Ghost stories and strange tales

 My sister scours the rockpools at dusk just as the sun makes its evening journey over the horizon. She is barefoot, her long, straggly hair draping over the back of her t-shirt and skimming the waist of her shorts. She is searching for crabs or tiny fish left behind by the tide. I do not see her face, or the fear I imagine flashes through her eyes as she stumbles. Her head makes contact with a jagged rock and plunges face-first into cold, salty water. I stay by my window. By the time I have run down to save her, I know she will already be dead, and as I reach the edge of the  rockpools, her ghost will have faded away. 

"Was he hiding in the bushes again last night?" asked Sheena. I shook my head. "It's hard to tell, but they shook so violently, and there was no breeze to speak of. But it's usually dusk, not nighttime, when he's there, and his visits are increasing. Last week, I had just left the house when I spotted him by the garden wall. He'd stretched himself flat alongside it, his arms and legs splayed out like four thick branches. Ivy covered every part of his body except his eyes—bright yellow eyes. I took my gaze off him for a moment, and that's when he got me." Sheena's hand recoiled from mine. "You never told me." "I'm telling you now, aren't I? He didn't so much grab me; he rushed past, and his fingers brushed my bare arm - look." I lifted up my sleeve, and Sheena's eyes filled with tears as she saw the mouldy green hue of my skin and the tendril-like veins snaking just below the surface. "It's growing,...