Ghosts on Board by Fleur Hitchcock

thinking about it as the boat pulls into the milky fog surrounding Mystery Smoke Island.
    â€˜What’s that awful smell?’ I ask. ‘It’s like drains.’
    â€˜The island,’ says Victor. Mournfully. ‘It smells hideous – mouldy.’
    â€˜Oooh, are we nearly there?’ says Tilly. ‘Is it here? In this fog?’
    â€˜Anyone for Mystery Smoke Island? We only dock for a moment, so could you get yourselves to the forward exit – thank you. We’ll pass again at dusk – if you’re not on the quay we’ll assume you’ve made your own way back.’ The captain’s voice is muffled by the mist, but we all shuffle to the front, Tilly jumping up and down with excitement, craning to see the island emerge from the fog. Jacob is bouncing beside her.
    All I can actually see is a broken wooden jetty and the ruined spike of a tower poking out of the cloud. All the details have disappeared in the mist.
    The boat thuds into the landing stage and as soon as we’ve stepped ashore, it turns and heads back out to sea. None of the other passengers disembark and we’re left alone on the crumbling boards.
    No one says anything as the last little square of colour disappears into the grey and the final chug of the engine fades out to sea. A wave washes gently up to the landing stage and plips back, leaving dead-calm water.
    â€˜Whoooo, spooky,’ whispers Tilly, tiptoeing to the end of the jetty and standing on a patch of sooty black ivy.
    â€˜Yes,’ I say. I look back to the swirling fog hanging over the sea. I can’t see anything of the boat. I can’t immediately see any way of getting off the island.
    Victor walks off the jetty, picks his way through a groaning metal gate and sinks down to sit on a gravestone. He lets his head sag onto his hands and stares gloomily at another stone, one carved with skeletons, apparently writhing in agony. ‘I can’t believe I’m back on Mystery Smoke Island,’ he says and sighs. He raises one of his hands in front of his face. It might be my imagination, but I think I can see through it.
    Beside me, Eric pulls a soggy map from his pocket and arranges it on the wooden planks of the jetty. It’s very ancient and very wet.
    Everyone stays very still, as if we’re all waiting for something to happen.
    Distantly, a low howl builds. Not like a wolf – more like wind in the trees. It rises and falls, rushing up towards us and then turning and racing away. I jump. ‘What
is
that?’
    â€˜The Evergone Forest.’ Victor raises his head. ‘It’s in the dark heart of the island. Dismal, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Does it do it all the time?’ asks Tilly. I detect a very slight lessening of enthusiasm in her voice.
    â€˜Almost,’ says Flora Rose out of nowhere. I try not to leap out of my skin but I’m still not used to the way she does it. ‘Sometimes it goes quiet for nearly long enough for you to forget about it. Then it gets loud and shouty again. It’s horrible to live with.’
    â€˜Really?’ says Jacob, his voice unusually high. It’s the first time he’s spoken since we saw the blackened stumps of the island emerging through the fog. In fact he’s not been remotely superhero-like. Since we left Bywater-by-Sea, not a single spark’s leapt from his fingertips. ‘Why’s it Evergone?’
    â€˜No one’s ever come back from there,’ says Flora Rose. ‘Some explorers disappeared in the 1920s. We never saw them again, which was a shame. They were quite fun. They had a fire and sang songs.’
    I shiver. I can see that a fire on this island would make it much more bearable. Some light would help.
    Flora Rose is still talking. If I listen to her carefully, I can work out where she is, and then it’s just possible to see her shape because it’s the space the mist doesn’t occupy. She’s about my