Saturday On the beach lay the discarded tools of some arcane rite or spell, and I found a piece of the diary pressed between the pages of a book of magic.
"...a haunting echo of a lost place formed before me..."
The diarist had found some clue or method to raise up a ghost like vision of the town-or at least a part of it. The pier still shimmered in the mist and I could hear the sounds of music, laughter, and the electronic jangle of slot machines. I wondered to myself what the diarist would do, having come so close but still ultimately having failed. The beach stretched out before me to the left and right-a narrow strip of pebbles that seemed to encircle the world. My instincts told me that he could still be wandering along this beach in despair-but which way? I decided to head to my right, away from the ghostly pleasure pier.