He shook his head slightly, and felt a vast sense of relief. That’s good – I can move my head. That’s a good thing. It would be worse if I couldn’t move at all. If I can move my head, I can move other things. Right?

Wrong. Nothing else moved or cooperated.

Again, Frank moved his head, turning towards the tiny space between the seats – and swallowed dryly. For in that space, seeming to hover in midair, was the filmy apparition he’d seen before; seen in the cottage, seen in his dream. The girl – the slender, fair-haired, quaintly-dressed girl with the hate-filled, accusing eyes!

"You killed him…." came the whisper. To Frank’s surprise, he was now picking up on something in her speech – the soft lilt of a Scandinavian accent. A ghost with an accent – how very strange! "I saw you. You killed Erik right in front of me; I watched you do it. Killed him in cold blood – my Erik! And you’ll pay…I’ll make you pay. You thought you were getting away with it, didn’t you? Thought I would go with you, once Erik was gone. And now you’ll join him – and me – in death!" One translucent hand raised slightly, extending towards him.

The elder Hardy boy swallowed again, grateful that he could at least do that much. He shifted his gaze to the instrument panel, and watched in fascinated horror as the controls began to spiral slightly. He hadn’t had a chance to switch on the autopilot…if he wasn’t able to move very, very soon, the plane was going to nosedive. He felt it buck beneath him, just once. To his infinite surprise, he saw the ghost’s eyes widen at the movement. How can a ghost be afraid?

Afraid or not, the specter only paused momentarily, then again extended her hand, her fingers closing into a fist. Frank felt as if the breath was being pushed forcibly from his lungs; they were contracting inside his chest and refusing to allow oxygen in again. He struggled against this inside force which was holding him in stasis – to no avail. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t do anything.

Again the plane bucked and tilted, and Frank’s hands slipped from the controls, falling limply to his lap. He screamed then, all too aware of his mortal danger – using up what little air he had left, but unable to stop….And his voice was suddenly drowned out by a higher-pitched shriek of sheer terror! Wrenching his eyes from the instrument panel, Frank looked at the hovering form beside him, and saw her eyes grow huge and terrified as she peered out the window of the cockpit.

"SORCERY! FOUL SORCERY!" she screamed – and was gone as abruptly as she had appeared.

It took Frank a good ten seconds to regain control of the plane – to realize he was once again able to move; to grab the yoke in his trembling hands and pull it back; to increase the throttle and thankfully watch the nose of the plane rise and level out.

Wow….He drew in a deep, shuddering breath, grateful to feel air filling his lungs once more. I sure hope nobody in the control tower noticed how erratically I was flying, there! If they did…I’ll be grounded in a heartbeat! And how could I explain it to Jack? ‘Oh yeah, Jack, I’m really sorry about the near-crash. You see, there was this ghost in the cockpit….’ Riiiiight. Jack would have him checked into the nearest psych ward in no time at all.

"Tower, this is November Papa Charlie 218 requesting permission to land." Frank heard his own voice and marveled at its steadiness. Who would have known that just a few minutes previous, he had been screaming in terror as a ghost forced the breath from his body and nearly made him crash his airplane?

"Roger that, 218, use Runway #3. The coordinates are—"

Habit took over. Automatically listening and responding to the instructions, Frank brought down the cargo plane without mishap, then taxied towards the Wayne’s World hangar. Once parked, and the engines switched off, Frank sagged back in his seat and stared out the front window of the cockpit, eyes blinking rapidly.

It had been one thing when he’d seen – imagined he saw? – the spectral figure at the lighthouse. Spooky, but explainable; he’d just found the skeleton in the fireplace, his mind was open to all sorts of suggestions….But then he’d had the nightmare…was it a nightmare? Or had she really been there? Either way, he’d seen her at home – and now…now, in the plane? He was seeing her in all sorts of places, which seriously suggested that he was either being stalked by a phantom, or was losing his mind. He didn’t like either option. And he didn’t want to accept the fact that he might not be safe, piloting a plane. Nope, don’t want to hit Jack with that. Don’t want to tell Jack anything about this!

Just chill out, Hardy! Frank ordered himself sternly. You’re being an idiot, and you’re totally losing it, here! Chill. Now. Whatever is going on, you can figure it out – so just get the post-flight checks done, and then go check the Sleuth over, and then go pick up Matt!

With his plan of action formulated, Frank carefully ran through the post-flight checks. He gathered up the garbage from his snacks and threw it away, then made sure the cockpit was clean – although he consciously refrained from dusting anything, in a small gesture of defiance. Let Jason do it; that’s what Jack paid him for, wasn’t it? Well, wasn’t it? He wished he could call Megan; a conversation with her would have been immensely comforting just then, but Megan was busy with ‘girl stuff,’ as she had laughingly explained it, with Carolyn, today. Still, thinking of her helped drive ghosts and near-crashes from Frank’s mind, and instilled a warm, contented feeling inside him.

Smiling to himself, Frank jotted down a list of things that he needed to check on the Sleuth. There weren’t that many. The old girl’s still in pretty good shape, all things considered. There won’t be much to do before she’s seaworthy.

Navigating carefully through the rain-slicked streets, Frank drove to the marina and parked near the Hardys’ boathouse where the Sleuth was moored. The boat, covered by an old tarpaulin, bobbed gently up and down in the small waves coming into the boathouse. Frank pulled off the tarp and stepped aboard; he inspected the flooring, the engine, the outside to the waterline, and the life vests. After filling the tank with gas from one of the cans stored on a shelf, he relocked the boathouse and headed for home, to get Matt.

"Dude, I am so psyched about this!" Matt greeted him enthusiastically. "I can’t wait to get out there!"

"Matt, remember, it’s going to be freezing out there! You may not think it’s all that cold, on land, but once we’re out on the Bay…." Frank voiced the warning, knowing that Matt probably wasn’t listening, but feeling obliged to say the words anyway. "Now come on, let’s get dressed. You can’t go out in those clothes; you’d be an ice statue in ten minutes!"

Matt followed Frank upstairs, where the elder Hardy proceeded to haul warm coveralls from Joe’s closet, along with a warm hat, gloves, and a heavy coat.

"Dude, I can’t wear these!" Matt held the coveralls against himself. "Joe’s like four inches taller than I am, and he outweighs me by, like, fifty pounds, man! They’re way too big! And if I’ve got all that stuff on, I’m not going to be able to move; how can I take pictures with my hands in those gloves, huh? C’mon, give me a break!" He tossed the garments on Joe’s bed, disdainfully.

Frank fixed his friend with a stern look. "Either you wear ‘em, Eckersley, or we don’t go. I’m not exaggerating about the temperature. It’s your choice." He turned and went into his own room to put on his own cold-weather gear, hearing Matt’s soft grumbles behind him.

"We oughta wear wetsuits, dude!" Matt yelled, through the bathroom.

"You’re right," Frank conceded, walking back into Joe’s room, "but we don’t have time to find one that would fit you. Both Joe’s and mine would be too big for you."

Matt heaved a heartfelt sigh and capitulated. "All right, okay." He reached for the coveralls again. "You’re the boss, dude."

Despite the feigned reluctance in Matt’s words, Frank noticed that the glint of excitement had returned to the other man’s eyes, as he picked up his camera bag and followed Frank to the Saturn, a few minutes later, and his anticipation mounted as they drove to the marina.

"This is the coolest boat!" Matt exclaimed, as they boarded the Sleuth a short time later. "It’s like totally awesome!"

Frank grinned as he pulled out a life vest and handed it to his friend. "Put this on." He got out a second vest for himself and donned it, then opened up the boathouse doors to the bay. He knew it was going to be miserably cold out on the water, but something about Matt’s enthusiasm was infectious, and he couldn’t help looking forward to this trip, silly as it might be. When he took a look at Matt, swaddled in Joe’s outsized clothes and topped by the large life vest, he started to laugh; Matt resembled some sort of gigantic roly-poly bug!

"I hope you’re going to let me take a picture of you," he commented, still chuckling, as he indicated where he wanted Matt to sit. "Oh, and stash your camera bag there," he added, pointing to one of the largest compartments. "You don’t want it getting any wetter than necessary." Once Matt was situated, Frank started the engine, and carefully backed the boat out of its shelter, and onto the waters of Barmet Bay.

To Frank’s relief, the winds were light; lighter than he had anticipated; lighter than they had been in days. However, as the Sleuth built up speed, it created its own wind, causing spray from the water to slap up into their faces. He grimaced against the cold water’s impact, and wondered again if he was nuts to have agreed to this jaunt!

Matt was bubbling excitedly, pointing out various sights of interest, noticing and commenting on things that Frank had taken for granted for years, so used to seeing them that he no longer was aware. So thrilled that Frank found himself wondering if this was the first time the guy had been out on the water before. He throttled down, so they could talk more easily.

"Matt, is this the first time you’ve been out in a boat?"

"Heck no! I’ve been around boats all my life!" was the surprising answer. "Dad’s had a yacht forever. I love the water, man! I’m a California surfin’ dude, remember? I miss my California beaches sometimes." Matt flashed his irrepressible grin. "I’ve done a couple of photography gigs on the water, here. But the Pacific’s different from the Atlantic – freezing-cold seawater’s kind of a shock, ya know? But it’s all ocean water, and that’s what I like."

"If you’re so nuts about the ocean, I’m surprised you went into photography instead of something like oceanography."

"Well, Frank dude, I’ll tell you." Matt grinned cheerfully. "I’ve got no head for science, see. I like to look at the ocean – totally cool, ya know? – but I don’t like to learn every little thing about it. It’s the art I like – the way it changes every minute, the way it creates a totally new picture you never saw before. Blink and it’s gone, you know?"

"I never thought of it that way." Frank admitted. He smiled warmly at his friend. "I can see why you’re an artist – a photographer – now."

Matt blushed. He made no reply, but his smile was radiant.

"Well, let’s get on with it." Frank increased their speed, and the two men huddled down into their layers of clothing as the icy spray lashed them once more. Frank wondered if Matt’s enthusiasm would hold out through the discomforts of the chilly ride. He hoped it did, for otherwise the trip wasn’t going to be all that much fun for him!

"There’s the lighthouse," Frank pointed out, after a few minutes, indicating the structure atop Stone Point. "It looks different from this side, doesn’t it?" He slowed the Sleuth once more.

"Yeah, dude, it does." Matt pulled out his camera and started taking pictures. He took several shots, then changed lenses, and shot again; changed lenses again, shot more photos.

"This would be cool at night," he commented, "but I think maybe we could wait and do that in like, the summer, maybe. You’re right, it’s like, completely cold out here, Bud!"

Frank laughed. "Yeah, and it’s wet, too. Such is our world."

"Can we go a little farther out, dude?" Matt requested, changing lenses yet again. "I’d like to see how much of Stone Point I can get into one shot – sort of a ‘ship in distress’ point of view!"

"Okay." Frank obligingly swung the tiller, sweeping the Sleuth in a wide, curving arc, and bringing the craft further out into the Bay.

"Stop here, man!" Matt yelled, a minute or two later, and Frank obeyed. He turned around and watched as Matt snapped several pictures, talking all the while. "Look, dude, see it? See how perfect it is? Overcast, but there’s just that slightest hint of the sun coming through. It’s hitting the top of the lighthouse right now – see it, Frank?"

"I can see it now, yeah." Frank nodded. "I’m impressed, Matt, I really am. You’ve got an incredibly good eye. You’d make a good investigator – at least, when it came to the visual aspects!"

"I’ve always had a pretty good eye," Matt admitted with a grin, "at least, so I’ve been told." He snapped off a couple more shots, then reluctantly began packing up the equipment and storing the bag in the locker once more. "I hate to admit it, dude, but I think I’ve had enough for one day. I’m ready to head back to warm, dry land again."

Frank nodded emphatic agreement. He was glad Matt’s artistic urges were finally appeased. HE was certainly freezing to death! He hoped Joe and Vanessa fully appreciated what he and Matt were going through, just to get photos for their research project! He started the engine and swung the Sleuth about once again, heading for the shore.

When they were about half a mile from the boathouse, Frank became aware of the throb of another boat’s engines nearby. He was surprised; there weren’t many people who were crazy enough to come out on a day like today. To his shock, the second craft was flying towards them without even a pretense of slowing; shooting across their bow, and sending an enormous wave of seawater up and over the Sleuth and her occupants. The Sleuth tossed dangerously in the churning water, and dipped perilously low, threatening to capsize!