Do you believe in ghosts? After living with one for most of my life I tend to lose all skepticism toward the subject. The ghost of my dad was with us for several years after he disappeared. It’s strange how close he seemed; you could feel the deep imprint of him in his favorite chair, smell his lingering cologne in the bathroom cabinet, see his fading reflection in my mum’s eyes.

On my seventh birthday my dad gave me his pocket watch. It was a beautiful, intricate thing. I used to sit and become completely consumed by its simple beauty. The soft ticking was soothing, especially after he disappeared.

His ghost was painfully real, especially in our little house in a forgotten town. So, every summer, my mum and my sister and I went to the beach. Our little summer cabin was perched near the bank of a brackish river, right where its mouth kissed the ocean. It was small, our cabin, with parched wooden sideboards and a weather-beaten roof. It smelled of salt and sand and the sea.

In the mornings Mum would make breakfast; a plate of scrambled eggs and cheese, blueberries from the back garden, ripe red strawberries sliced and dusted with white sugar. The kitchen filled with the sizzling of butter and the scent of toast. It drifted through the hallways and into our bedroom, enough to drag us out of bed and lift the sleep from our eyes. On Sundays she made pancakes, and anticipation had us up before dawn. There was nothing more heavenly than Mum’s beach breakfasts.

My sister, Carrie, reminded me of the beach. Her hair was always windswept, her hands soft but calloused, like the sand. Her eyes seemed to be brimming with emotion and sadness and secrets too deep to understand. They were intensely blue, almost black, and staring into them was like gazing into the depths of the galaxy. She was wise beyond her years.

Every morning after breakfast, Carrie and I scrambled down the splintered boardwalk to the beach. Our bare feet were tough, occasionally bruised, and ceaselessly dusty. We would play on the shore, cartwheeling and tumbling and jumping until we reached the icy grasp of the waves. We stood there together, on the brink of the gray sky and sea, letting the ocean suck the sand from around our feet and bite at our ankles. When the soft ground began to sink beneath us we would run back toward the house through the old gate to the garden.

The back garden was the landscape of many of our adventures. The ground was soft white sand edged with stiff grass and bordered by a weathered fence. The centerpiece of our garden was the swing.

The swing was a creaky thing held up by rusted metal posts, but it was enchanting. It seemed like flying when you reached the top, where the ropes go slack and you fall for a brief moment before they catch you. But in that brief moment, you could see it all. The seemingly endless beach, the ocean waves fading into the sky. It seemed blanketed in a layer of wispy cloud, fading the edges of the earth. It made me feel incredibly small, trapped in a net of heavy sky.

Sometimes Mum would come with us to the beach and the garden. Those were her good days, the days when her eyes were bright with joy and laughter and crinkled at the edges. Those were the days she danced in the sand and soared into the clouds on the swing. But there were other days, days when she clutched her cup of tea with white knuckles and gazed blankly out the window, days when her laugh lines disappeared and the light faded from her eyes. Those were the days Carrie and I went to Somewhere.

Somewhere lay beyond our picket fence, where the dune grass grew to our shoulders and the hills of sand stretched to eternity. The dreary gray of the sky faded into a deep cobalt, and the rushing river slowed to a lazy drift. Carrie and I would run along the bank until we came to a clearing. In the clearing was a twisted, hollow piece of driftwood. At one end was a ragged opening, just large enough to crawl through. Carrie and I would sit inside the log for hours, surrounded by the soothing smell of the driftwood; sweet, with a hint of salt, similar to the scent of our beach house. We always brought Dad’s watch with us. The river rushing and the watch ticking and the faint crashing of waves created a surreal atmosphere. It was the perfect hideaway.

One morning on one of Mum’s other days, Carrie and I set off for Somewhere earlier than usual. The light was weak; the stars shone faintly through the gossamer sunrise. The coastal breeze rustled the tall grass as we ran, showering us with drops of dew. I stumbled on a clump of dead shrubs and crouched to untangle my shoelace from the ragged barbs. Carrie ran ahead, disappearing from sight. I stood, then rushed after her down the path.

A few seconds later I heard it: a deep rumbling that rattled my teeth and danced on my ribs. Every crash sent a buzz from my heels to the top of my spine. Every gulping splash filled my head with noise. I stopped dead, standing on tiptoe to raise my line of vision above the shifting sea of grass. The path faded from sight a few feet from where I stood, so I took off at a dead sprint down the trail toward the river.

When I reached the bank, I scanned the terrifying scene before me. It was clear at once what had happened: a long stretch of the riverbank had eroded and collapsed, taking with it stones and sand and a good part of the path Carrie and I had trodden repeatedly. The water was muddy and murky and mangled, twisting into whirlpools and rushing faster than I had ever seen it. I glanced around, calling Carrie’s name before coming to a terrifying realization.

Carrie was in the river.

A jolt of fear shot through me, electrifying my spine and seizing my stomach. Several seconds later Carrie still hadn’t resurfaced, and I began taking off my shoes and socks. I shivered at the edge of the writhing water before blindly plunging in.

I woke up to nothing but the lingering smell of yesterday’s pancakes. I dragged myself out of bed. I felt odd – hazy and confused. I wondered if I might be coming down with something. Breakfast was waiting for Carrie and me on the counter. Mum sat by the window; it was clearly one of her other days.

Carrie and I set off for Somewhere earlier than usual. The light was weak; the stars shone faintly through the gossamer sunrise. The coastal breeze rustled the tall grass as we ran, showering us with drops of dew. I stumbled on a clump of dead shrubs and crouched to untangle my shoelace from the ragged barbs. Carrie ran ahead, disappearing from sight. I felt a sudden surge of panic as she vanished, and I jumped to my feet.

“Carrie! Wait up!”

But a few seconds later I heard it: a deep rumbling that rattled my teeth and danced on my ribs. Every crash sent a buzz from my heels to the top of my spine. Every gulping splash filled my head with noise. I stopped dead, standing on tiptoe to raise my line of vision above the shifting sea of grass. The path faded from sight a few feet from where I stood, so I took off at a dead sprint down the trail toward the river.

When I reached the bank, I scanned the terrifying scene before me. It was clear at once what had happened: a long stretch of the riverbank had eroded and collapsed, taking with it stones and sand and a good part of the path. The water was muddy and murky, twisting into whirlpools and rushing faster than I had ever seen it. I glanced around quickly, calling Carrie’s name before coming to a terrifying realization.

Carrie was in the river.

A jolt of fear shot through me, electrifying my spine and seizing my stomach. Several seconds later Carrie still hadn’t resurfaced, and I began taking off my shoes and socks. I shivered on the edge of the writhing water. I blinked, and my memory returned to me in a startling flash of clarity.

This had happened before.

Without thinking twice I leapt into the river.

Carrie and I set off for Somewhere earlier than usual. The light was weak; the stars shone faintly through the gossamer sunrise. The coastal breeze rustled the tall grass as we ran, showering us with drops of dew. I stumbled on a clump of dead shrubs and crouched to untangle my shoelace from the ragged barbs.

As Carrie continued to run, I abandoned my undone shoelace and rushed after her, trying to catch up. I called out to her as I approached the portion of the path that lined the riverbank, begging her to stop. I caught a glimpse of her as she turned toward my voice, but when our eyes locked the ground collapsed beneath her.

I ran frantically to the bank, but I had lost sight of her beneath the water. I took off my shoes and socks, and dove into the water.

Carrie and I set off for Somewhere earlier than usual. The light was weak; the stars shone faintly through the gossamer sunrise. The coastal breeze rustled the tall grass as we ran, showering us with drops of dew. I stumbled on a clump of dead shrubs and crouched to untangle my shoelace from the ragged barbs. As Carrie turned to continue down the path, I reached out and grabbed her arm.

“Let’s go around. The bank looks a little unstable.” A few seconds later, however, Carrie stopped and plunged her hand into her pocket. After fishing for a bit, she turned to me.

“Did you bring Dad’s watch?” I shook my head. She sighed. “I’ll go back and get it.”

As I watched her disappear down the trail my mind began to wander. I thought of the strangeness of the past couple days, the fogginess that surrounded everything. When I heard that all-too-familiar, chest-shaking crash in the distance I realized I hadn’t warned her to avoid the path on the way back. I sprinted to the riverbank, panic beginning to rise in my throat.

When I reached the bank, I knew I was too late again. A sob escaped my lips, but in an instant I was taking off my shoes and perched on the bank. I had tried and failed again and again, and I knew what I needed to do. The images of this morning, the memories of all the days before flashed behind my eyes as I dove into the dark, churning rage of the river.

I woke up.

Carrie and I set off for Somewhere earlier than usual. The light was weak; the stars shone faintly through the gossamer sunrise. But this time, as I met Carrie at the gate, I took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes.

“Carrie, I need you to promise me something.”

She nodded.

“I need you to promise me that no matter what happens next, you will not follow me. Stay far away from the river. You need to let me go.”

She nodded again.

I ran through the gate and the dewy grass. I ran over the clump of barbs, through the path, and toward the river. As I neared the bank, I thought of Carrie standing by the gate, and of Mum, and of everything that had happened. I knew that the bank would always collapse. That couldn’t be changed. But I knew what I could change.

I felt the ground crumble beneath my feet. As the darkness closed over my head and the cold wrapped its arms around me I knew I had done the right thing. I knew I wouldn’t wake up tomorrow and that Carrie would, which was all that mattered. My vision darkened as the breath left my lungs and I sank into the depths.

I sat on the driftwood log in the clearing. The sun was just coming up, the sky was a brilliant blue, the wind danced gently through the grass. I heard footsteps, and Carrie entered the clearing. She ran toward me, and I ran to meet her. We sat on the log together, and she leaned on my shoulder.

“Please don’t leave me.” A tear gathered on her eyelashes and slid down her cheek, leaving a silvery trail.

“Carrie, you’re going to be all right. You know you can’t stay here forever. Mum needs you. It’s too painful for her to stay at the beach house. I need you to take good care of her for me, okay?”

Carrie shook her head.

“But when Dad left, Mum left us too, in a way. Why can’t I leave?”

“Mum didn’t leave us, Carrie. She got hurt. You’re going to hurt for a while too, but that’s why you need to stay. You can help her get better, and you can get better. I can’t help you now. Only you can do that.”

Carrie nodded, tears streaming down her face. She wrapped her arms around me, and although I couldn’t feel the warmth, I felt the pain of leaving her.

“Good-bye, Carrie.”

She waved, then turned toward the trampled grass at the edge of the clearing. When she reached the trail, however, she stopped. She turned and ran back, thrusting an object into my hand. Without a word she turned and ran down the path. As I watched her fade into the grass, I felt part of myself disappear with her, the part that hadn’t vanished when I lost my life. I strained my ears, listening for a disturbance in the steady rush of the wind. There was no crash, no rumble of collapsing sand or rushing water. It was over.

Having fulfilled my purpose, I knew I was free to go. I was grasping desperately to the remnants of a memory.

I was suddenly very aware of the object in my hand.

It was Dad’s watch. As I stared at it, I remembered everything – Mum and Dad and Carrie and the beach house – and as I remembered the moments they faded from my memory until I sat empty, watching the delicate hands of the clock slow to a stop.

Silence had never sounded so perfect.