The Little Girl Singing

One night in 1989, I was camping on Seguin with Anne. There were no keepers on the island on a regular basis back then. This was back when Friends of Seguin only had a lease on the island. The keepers quarters were still in shambles from dereliction and infested with those creepy crawly insects. But luckily individual camping was still allowed then, a preferable alternative to what passed for furniture in the Quarters at that time.

We decided to set up camp at the campground down by the cove, The only other mooring was the other Coast Guard Buoy, where a medium-sized sailboat had tied up. We had shuttled the couple crewing it ashore earlier so they could explore the island. We talked and it was their first time on the island. Usually they spent the day having a picnic and sunbathing on their boat at the mooring having not brought a dingy.

The Coast Guard had given Friends Of Seguin the “Z” key, so we showed them the lighthouse view from the top outside walkway. (The “Z” key is a universal key that unlocks all the lighthouses on the east coast.) We all had just finished lunch atop the island, when a family comes into view making their way up to the lighthouse. Anne offered them a tour of the lighthouse and escorted the five adults up to the top of the lighthouse for a viewing. By then the sun had moved to toward the horizon and the visitors were day-trippers. Anne and I had the island all to ourselves that night.

After a late evening sweeping of the bugs and some clean up of debris in the keepers quarters, Anne said she was going to the tent and to gather some firewood. At the campground is an old grill made from local stones and a grill left by previous campers or perhaps a getaway built by the sailors who once manned Seguin Lighthouse.

Automated in 1983, the station was abandoned and Sequin's remaining buildings went unmaintained until 1986 , when Anne Webster formed a non-profit group named Friends of Seguin Island to restore the buildings and maintain the island. Our stay that night was to be on a deserted island. Everybody's dream of getting away from it all. Just the two of us with a campfire cooked meal and the onus to entertain ourselves.

Well, as I was saying Anne had said she was going to the bottom of the island to ready camp for my culinary expertise. It was still at least another hour or two before dark as I finished locking up. I noticed the shadow of the quarters was getting longer and walked over to the east overlook, near the tramway for a view of Monhegan Island. That's when I heard it. The singing.

It wasn't a song as much as sung with words. It was a child or young girls “Da – pause – Da - Dum, Da -de -de-de -da”. Just a few random like syllables. At first I thought some visitors were there, but no one was talking. How unusual not to hear “Oh, look how beautiful” by someone in the background who made the climb to the top. For no reason chills ran through my body, the hair on my neck began to crawl. Then I realized I didn't actually see Anne leave for the bottom of the island. A human shadow showed itself to my right and I thought that Anne had waited for me, and no sooner had that thought crossed my mind when the shadow disappeared. By then my whole body was electric and a chill hit me, as cold of chill from a day that wind chill warnings are out. But not on a late July day. I turned around while my whole body cried out “Run”. And as I began to expect – no one was there. The clarity of the sound still ringing in my ears, so real,, someone had to be up on top the island, not just me. I could see no boats moored up and cautiously circled the lighthouse and quarters. Finding no one I walked onto the tramway to see if another visitor had moored up and come ashore. That's when I saw Anne down at the campsite. But the voice had been so clear, so plain, so real and so plainly human made.

It wasn't until years later I would hear the story of the little ghost girl and bouncing ball, and that was told to me by the Wrens (who also tried to keep a cat on the island but that is a story in itself) and I was not the only one who has heard the little girl....read on.

The Bouncing Ball and Little Girls Laughter.

One of the stories told to me by Christopher and Jenny Wren was hearing a little girls laughter.

                                       © Copyright 2007, All Rights Reserved  by Troy Wallace.