There was an old empty cabin on the way to school. We’d laugh as we walked past, daring each other to go inside and meet the ghost of Farmer Woo. He’d been killed by wolves, or on a moonshine run, or at the hands of pirates. We were 200 miles from the nearest coast, but that was just another part of the mystery.
Then one day, there was smoke from the chimney and a boy like us chewing grass on the wall outside. He’d come to stay with his Grandpa, he said. Did we want to come over and play?