Maeve went camping with her father once. They camped next to a broad river, with no other human around for miles. As the light faded, Maeve's father built a small fire and told her some ghost stories. She was captivated by them, and when the fire burned out and they went inside their tent to sleep, Maeve stayed wide awake. She wasn’t scared, she was spell-bound. She thought maybe if she stayed up late enough, she’d be able to see a ghost right there that night.

So when her father was sound asleep, Maeve carefully unzipped the tent and slipped out. She walked to the edge of the water and just listened. The broad stretch of shifting waters was slick in the starlight. There were crickets, but there were other larger sounds as well. Maeve could hear things slipping into the water, crawling around in the brush and trees. She turned in place slowly, watching carefully for a ghostly glow moving timidly between the swallowing darkness of the trees.

Maeve squatted and made herself small in the dim at the edge of the river, barely breathing, pretending to be a stone. She waited for what seemed like hours for a ghost to appear, but saw none.

She sighed, and as she did, she stood up and hung her head. Her heart jumped.

In the starlight, her own limbs faintly glowed. She smiled a wisp of a smile. “Oh, there you are.”