Free Storm Tide by Kari Jones Page A

while I start thinking that something feels different. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but something is out of place. I feel like I’ve half noticed something, but it’s taking a while to get into my brain. I look around. Everything looks the same, doesn’t it? What’s different?
    I walk back to the entrance of the shed and look outside. Nope. Everything looks right there—the rubber tire that we use as a bumper on the dock, the bucket and hose we keep for rinsing salt water off our gear. There’s a barrel of strawberries Mom planted to make the place prettier. I turn back to the shed and look around inside. Everything is in the shed that should be. Isn’t it? Maybe it’s just my imagination.
    I put this thought out of my mind and finish cleaning. When I’m done, I step onto the wooden planks leading from the shed to the dock. And I figure out what is missing.
    A chill creeps up my back. I swear, when I walked into this shed half an hour ago, there were muddy footprints on the dock. They aren’t there now.

Chapter Two
    The thing about a small island with only one lighthouse keeper and his family living on it is that anyone who comes to the island always stops in to say hello. Always.
    That’s why it is so weird that I saw footprints. No one has come to visit. If someone came to the island without visiting, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. It’s strange but not illegal. I stop worrying. Besides, now that my chores are done, I can head off for the day.
    At home, I wrap my sandwich and shove it into a small backpack with a water bottle. It is chilly outside, so I shuffle through the clothes on the floor in my bedroom until I find my old blue sweater. I stick it into the backpack, and I’m ready to head off.
    As soon as I step outside, I let out a groan. In the short time it took me to grab my stuff, the weather has turned windy. That happens here a lot. Weather springs up out of nowhere. Today it’s an enormous pain in the rear, because now I have to check outside the light tower to make sure nothing’s been left lying around. Dad always sends us to check when a wind comes along, so I know it’s what he would expect.
    I consider letting Ellen deal with it, but I don’t feel like facing her. And if anything did get lost in the wind, we’d be in trouble. I’d have to explain why I didn’t check. With a sigh, I take the path toward the tower.
    It’s not far. If I walk fast, it only takes a minute.
    There is a small hill between the house and the tower, so I don’t see the gray tent until I’m almost walking into it. It’s old-fashioned, with straight poles making an A shape. The door is open and flaps in the wind. There’s stuff all around. A sleeping bag spills out the tent door onto the grass, and a bag of clothes lies half-opened beside it. On the other side of the tent is a campstove with a pot half-full of water. The wind has pinned a map of the area to the wall of the tent. I’ve never seen such a messy campsite.
    â€œHello?” I call. There’s no answer. “Hello!” I poke my head inside the tent. It’s empty. I stand up and cup my hands around my mouth. “Hello! Anyone here?”
    I get no answer. I’m starting to feel strange about this. No one has ever set up a tent on the island without asking. When they do ask, Dad always sends them to the meadow on the other side of the island to sleep away from the bright light. Why would someone pitch their tent under the light? Why would they do it without asking? It’s totally weird. And it’s the second weird thing to happen today.
    As I look around, I wonder if the tent belongs to the same person the footprints did? It would be weirder if two separate people were doing strange things on the island, so I’m going with the idea that it’s the same person. I don’t know why, but there’s something creepy about