Waiting for the Ghost
Hey again.
I know it’s been a while. I didn’t mean to ghost you—especially after what we saw. But there just hasn’t been anything new.
Or maybe I just don’t know how to write about nothing.
What We Found (Or Didn’t)
The morning after Halloween, Sami, Eva, and I went back to the Nature Center.
We brought gloves and a little plastic trowel and a metal lunchbox we pretended was “evidence gear.” We searched the spot the ghost pointed at—near the reeds on the north edge of the pond. We dug a little. We poked around. We took about fifty blurry photos of mud.
Nothing.
No artifact. No message. No hidden notebook or old bird skull or lost wetland map.
Just dirt. Just wind. Just empty.
We missed something. I know we did.
I Miss It
That sounds weird, right? Missing a ghost?
In the moment—on Halloween—I was terrified. I thought it might swoop at us or scream or vanish me into another dimension. But now? Now I sit by the window and just… hope. Hope I’ll see it again. That flicker. That hum. That quiet understanding.
It’s like a string tugging at my ribs. Like something still wants to be heard.
The Fight Isn’t Over
At home, things are still happening. My dad gave public comment at the school board meeting last month. He practiced it in the living room and then we all watched him live on Zoom. He said things like:
“The construction plan sacrifices the long-term wellbeing of our children for short-term architectural sparkle.”
And:
“If we build over the wetland, we’re teaching students that beauty and balance matter less than branding.”
I was so proud I nearly exploded.
Blaise (my second-grade brother) clapped like it was the Super Bowl. Phoenix (he’s in preschool) just kept yelling “Dada on da TV!”
A Note on Fire Names 🔥
Yes, we’re all named after fire. Ember. Blaise. Phoenix.
Yes, we all have red hair.
Yes, we all have blue eyes.
Yes, people make “Fire Nation” jokes about us at the pool.
My parents say it was unintentional. I don’t believe them.
Winter Comes to Thurston
The pond is frozen now.
On Saturdays, we skate across it in puffy coats and hats that itch. Blaise tries to race. Phoenix mostly sits on a sled yelling “GO FASTER!” while Mom pulls him.
It’s beautiful. Still. Quiet.
The birds are gone—migrated south. The thickets are bare. The tall grass looks like the world forgot to finish painting it.
But sometimes, when I glide past the far reeds, I feel it again. That hush. That listening silence.
Like something underneath the ice is waiting too.
What’s Next
Groundbreaking is planned for the last day of school.
There’s even going to be a ribbon-cutting.
Unless something changes.
Unless something interrupts.
I still check the pond every morning. I haven’t given up. You shouldn’t either.
✌️ Ember