Writing inspired by the following SWC prompts:

Seasonal Spook

Why do so many spooky stories have to take place in the cold and dark of winter?
Can you write a ghost story set on a summer’s day?

The Girl in the Water

by Franziska Singer

“Hi,” a tiny voice says.
“Did you say something?” I ask and turn to my friend.
“I didn’t. I thought you said hi,” Lisa says.
“I didn’t say hi, I thought you did!”
“Well, I didn’t.”
“Weird.”
We close our eyes again. It is a lovely summer’s day, and Lisa and I spend it doing what we love most: lying in the shade of an umbrella on a pedal boat in the middle of the lake, with a cup of bubbly in hand and a healthy pasta salad in the cooler.
“Hi”, the voice says again.
I sit up and look around. “You heard that too, right?” I say.
“Yeah. Probably just the wind or something. Hey, can you top me up, please?”
Lisa extends her arm in my general direction without even opening her eyes. I take the cup, get up and open the cooler. Then I see it and let out a shriek.
“What is it? Have we run out already?” Lisa laughs.
I do not answer. Holding onto the ladder of our pedal boat is a little girl, five years old maybe, or six, or seven, I have no idea. I have never been good with kids.
“Hi,” she says again.
“Uhm. Hi. You scared me.” I say.
“I know. That was funny.”
“Is that a child?”, Lisa says.
“No, it’s a dog. Yes, of course it is a child, what does it look like,” I snap.
“Someone’s in a mood,” Lisa mutters and turns onto her belly.
“What do you want?,” I say to the child.
“Can I use your slide?”
“The slide?”
“Yes, the slide. The water slide on your boat. Can I use it please?”
“Just say yes and get it over with, I am thirsty!” Lisa says.
I nod at the girl. She climbs up the ladder to the boat, waddles between me and Lisa and climbs the steps to the slide. She goes down and comes back.
“Tell her to go on her knees. That way she’ll make a bigger impact, and it will be so much more fun,” Lisa says. “I didn’t even hear a splash.”
“Do you … do you want to go again?” I ask the girl. She nods at me with a big smile, climbs up the ladder and goes up the steps. “Try going down on your knees. It will be so much more fun,” I say. She nods and does just as instructed. I pour more bubbly in Lisa’s paper cup, which she gulps down, and immediately falls asleep.
The girl climbs up and slides down a few more times that day. It is not easy for her, because her head is facing the wrong way, and her right arm is at a weird angle. But she manages it. We never hear a splash. But her smile gets bigger and bigger, and her small, mangled body appears to become more translucent with every ride. When I can hardly see her anymore, she says, “Thank you”, and slides down one last time.
“Is she done?” Lisa says.
“Yes. Yes, I think she is done,” I mutter, not sure, what I just witnessed.
“Great. I’m starving.” Lisa turns and sits up. “Hey, are you okay? Are you having a heat stroke or something? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” She slaps me on the back. “Let’s dig into the pasta salad, shall we?”