The last time I saw Charlie was the fourth of July,1994 at the old beach house our families rented together every summer. Charlie and I were certain that the old house was haunted. I remember how the old wooden steps creaked every time we went up and down them. We shared a bedroom on the third floor, which was the attic. There were twin rod iron beds with matching quilts. Not the kind of quilts you can buy at the department store at the Mall, but the kind someone's grandma handmade with a labor of love in each stitch. The house was so old it seemed that the walls could talk. I have to admit that Charlie and I heard some weird noises in the night and every time we heard one of those noises our dogs would start whining. There were old trunks and various things stored up there. I especially was freaked out by the porcelain doll collection that hung on a shelf over the dresser. Those dolls looked evil, like they could come to life at any minute. I would wake up in the middle of the night to see the curtains blowing away from the window, but the window was shut. I also, thought I saw a woman's figure walking near Charlie's bed. Maybe I watched too much television and it was all my imagination.

The entire house had hardwood floors that were forever full of sand with four adults, four kids, and two dogs running in and out all day. Charlie had a brother named Mike and I had a brother named Chip. It worked out good because Charlie and I were only a few months different in age and so were our brothers. Everyone was paired off with someone their age. Even our dogs liked to hang out together on the porch or go exploring near the ocean.

We spent every summer there for ten years. The adults would relax by the beach underneath umbrellas in the day and play cards on the porch sipping grown up drinks until late in the night. Charlie, Mike, Chip and I would play tag or mother may I until we were told to take our baths and go to bed.

Every night when Charlie and I had to go to bed, I felt scared. We climbed the steps to the attic bedroom we stayed in after our baths, both feeling eerie and not wanting to go up there.


"You go first, Katie." Charlie would urge me.

"No, let's go together." I would always reply.
The two of us would lace our arms together and climb up to the bedroom.

The attic was huge. At night everything in the room had a shadow that caught your eye. I always felt like someone or something was watching us as we went to sleep.

"Katie, do you think someone is watching us?" Charlie asked.

"Why would you ask me that?" I said feeling a little more creeped out that she knew exactly what I was thinking.

"I don't know." I lied hoping to not alarm her anymore than she already was.

"I do. I feel like someone is watching us." She said as she rubbed her eyes that were already drooping into sleepiness.

"No one is watching us. It's just an old house and that makes it seem creepy." I tried to convince myself as much as her.

"Goodnight, Katie."

"Goodnight, Charlie."

Every morning when the sun shone through the round windows into the attic it didn't seem scarey at all. The shadows were gone and everything looked normal. Like a dusty old attic full of junk with an inch of dust everywhere.

When we played on the beach, Charlie would ask me, "Katie do you feel like someone is watching us from the attic window?"

"No, don't be silly." I would tell her. Even though I had noticed it too. I would be playing in the sand, look up at the old house to see a woman's figure move away from the window as soon as I looked at it.

We loved to run along the beach and try to keep the waves from running over our feet. We waded out in the water and swam over the waves. Then we would build sand castles that we knew would be beaten down by the waves in the night and only half of the sand castles would be standing the next day.

One day we went into the town to get some groceries with both our moms. Charlie and I stayed on the porch of the little store talking to an elderly woman who had lived on the island all of her life.

"So, you are staying at the Whitman's mansion. You know that Mrs. Whitman had a little girl named Charlotte. She loved that little girl so much. I remember how she dressed her in a beautiful white ruffled dress with a matching bow that was a big as the child's head. Beautiful little girl. She looked a lot like your friend here. What's your name sweetie?"

"Charlie Alexander." Charlie said with wide eyes.

"Is that short for Charlotte?" The old woman asked like she might be mad if the answer were to be yes.

"No. Ma'am. It's short for Charlene."

"Mrs. Whitman's little girl tragically drowned in the ocean. Mrs.Whitman went out of her mind. Mr. Whitman couldn't take it anymore and left his wife in her insane state. The sorrow of so much loss was too great for her to bear, she drowned herself in the ocean." As Mrs. Weaver spoke the words, chills ran up my spine.

"Some towns people think that Mrs. Whitman drowned her daughter herself. She never really seemed to be in her right mind to start with. You two have seen Mrs. Whitman's ghost, haven't you?" The old woman said pointing a crooked finger at us both.

Just then, the screen door to the little store swung open giving a loud creaking sound that caused both Charlie and I to jump. It was our moms with the groceries.

"Katie, Charlie, come on now. Tell Mrs. Weaver good-bye."

"Good-bye, Mrs. Weaver." We said in unison.

We followed our mom's all the way back to the beach house. The two women were in a deep conversation and were not paying us girl's any attention.

"Katie, have you seen the ghost that Mrs. Weaver was talking about?" Charlie asked with pure fear in her eyes.

"Yes, I think I have in the middle of the night. Have you?"

"Yes, something wakes me up like someone is stroking my hair."

"Maybe old woman Weaver is crazy and has nothing better to do than make up stories to scare us. I am sure if the house was haunted with Mrs. Whitman's ghost our parents would have heard about it and they would rent a different house for us to stay in each summer." I tried to calm Charlie's fears.

Later that day we decided to see what was in some of the old trunks in the attic. When we opened one we found a picture album. We both started to scream when we saw a picture of Mrs. Whitman holding Charlotte in her lap. She looked exactly like Charlie. We took the picture album down the steps all the way outside on the porch where our parents were relaxing.

"Look, at what we found in the attic." We showed them the picture album and told them what Mrs. Weaver had told us earlier at the store.

"You girls are just letting your imaginations run away with you. This picture of this little girl looks like a million other little girls with black hair and brown eyes. As for Mrs. Weaver, the woman is old and has nothing better to do than to make up stories about the island."

That night when Charlie and I went to sleep was the last time I saw her. When I woke up the window was open, but the curtain wasn't blowing. I went downstairs to make sure she wasn't there, then I woke up everybody to tell them she was gone. The sun had started to come up. We looked for her everywhere.

The police came out and dusted the attic for fingerprints. They asked me if I had seen or heard anything. If Charlie had talked about running away.

"No, it was the ghost of Mrs. Whitman. She took Charlie, because she looks like her little girl that drown." I said and wiped the tears from my eyes.

My mom put her hands around my shoulders. "It's okay, Katie. Officer, I think that is enough questioning for now." My mom said in a stern tone.

"Alright, that's all for now. Katie if you remember anything that can help us find Charlie let your parents know to call us." The officer smiled and closed his notepad.

Later, that day a search team found Charlie's body washed up on shore from where she had drowned.

I will never forget the ambulance and police cars lights flashing on the beach.

It remains a mystery to this day how she drowned in the ocean. I have my theories, but I feel almost certain that the ghost of Mrs. Whitman drowned her own daughter and thought Charlie was Charlotte and drowned her again, but no one will ever know for sure.