The Wraith by the Bog

There’s something about small towns in summer that makes you feel untouchable. Maybe it’s the hum of cicadas in the trees, the laughter echoing off the lake, or that golden haze that settles over everything when the sun starts to dip. It’s the kind of place where you feel like nothing bad could ever really happen.

That’s what Evan thought when he moved to Brookridge.

He’d only been there two weeks before he met some kids his age—Jonas, Tiff, and Ryan—at the corner store near the bridge. They invited him to a bonfire by the bog that night. He didn’t know it then, but everyone in Brookridge had a story about that bog.

The fire crackled, spitting orange sparks into the warm air. Marshmallows burned, laughter echoed, and somewhere in the dark, frogs croaked. The air smelled like wet moss and smoke.

When the conversation turned quiet, Jonas leaned in, his grin flickering in the firelight.

“You new here don’t know about the Wraith, huh?”

Evan smirked. “The what?”

Tiff rolled her eyes. “Oh, here we go again.”

Ryan chuckled. “Nah, let him hear it. It’s like—initiation.”

Jonas pointed toward the stretch of black water behind them, where the mist hovered low like ghostly breath. “They say the bog’s haunted by a guy named Jim. Used to live right here in Brookridge. Died about twenty years ago.”

Tiff nodded. “He worked at the garage near the highway. Everyone loved him—until one winter night, he was driving home, hit black ice, and lost control. They found his car in the bog, upside down. He drowned before help came.”

Ryan tossed another branch into the flames, sending sparks flying. “At his funeral, people said they saw something move in the mist—like he wasn’t ready to rest. Ever since, folks say he wanders near the bog at night. A wraith now. Burned face, glowing eyes. Shows up when people drive too fast near the water.”

Jonas added quietly, “They say he hates speeders. Like he’s warning them… or punishing them.”

Evan laughed, trying to sound braver than he felt. “Creepy story, but I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Everyone says that,” Tiff murmured. “Until they see him.”

The fire hissed as if in agreement. Evan glanced toward the mist, half expecting to see something staring back. He looked down to distract himself—and noticed a faint shimmer near his shoe.

Something small and gold glinted in the dirt.

He bent down, brushing away ashes and sand until his fingers closed around a coin. It was old, heavy, its surface etched with symbols he didn’t recognize. No one else seemed to notice.

He slipped it into his pocket without a word.

By the third week of summer, Evan’s life in Brookridge felt almost perfect—friends, late-night drives, and Mara. She was wild, magnetic, with a laugh that made him forget the rest of the world. But her ex, Derek, didn’t forget her. Or him.

Everyone knew Derek. His family owned the auto shop by the highway, and his temper was as famous as his engine work. For the most part, Evan ignored the shoulder bumps, the snide remarks, the muttered, “Enjoy my leftovers, city boy.”

But that changed at the party.

It was one of those heavy summer nights where the air clung to your skin. Music thumped through the dock boards, beer bottles clinked, and laughter floated over the water. Evan was standing with Mara when Derek appeared—red-faced, drunk, and angry.

“You think you belong here?” Derek slurred, pointing.

“Walk away,” Mara said, her voice trembling.

Derek didn’t. He shoved Evan, hard enough to spill drinks and knock over a chair. Shouts erupted, but Jonas and Ryan stepped in before it got ugly, dragging Derek away while he shouted over his shoulder.

“This isn’t over!”

Evan’s heart pounded long after Derek was gone. He tried to brush it off, but later that night, as he drove Mara home, headlights appeared in his rearview mirror. Too close.

He frowned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Derek.

The road twisted through the woods toward the bog. The air outside was thick with fog, curling low across the ground.

“Leave it alone,” Mara said, glancing behind them.

“He’s trying to scare us,” Evan muttered, gripping the wheel tighter.

Derek didn’t back off. His car swerved close, horn blaring, tires screaming against the dirt. The yellow glow of his headlights danced wildly across the trees.

They hit the curve near the bog—the same turn from the legend—and everything went wrong.

Evan slowed, hoping Derek would pass him, but then Derek’s headlights flickered, once, twice. Smoke began to pour from his hood, gray and thick. He slammed on the brakes, coughing, cursing.

Through that smoke, he saw someone standing in the road.

Tall. Thin. Wet clothes clinging to his frame. A face gray as ash, eyes glowing white. The figure raised a burned hand toward him.

Derek screamed as the car veered off the road, crashing into the reeds. Evan barely managed to swerve past, heart pounding so loud he could barely hear Mara shouting his name.

He got her home. Neither said a word.

When he pulled into his own driveway, the night was silent—too silent. The air smelled like rain and mud. As he got out, something slipped from his pocket.

The gold coin.

It hit the pavement, spun in a perfect circle, and rolled into the darkness before stopping just short of the drain. He picked it up with trembling fingers, noticing for the first time that the metal felt cold—like ice.

He pocketed it again and went inside.

The next morning, police found Derek’s car at the edge of the bog, half submerged, the windshield cracked like spiderwebs. Derek was still inside, seatbelt fastened, face frozen in terror. His hair had turned completely white.

They called it a heart attack. Others called it justice.

Jonas swore later he saw tire marks by the bog that looked like handprints instead.

Evan left Brookridge by summer’s end. But every now and then, when fog crawls across the road and his rearview mirror catches a faint white glow, he still feels that coin press cold against his thigh—like something reminding him that it isn’t finished.

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