Fog is pretty typical for the coast of Maine, and it's a good thing I like it so much. It can get so thick that I can't see beyond a few feet, and it can go on for days or even weeks at a time. It's no wonder then that ghosts seem to fancy the old docks here. There is always a distant clanking, a sound of rusty chains, and the creak of old wood. Many sailors have lost their lives on these ragged shores, and they come to the old docks looking for their ships. Back and forth they roam, now appearing out of the mist, now fading back into it. It's a fool who wanders too far down one of these docks on a day like this. The rusty old chains seem to catch on the foot so suddenly, and all too often an unsuspecting visitor finds himself in permanent company with the ghosts of the docks.