First Chapter First Paragraph Thursday Intros ~ The Ghost of Spruce Point by Nancy Tandon
The bloodred moon casts an eerie glow over the bay. Fog lifts off the ocean and swirls around us as the lapping splash of the incoming tide sways the thick wooden posts of the dock beneath me. If there is a perfect time and place for a ghost story, I’m sitting smack-dab in the middle of it.
“Tell it again, Dad. Please tell it!”
Dad steps back from the telescope and sits next to me, our legs dangling above the dark, churning water. He tightens the hood of his parka against the late-May chill and takes a big sniff of the air. I do the same. If one of the fancy tourist shops in Bar Harbour ever made a candle called Spruce Point, it would smell like this: a mix of spruce, pine, and fir trees layered with the heavy scent of briny ocean.
