Christina's Ghost Read Online Free Page A
Author: Betty Ren Wright
been able to build up to real distances. Now was the perfect time to learn. If she stayed in shallow water all the time, Uncle Ralph couldnât object. And by the time her parents came home, sheâd be an expert. She might even be a lifeguard some day.
She kicked off her sneakers and slid into the clear brown water. It barely reached her shorts. Carefully,she waded across the sandy bottom, heading toward the little point of land that marked the end of the lawn. The water was waist-deep; she could see the bottom all the way, and there were no holes or drop-offs to worry about. This would be her practice course every day.
That afternoon, and for the two days following, Chris worked hard, with disappointing results. She could swim barely half the distance from the pier to the point without standing up. Over and over she tried, until her arms and legs ached and she puffed like a steam engine. At night she could hardly stay awake through supper, and afterward she dozed in a chair while Uncle Ralph read.
âWhatâs the matter with you?â he asked toward the end of the week, when she yawned noisily at the table. âI thought you were the top that never stopped turning.â
âIâm learning to swim,â Chris told him. âIn very shallow water.â She wanted to reassure him right away so he wouldnât object. She needed this project. Swimming tired her out. She didnât lie awake at night listening for noises in the attic, and she had less time to watch for the little boy.
The next morning, a remarkable thing happened. From the moment Chris slid off the end of the pier, she felt confident. Her arms and legs moved, smoothly, crisply, through the water. She raised her head to gulpair in an easy rhythm. Almost before she knew it, she was at the point and scrambling up on the beach.
I did it!
She rolled over and lay back, exultant.
I wish Jenny was here
. She wanted someone to share this good moment.
When she sat up, the little boy was standing at the end of the pier. The pale blue sailor suit was the color of the sky. As she stared, he raised a hand in greeting.
He was there! She hadnât made him up, after all. He was there, and heâd watched her as she swam.
âHi!â Chris shouted. âWait there. Please! Iâm coming back.â
She jumped up and waded into the water, her eyes on the little figure. âWatch this!â she shouted and plunged forward to show him how well she could do.
When she stood up again, seconds later, the pier was empty.
A cloud passed over the sun. Chrisâs legs buckled, and she sat down on the sandy bottom, shivering. He couldnât have run away that fast. It wasnât possible. The pier was too long, and beyond it lay an expanse of lawn with no place to hide. Maybe heâd fallen into the water on the other side. Panicked, she began swimming again, moving faster than she would have thought possible. On the far side of the pier, she stood up and waded quickly through the shallow water.
He wasnât there.
When she reached the shore, she looked up and down the beach one more time, then sat down on the narrow strip of sand. A sun-warmed breeze dried her, and the goose bumps gradually faded from her arms. Still, she couldnât stop shaking.
Think good thoughts!
she ordered herself. Think about her bedroom at home with its cheerful clutter. Think about her last birthday, when her mother had invited three friends for a surprise sleep-over party. Think about . . . but it was no use. All she could think about was the little boy.
Iâve seen a ghost
. The wonder of that was almost too much to bear. Sheâd seen a ghost, and the ghost looked like somebodyâs nice little brother. Then why was she afraid? He was just a little kid, and he was lonesomeâshe was sure of that. Surely he hadnât come to frighten her; heâd come because he wanted a friend.
Gradually the shivering stopped, and she
She kicked off her sneakers and slid into the clear brown water. It barely reached her shorts. Carefully,she waded across the sandy bottom, heading toward the little point of land that marked the end of the lawn. The water was waist-deep; she could see the bottom all the way, and there were no holes or drop-offs to worry about. This would be her practice course every day.
That afternoon, and for the two days following, Chris worked hard, with disappointing results. She could swim barely half the distance from the pier to the point without standing up. Over and over she tried, until her arms and legs ached and she puffed like a steam engine. At night she could hardly stay awake through supper, and afterward she dozed in a chair while Uncle Ralph read.
âWhatâs the matter with you?â he asked toward the end of the week, when she yawned noisily at the table. âI thought you were the top that never stopped turning.â
âIâm learning to swim,â Chris told him. âIn very shallow water.â She wanted to reassure him right away so he wouldnât object. She needed this project. Swimming tired her out. She didnât lie awake at night listening for noises in the attic, and she had less time to watch for the little boy.
The next morning, a remarkable thing happened. From the moment Chris slid off the end of the pier, she felt confident. Her arms and legs moved, smoothly, crisply, through the water. She raised her head to gulpair in an easy rhythm. Almost before she knew it, she was at the point and scrambling up on the beach.
I did it!
She rolled over and lay back, exultant.
I wish Jenny was here
. She wanted someone to share this good moment.
When she sat up, the little boy was standing at the end of the pier. The pale blue sailor suit was the color of the sky. As she stared, he raised a hand in greeting.
He was there! She hadnât made him up, after all. He was there, and heâd watched her as she swam.
âHi!â Chris shouted. âWait there. Please! Iâm coming back.â
She jumped up and waded into the water, her eyes on the little figure. âWatch this!â she shouted and plunged forward to show him how well she could do.
When she stood up again, seconds later, the pier was empty.
A cloud passed over the sun. Chrisâs legs buckled, and she sat down on the sandy bottom, shivering. He couldnât have run away that fast. It wasnât possible. The pier was too long, and beyond it lay an expanse of lawn with no place to hide. Maybe heâd fallen into the water on the other side. Panicked, she began swimming again, moving faster than she would have thought possible. On the far side of the pier, she stood up and waded quickly through the shallow water.
He wasnât there.
When she reached the shore, she looked up and down the beach one more time, then sat down on the narrow strip of sand. A sun-warmed breeze dried her, and the goose bumps gradually faded from her arms. Still, she couldnât stop shaking.
Think good thoughts!
she ordered herself. Think about her bedroom at home with its cheerful clutter. Think about her last birthday, when her mother had invited three friends for a surprise sleep-over party. Think about . . . but it was no use. All she could think about was the little boy.
Iâve seen a ghost
. The wonder of that was almost too much to bear. Sheâd seen a ghost, and the ghost looked like somebodyâs nice little brother. Then why was she afraid? He was just a little kid, and he was lonesomeâshe was sure of that. Surely he hadnât come to frighten her; heâd come because he wanted a friend.
Gradually the shivering stopped, and she
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