Sydney: 4-in-1 Mysteries for Girls

by Jean Fischer

  “Eeeewwww!” Bailey said again. “Are there really dead sailors floating around out there?”

  “Oh sure,” Sydney said matter-of-factly. “Not to mention the ones from the ghost ship.”

  Bailey shuddered. “Ghost ship! What ghost ship?”

  “The Carroll A. Deering,” Sydney replied. She tossed the bone into the water and walked on with Bailey at her side.

  “The story of the Carroll A. Deering is really spooky,” Sydney went on. “I don’t know if I should tell it to you. You might be too afraid.” She looked at Bailey and grinned.

  “I will not!” Bailey protested. “I’m not scared of anything.”

  “Well, okay then,” Sydney answered. “But if you can’t sleep tonight, don’t blame me.”

  She stopped and picked up a stick at the ocean’s edge. Frothy, white fingers of water washed across the beach, scrabbling at the firm, wet sand. Sydney used the stick to write BEWARE OF UFOS on the gritty, light tan canvas. Then she tossed the stick back to the ocean. The girls walked on leaving two sets of footprints behind them.

  “The Carroll A. Deering was a tall ship, a schooner,” Sydney began. “Pirates used several types of sailing ships. The ships they used had to be fast and strong. The Carroll A. Deering was bigger than most schooners. It had five tall masts with billowy sails—”

  “I know exactly what you’re talking about,” Bailey interrupted. “Those kind of tall ships came to Navy Pier in Chicago last summer. Of course, they weren’t old ones. They were only made to look like the old ones. Mom, Dad, my sister, Trina, and I went to check them out. They looked really old, and we even got to sail on one of them out on the lake.”

  “Cool,” said Sydney. “So, since you’ve been on a tall ship, you can imagine what it was like to be a sailor on the Carroll A. Deering back in 1921. Imagine that it’s the middle of winter. Some coastguardsmen are looking out at the ocean, sort of like we are now. They’re about a hundred miles south of here near the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse, down by Diamond Shoals.”

  “What’s that?” asked Bailey. She carefully stepped through the sand watching for bones and other hidden objects.

  “What’s what?”

  “Diamond Shoals.”

  “It’s a bunch of sandbars just off the coast of the Outer Banks, down at the southern end,” Sydney replied. “Anyhow, that’s where they saw it.”

  “The ghost ship?” Bailey asked. Just saying the words sent a little shiver up her spine.

  “The ghost ship—the Carroll A. Deering,” Sydney answered. “There she was, half washed up on one of the shoals, with her sails still opened wide and flapping in the wind. The ocean was pushing at her from behind. Her prow, that’s the front end of the ship, was scraping against some rocks in the sand. Scrape … scrape …” As Sydney said the words, she brushed the tips of her fingers along the side of Bailey’s arm.

  “Stop it!” Bailey said. “You’re spooking me out.”

  “I thought nothing scared you,” Sydney answered. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you the rest.”

  A seagull swept over Bailey’s head. It dove and snatched a small fish out of the ocean. “Go on,” she said tentatively. “I want to hear.”

  “It was a foggy, cold, misty morning,” Sydney continued, “and the sea was rough. The men of the coast guard knew it would be really hard getting to the wreck, but they had to, because they knew that the crew was in danger. So they got into their heavy wooden rowboat, and they rowed through the boiling waves toward the shoals.”

  “But it was the middle of winter,” said Bailey.

  “So?” Sydney asked.

  “You said that the waves were boiling, and if that’s true, it was summertime. You’re making this up, aren’t you?”

  “Bailey!” Sydney protested. “It was a figure of speech. The sea was rough. The waves were rolling like boiling water. That’s all. The ocean never gets hot enough to boil, and this is a true story. You can ask anyone on the Outer Banks, and they’ll tell you—it’s true.”

  Bailey stopped in the sand and let the edge of the ocean tickle her toes. “Okay,” she conceded.

  “So anyway,” said Sydney. “They got into their big rowboat, and they rowed out to the Carroll A. Deering. When they reached her, they climbed up onto her deck.”

  “How’d they climb onto it?” Bailey wondered. “Did they have a ladder? Weren’t the waves too rough?”

  “I don’t know. They were the coastguardsmen, and they know how to climb up on decks and stuff.” Sydney swatted at a deerfly that landed on her elbow. “And when they got up on the deck, it was eerily quiet except for the waves lapping at the sides of the ship and that awful scrape … scrape….”

  Bailey pulled away as Sydney’s long fingers reached for her arm.

  “Ahoy!” Sydney yelled.

  Bailey jumped.

  “Did I scare you?”

  “I just didn’t expect you to yell, that’s all,” said Bailey. “And why did you?”

  “That’s what the coast guard yelled,” Sydney said. “They stood on the deck, and they yelled, ‘Ahoy there! Is anyone here?’ But nobody answered. So they searched the deserted deck, and the only sounds they heard were the echo of their own footsteps.”

  “Don’t forget the waves and the scraping,” Bailey interjected.

  “And the waves and the scraping,” said Sydney. “And after looking around the top deck, they went down into the center of the ship, and then they opened the door to the crew’s quarters. And do you know what they found?” Sydney stopped. She looked at Bailey and grinned.

  “Stop playing with me,” Bailey said. “What did they find?”

  “Nobody,” said Sydney. “There was no one there. The beds had all been slept in, and everything was shipshape, except that eleven crewmen and their stuff were gone.”

  “Gone?” Bailey wondered.

  “Just like that. Disappeared. Then the coastguardsmen went to check out the galley. There was food standing out like someone had been preparing a meal, only nobody had eaten anything. The table was all set with plates, cups, and silverware, but nothing had been touched. So the men checked out the officers’ quarters next. The beds had been slept in, and the officers’ boots were on the floor next to their beds, but nobody was there. Their personal stuff was gone and so was the ship’s log, the navigating instruments, all of it—gone.”

  “So where did everybody go?” Bailey asked.

  “Nobody knows,” Sydney answered. “It’s a big mystery around here. It was like they vanished into thin air. The sailors were never found. The shoals are near enough to shore that something should have washed up, if not their bodies, then some of their belongings, but nothing ever did—”

  Sydney’s story was interrupted by a powerful, rhythmic noise. All at once, a swirling cloud of sand covered Sydney and Bailey as something huge and brown rushed past them.

  Bailey screamed. She gripped Sydney’s arm. “A horse!” she cried.

  In the swirling dust, she saw a muscular, brown stallion galloping on ahead of them. Its black mane stood on end as it raced against the wind.

  Sydney caught her breath. The horse had frightened her as much as it had Bailey. She wondered if God was having a good laugh, getting even with her for trying to scare Bailey with the ghost story of the Carroll A. Deering.

  “It’s a wild horse,” she said. “Probably one of the mustangs.”

  “What mustangs?” Bailey asked.

  “Usually, they’re not this far south,” Sydney told her, “and they don’t typically come near people. They’re wild horses—they don’t belong to anyone. They wander as free as any other wild animal around here. I’m pretty used to seeing them. They’ve lived on the Outer Banks for at least four hundred years, so people who live here don’t pay much attention to them. They’re another mystery of the Outer Banks. No one knows for sure how they got here.”

  “Oh great,” said Bailey. “The sailors disappeared and nobody knows where they went. The wild horses sh
owed up, but nobody knows how they got here. And this morning I saw a UFO.

  “What kind of a place is this, Sydney? First you tell me a story about a ghost ship, and then a wild horse comes galloping by almost close enough to touch. You know, this sort of reminds me of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow where the headless horseman comes dashing out of nowhere.”

  “You never know,” said Sydney. “We might have a headless horseman roaming around here too. The Outer Banks is loaded with folklore about all kinds of stuff. It’s even known for pirates like Captain Kidd, Calico Jack, and Blackbeard. They all walked along this beach once upon a time. Who knows, maybe they still do.”

  “Do you believe in ghosts?” Bailey asked.

  Before Sydney could answer, a small ghost crab popped out of the sand and skittered toward the girls. It stopped briefly and looked at them through two black eyes set atop its head like periscopes sticking up from a submarine.

  “Maybe,” said Sydney, “and maybe not.”

  The Disappearing Captain

  The girls left the beach and walked to Corolla Village and the Currituck Beach Lighthouse. It was one of Sydney’s favorite places, and she wanted to show it to Bailey. Something was wonderfully mysterious about the way the lighthouse rose from the trees and almost touched the sky. Its weathered red bricks sat tightly atop each other, forming rows around and around. They stopped at an iron-framed lookout. The lookout encircled the lantern house, the highest part of the tower. There, inside a giant glass dome, was the powerful beacon of light that swept across ocean and sound.

  Not far from the tower, nestled in a grove of trees, was a small lightkeeper’s house. It had a steep red roof and white paint. The place was a gift shop where tourists could buy everything from tee shirts to figurines. Its wide front porch was empty but for a pair of old, wooden rocking chairs that often rocked alone in the wind.

  Bailey and Sydney sat in the chairs looking up at the tower. Bailey nervously sipped the root beer that she’d bought at a little post office and convenience store nearby.

  “You have to at least try,” Sydney said.

  “But I’m afraid of heights,” Bailey answered. “You know that, Syd. In fact, if I could have, I would have walked here from Peoria instead of taking a plane.” She swirled the root beer around in its plastic bottle.

  “But you got on the airplane, and you got here in one piece,” Sydney pointed out. “The next step is to climb to the top of the lighthouse.”

  Bailey glanced toward a short line of tourists waiting at the entrance. “How tall is it, anyway?”

  “Not that tall,” Sydney answered. She wrapped a napkin around the bottom of her ice-cream cone and licked the melting vanilla custard as it dribbled down the sides.

  “How tall?” Bailey asked again.

  “What difference does it make?” said Sydney.

  “How tall!” Bailey demanded.

  “I think two hundred fourteen steps to the top!”

  “That’s a lot.”

  “The Statue of Liberty has three hundred fifty-four steps,” Sydney added. “You’re always saying you want to go to New York and climb the Statue of Liberty. Think of this as your training. Once you’ve climbed the lighthouse, Lady Liberty will be a piece of cake.”

  “I dunno.” Bailey sighed.

  “And what about the Eiffel Tower?” Sydney went on. “You want to go to Paris and climb the Eiffel Tower. You told me that. And the Eiffel Tower is a whole lot scarier than the Currituck Beach Lighthouse.”

  “I guess so,” Bailey agreed.

  By now, Sydney had finished eating her custard and chomped on the cone. “Come on, Bailey,” she said. “If you don’t face your fears, you’ll never climb the Statue of Liberty, or the Eiffel Tower either.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Bailey said. She gulped down the rest of her root beer, got up, and tossed the empty bottle into a trash can. “Let’s go.”

  “Go where?” Sydney answered.

  “Let’s climb to the top of the lighthouse before I chicken out.”

  The girls followed a curving brick path to the lighthouse entrance. A small, blue sign sat in front of the six concrete steps that led to the front door. It said: PLEASE WAIT HERE TO CLIMB. A family with three boys, all of them younger than Bailey and Sydney, stood waiting in line. The oldest one shoved his little brother and knocked him to the ground.

  “Trevor!” his mother shouted. “Why did you push your brother?”

  “He called me a name,” Trevor said.

  “I did not!” said the little brother getting up and standing next to his mom. “I want to go home.”

  “Behave!” said the dad.

  Just then a gray-haired gentleman came from behind the lighthouse. He walked toward the family, looking as if he’d stepped off a page in a history book. He wore a blue captain’s cap, and his face was framed with a neat, gray beard. Although the weather was hot, he wore an old-fashioned blue wool officer’s coat with shiny brass buttons and a name-tag that read CAPTAIN SWAIN.

  As Sydney and Bailey watched, the captain stopped in front of the boys. He opened his left fist and showed them four silver coins. “Spanish doubloons,” he announced.

  The boys gathered to see the treasure in the captain’s hand. “Is this your first trip to the Outer Banks?” the captain asked.

  “Yeah.” The boys answered in unison.

  “Then you don’t know about the pirates,” said the captain.

  “What pirates?” Trevor asked. He grabbed Captain Swain’s hand and pulled it closer to get a better look at the coins.

  The old man smiled and looked Trevor straight in the eyes. “Blackbeard,” he whispered.

  Trevor stepped back.

  “Blackbeard the pirate used to hide out on this very land,” the captain said mysteriously. “He and his crew attacked ships at sea, robbed them, and brought their treasures back here to the Outer Banks. And these coins, my little friends, are some of the treasure that Blackbeard stole.”

  The boys’ eyes grew big. They were so busy studying the doubloons that they didn’t even notice when a group of visitors left the lighthouse.

  “You’re up next,” Captain Swain told the family. “And when you get to the top, look out in the ocean as far as you can see. Maybe you’ll spy Blackbeard’s ship.”

  “Blackbeard doesn’t exist,” the older boy said. “He died a long time ago, and your coins are probably fakes.”

  “Trevor!” his mother scolded.

  “Now, would I tell a tale?” said the captain. “Sure Blackbeard’s dead, but some say his ghost haunts the sea while he and his crew sail on their ghost ship. You know about the ghost ships, don’t you?”

  The boys shook their heads.

  “Then visit the museum down in Hatteras,” the captain replied. “Graveyard of the Atlantic, it’s called. They’ll tell you all about Blackbeard and the ghost ships. You’ll find a brochure inside.” He pointed to the front door. Then, as the family disappeared into the entrance, Captain Swain turned to the girls. “Aren’t you going with your family?” he asked.

  “Oh, we’re not with them,” Sydney replied. “We’re next in line.”

  The captain looked surprised. “How old are you young ladies?”

  “Thirteen,” said Sydney. She noticed the captain’s sparkling, blue eyes.

  “I’m nine,” Bailey announced.

  “Oh dear,” said the captain. “Young people thirteen and under have to be accompanied by an adult. I’m afraid you won’t be able to climb the lighthouse.”

  Bailey breathed a sigh of relief.

  “But I’m from here!” Sydney protested. “Well, I’m not actually from here, but my grandparents have a beach house in Corolla Light. I visit them every year.”

  “Ah, the resort community,” said the captain. He shook his head sadly. “I rarely get there. It’s too crowded, and there’s far too much traffic on the highway. This is the real Corolla, you know. This tiny village was here long before Corolla Light or a
ny of the other subdivisions.”

  “I know,” said Sydney, “but can’t we please climb the lighthouse? My friend Bailey is trying to overcome her fear of heights.”

  The captain winked at Bailey. “So, you’re afraid of heights, are you? Well, we need to do something about that. The view from the top is outstanding. On one side there’s the Atlantic Ocean, on the other side Currituck Sound.”

  Bailey’s heart sank. She didn’t really want to climb to the top of the lighthouse no matter how beautiful the view.

  Captain Swain scratched his beard.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “I’ll take you to the top. And, Bailey, you’ll be fine. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Nothing at all.” He looked up at the tower, and Sydney noticed his mouth curl into a wistful smile.

  Suddenly, the front door burst open. Trevor’s little brother scuttled out with his father close behind. “I am not being difficult,” the boy shouted. “I don’t want to climb those curvy steps. They’re scary!”

  His mother and brothers came out too.

  “Chicken!” Trevor taunted. He stood with his hands on his hips. “I wanted to go to the top, and now you’ve wrecked everything!”

  “Let’s go,” said Trevor’s dad. “I’ve had enough of this.”

  The mother grabbed the smallest boy’s hand, and the family rushed to the parking lot.

  “‘When justice is done, it brings joy to the righteous but terror to evildoers,’” said Captain Swain.

  “What?” Sydney asked.

  “Nothing,” replied the captain. “Just God and me talking out loud. Looks like it’s our turn to climb.”

  When they went inside, Bailey noticed how cool and stuffy the lighthouse felt. An ancient, brick wall circled them, and the narrow space smelled old. Sunlight streamed through several tall, narrow windows up high. In the center was a green, spiral staircase that reminded Bailey of a loosely coiled snake. Its metal stairs went up and up. When Bailey looked to where they led, she felt dizzy. She hesitated, afraid to take the first step.

  Captain Swain seemed to know how she felt. “‘I can do all things through Him who strengthens me,’” he said.