I saw her every time I looked out the window… even when the fog was thick and damp… a woman in white walking on the beach.
Sometimes she walked back and forth… her long white gown dragging on the sand.
At other times, she stood in one spot, swaying slightly back and forth, appearing to gaze into the fog… as if she was waiting – or searching… for something – or someone.
Sometimes she seemed to walk into the fog and disappear…
I have sat out on the porch until dark, wrapped in a blanket, waiting to see if she would return… but, not once had I seen her come back.
Perhaps she had returned after I had given up and gone inside… for she was there again the next night… and every other night since I’d been here.
I never saw her turn around, but… I sometimes wondered if she knew that I was watching her… Did she stay out there all night… or did she simply wait until I had gone inside?
Could she sense my presence on the porch… sitting in the rocking chair… with a mug of coffee… still sipping long after it had gone cold?
Somehow I got the impression that she was frail and sad… almost as if she was a mere reflection of herself… and that was when I began to question if she was real.
I could not understand why any sane person would walk out into the water and fog… and stay there for hours… unless she was troubled and not fully aware of her actions.
I inquired at the few places in town that I frequented… but no one seemed to know much about her… just that she was a ghost… who was never seen anywhere except on the beach.
They all said that she always seemed to appear only if there was dense fog… or before an approaching storm.
Well, that answered my question of her being a real person… but why did I continue to see her every night? I had no answer for that one.
Now, with half of my six-week vacation behind me… I realized that I had done precious little towards my intended project… writing the history of the old house I shared with five roommates.
It was my dream to have the house designated as a historic building… open to serve afternoon tea during the tourist season.
It was a large – and complicated – project… mainly because we all wanted to continue living there.
However, I must confess… I had become fascinated – perhaps obsessed – with the White Lady on the beach… and I wondered what her story was.
I asked everyone I met but no one could add more than I already knew… it seemed that she had been known as the White Lady for so long that they’d all forgotten her real name… if they had ever known it.
Nor were they sure just why she did what she did… something about a drowning, but that was all they knew… no details.
