fingers. We were pretty quiet for an hour or so.

  “Hey, where did everybody go?” Sunny asked suddenly. “The beach really emptied out.”

  I looked up. She was right — hardly anyone was on the beach except for us. The surfers had left, and not many people were sitting or strolling on the sand. “The fog is coming in,” I said, peering out toward the ocean. “I guess that’s why they took off early.”

  “It’s kind of creepy,” said Jill. “I wish Liz were coming back for us sooner.”

  “I don’t think it’s so creepy,” said Maggie. “I like the fog. It’s like a big blanket, covering the beach.”

  I didn’t say anything, but I agreed with Jill. I was beginning to feel creeped out. It was about four-thirty, and the sun was starting to go down as the fog rolled in. “Maybe we should start packing up,” I said. “We could wait for Liz in the parking lot.”

  “Good idea,” agreed Sunny. “It’s turning kind of chilly out here.” I could tell she didn’t want to admit to being spooked any more than I did. She stood up and started to shake out her blanket. I began to toss things into my beach bag, making sure I didn’t forget anything. If you leave a hairbrush or a sneaker on the beach, it’s hard to find.

  Jill was folding up her blanket and Maggie was brushing the sand off her feet. I was just tucking the ghost story book into my bag when I heard Sunny gasp. “There’s still a surfer out there!” she said. “I don’t believe it. It’s almost dark!”

  “The surfer ghost,” I whispered, peering at the waves. “It must be him.”

  “I don’t see anybody,” said Jill, squinting.

  “Right there,” said Sunny, pointing.

  “All the way out there?” replied Maggie. “But that’s so far out. I can hardly see.”

  We strained our eyes, trying to catch sight of the surfer. “He’s a little closer now,” said Sunny. “I can see him better. And I don’t think it’s Thrash, Dawn — or Thrash’s ghost. He has pretty short hair, for one thing.”

  “He’s coming in toward the old pier!” cried Maggie. “Let’s run down there and see if we can get a better look.”

  We dropped our stuff on the sand and started to run, keeping an eye on the surfer. “Whoa!” said Sunny, all of a sudden. She stopped short. “Did you see that?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “That guy just did an aerial. A three-sixty!”

  “Wow!” I exclaimed. Aerial maneuvers are really hard. You perform them when your surfboard is totally in the air while you’re turning. And a three-sixty is the hardest turn to make, because you spin all the way around until you’re facing the direction in which you started.

  “Nobody on this beach can surf like that,” said Sunny slowly. “In fact, I’ve only seen one person do that move.” She gave me a serious look. “Thrash,” she said. “I saw Thrash do that, about a month ago.”

  Jill and Maggie were staring at Sunny, and so was I. “You mean — ” I started to say.

  “I mean, short hair or not, that surfer must be Thrash. Or Thrash’s ghost. I still don’t think there’s any such thing as a real ghost, but I know I saw something strange out there.”

  “Well, we’ve lost him now, whoever he is,” spoke up Jill. “I can’t see him anymore.” She looked again at the waves, and shook her head. “Anyway, we should get moving if we’re going to meet Liz on time.”

  It was nearly dark as we walked back to our spot and picked up our stuff. Jill and Maggie grabbed their things and walked on ahead, but Sunny and I lagged behind, still glancing at the waves. “You know,” said Sunny. “Whether or not that was an actual ghost, I’m beginning to think there is something fishy going on at the beach. I’m going to help you investigate. From now on, we’re a team.”

  I stuck out my hand, and we slapped each other five. “All right, partner,” I said.

  On the way to the parking lot, we passed the concession stand. It was almost closing time, and the workers were cleaning up. A couple of them were kids I know, and I waved. Then I noticed a new guy. He had short black hair and a deep tan, and I know this sounds silly, but he gave me the creeps. I stared at him for a second, and the
n I looked away and dashed after my friends. Within minutes, we were piling into Liz’s beat-up car. I was surprised at how relieved I felt as we drove off. I was glad to be safe in a car, heading away from the beach on that foggy, dark night.

  Around the time I wrote that letter to Shannon, I was feeling pretty frustrated with my mystery. The can of wax had been the last clue, and finding that seemed like a long time ago. Sunny was helping me now, and I was glad to have her company, but even with two of us working we couldn’t seem to get anywhere. I’d returned to my surfing lessons, but Sunny and I made time to talk to people on the beach every day, hoping to find someone who had witnessed Thrash’s fatal accident. Nobody had seen anything. We checked with the police on a regular basis. The only thing that happened was that they got sick of seeing us walk into the station. And we combed the beach, looking for any sign of Thrash, but we never found a thing.

  Sometimes I felt ready to give up, but Sunny would convince me that we needed to continue working. Other times, Sunny would say there was no point in trying to solve the mystery, but I would talk her into one more round of questions or one more walk down the beach.

  What really kept us going was our sense that the beach was becoming a dangerous place. I don’t know if it was because Thrash’s ghost was wreaking vengeance (lots of people talked about that) or if it was just coincidence, but in the week or so after Sunny, Jill, Maggie, and I saw the surfer ghost, there were a lot of accidents on the beach. And they didn’t happen just to surfers.

  For example, one day at the children’s program, the kids were playing Simon Says. Dean was Simon, and he was doing all kinds of funny things. The kids were giggling as they tried to keep up with him. “Simon says rub your belly with one hand while you pat the top of your head with the other,” Dean would say. “Simon says try to kiss your elbow.” Then he’d catch them up by saying, “Do the moon walk,” while he demonstrated a perfect move. Before long, only four kids were left. Ruby, the girl who rides on our bus, was one of them.