Sunset on the boardwalk is yet another thing I simply love about living here on the lake. I took the boat over to the nearby dock and then walked the rest of the way to the lighthouse, eating an ice cream cone as I did. Summer is on its way and, while I may prefer the cooler weather, I figure I may as well take advantage of the coming warmth.
Tonight the sun’s departure was nothing less than magnificent. The way the lake reflected the reds and oranges of the last light piercing through the thin clouds is beyond description. For a moment, I wished Cassia was there with me. I have a feeling it would have inspired another piece of artwork from her. Not like she needs any more inspiration. The girl can draw.
There’s one thing that’s bugging me about the sunset, though. As I walked away, I got this eery chill down my back. It’s one I’m used to. I don’t really believe in a sixth sense, but when you’re regularly picked on in school, you learn that your body reacts to danger. I spun around, prepared to find Floyd or any of my other “friends” coming up behind me. Instead, it was just a few tourists and locals making their way back from the lighthouse, just like I was. And then I looked up.
Sitting here now, I’m sure it was just a maintenance man up there doing work. Or perhaps it was a trick of the lighting making the normal lighthouse structure appear more malevolent in the faded light after sunset. At the time, though, I was sure there was a very tall man up there amongst the wires, and I had the sensation that he was watching me. Then I blinked, and he was gone.
Yet I still had that feeling of danger. I felt it for the entire walk to the dock, on the boat ride back, and the whole time I’ve been up here in my room. It’s gone away now since I actually stopped and thought about what I saw rationally. I’m glad. The last thing I wanted was to spend my weekend feeling like I do every day in school.
Just one more week…