The Shadow by Mill Creek

My aunt and uncle live near the old iron crossing in Millerton. Their house is just down the road from the lumber yard. Last summer, on a humid August day, the heat in the house became unbearable. I felt restless and decided I needed some fresh air. My cousin was busy helping my uncle repair a fence, so I asked his two younger brothers, aged eleven and fourteen, to join me for a stroll.

The boys chattered about local tales as we walked toward the iron crossing. The older one claimed the bridge was watched by a lonely spirit, a gray shape that drifted between the trees. I smiled and told them it was just a story made up to scare kids. When we reached the crossing, a low railing prevented anyone from falling into the creek below. We leaned against it, looking out at the water and the town beyond. A few canoes drifted slowly downstream.

Suddenly, the younger boy pointed toward the opposite bank. A tall, indistinct form stood motionless among the shadows. It didn’t look like a person or an animal. We all saw it at the same time. Without a word, we turned and walked quickly back home, not running, but not slowing down either. We never spoke about what we saw that afternoon.