“That is a peculiar-looking ship.”
“It is,” agrees Alison Alexandra.
She agrees because it is a peculiar-looking ship. She is studying it through her military-grade binoculars as she stands near the edge of her cliff, leaning against a waist-high barrier she had constructed just for this purpose.
Three sturdy posts painted blue.
There is a wooden knob atop each post, painted red. Four broad boards, painted white, are securely nailed to the posts, with slight gaps between them. There is room for five people to stand side-by-side.
Alison Alexandra has never had more than one person at a time accompany her on this venture. A slight problem at the moment is that this is not one of those times. She is standing alone, binoculars to eyes, looking out to the ship in the harbour. The peculiar-looking ship.
“In fact, it is not just peculiar-looking, it is actually peculiar.”
It is,” agrees Alison Alexandra, who does not lower her binoculars. “Though that is not the only peculiar thing at the moment.”
“It is not?”
“It is not,” says Alison Alexandra. “One other peculiar thing is that I am standing here by myself.”
“I don’t,” says Alison Alexandra.
“I’m out of your vision.” The voice does not falter. “I’m R/Jane-the-Ghost.”
“R/Jane-the-Ghost?” asks Alison Alexandra.
“Yes,” confirms R/Jane-the-Ghost.” Yes.”
“A for real ghost?” asks Alison Alexandra. “Not a figment produced by an undigested piece of potato?”
“I like that idea,” says R/Jane-the-Ghost. “Being a Dickensian ghost. I liked reading Dickens.”
“As do I,” says Alison Alexandra.
“But – no – no Dickensian ghost am I. I bring no warnings.”
“”No festive cheer?”
“Nary a candle.” Says R/Jane-the-Ghost. “No bony finger have I, pointing at anything.”
“You did – in your way – point out the peculiar ship.”
“In my way.”
“Point taken,” says Alison Alexandra.
There is a low chuckle, bordering on hearty, close beside her right ear. She does lower her binoculars at that, and moves her head to look. Her view is unobstructed all the way down her cliff. The water sparkles.
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