The Old Boathouse burned down when I was a child. They rebuilt it, but I still remember the old one, all sun-bleached wood and creaking timbers.
The replacement looks about the same, with bright white and blue paint and flags snapping merrily in the breeze.
But sometimes, after the swimmers and boaters have gone home for the night, I would look out at it and think that I could see a hint of smoke, or smell a fire a long way off. And I would wonder, if a place can be said to have a soul, why not a ghost?

Everyday Drabbles © 2025 by Hugh J. O’Donnell is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.