The boys sat round the campfire, huddled deep in their hoods, fingers spread out to catch the warmth of the flickering flames. With only a week left 'til school, they'd been desperate to go off on their yearly summer camp-out. One thing after another, parents, summer jobs, vacations, had prevented the traditional trip, but it had finally come together yesterday afternoon. Eight boys, all around their tenth birthday, with one tent that added up to total freedom.

The woods on the edge of town weren't deep, and it hadn't taken long for the boys to traipse out to their preferred spot, leaving the sounds of the highway behind, deadened by the dense foliage. They'd set up camp by Crooked Creek, lit their fire and indulged in a final round of cowboys. The game had been fun, but there remained an air of melancholy, perhaps due to the fact that they would soon be heading to senior school, such games fading into the past.

They'd settled to cook beans and sausages on the fire, relishing the rare treat of baked potatoes brought by one of the more thoughtful lads, and then waited. Someone always started, usually the oldest boy, and breath was held until the ritual words were spoken. As twilight deepened into full night, James, oldest by three months, spoke up.

"Anyone know a good ghost story?"