Marlowe and I set out for a walk on the beach this morning. The sky had that pre-dawn laziness like it needed a quick shave before the sun came up. I had my iPod in and was listening to One Republic and so I didn't notice the ghost boy until he was right in front of me. The ghost boy was dressed in all white: white shorts, white undershirt, white mesh longsleeve shirt, bleached hair; except for his shoes, which were house slippers. He was running at me and I could quickly see that his shirt was stained with blood or mud or both. I should have been startled, but not ten minutes earlier, I was dreaming that I was chasing down bank robbers with Nicole Kidman on BMX bikes, so this kind of made sense.
Then the ghost boy spoke, "This old man's trying to kill me with a spear gun." Annoyed by hyperbole at this early hour, I pressed the ghost boy, "Why is he trying to kill you?" "I don't know; he's crazy," the ghost replied. None of it sounded right and I even found myself wishing I had a spear gun to shoo away this adolescent apparition. He asked if I had a cell phone. I told him he needed to find base police. When he asked me where they were, I wondered who the hell this kid was. My eleven general orders of a sentry were flooding back to me, but I was also very close to my home and I didn't want this hillbilly Casper to know where I slept. He interrupted my dilemma, "Oh shit, he's messing with my stuff." The ghost boy started to take off his mesh overshirt in a show of wanting to confront the crazy old man, but then stopped, perhaps by the thought of his spear gun.
The ghost boy then asked me if I'd go down to the pier and make sure the old man didn't mess with his stuff. I told him I'd head in that direction, which was true, if he'd go get the police. This satisfied the pubescent poltergeist and he left to haunt someone else. I haven't seen him since and the police never came. I did head to the pier and saw a man fishing, but no spear gun.