It got dark. “So, now’s the time to go back,” the red-eyed said. “When we go now… since the bus takes fifteen minutes… we should be there when the moon’s starting to rise… I guess.” He looked at his phone. “You’re really ready? Maybe this is spooky,” he said.

But the blue-eyed ignored his concerns more than professionally, and everything that came back was a smile, while he looked forward. “Ok then… let’s do this.”

So they went back to the park.

“Are there others? On the bench I mean?” the blue-eyed asked. Now he sounded concerned. “I don’t think so,” Timothy said, while patting his shoulder. “No worries, the best places are for us. Sometimes, people watch the lake at night, but they’re not on the main spots.”

“The main spots?” the blue-eyed asked. “Yes, the tribunes and the bench. That’s were the ghosts are supposed to be. The bench also has the nickname ‘witness,’ so the least are brave enough, to sit there at such times,” the red-eyed said.

One ghost waiting on the north side, and one on the south side. Both singing about their pain, that they’ll endure for eternity. At least until salvation is brought to them, but no one knows how, when, or even if there is one.

They came closer, and there it was, as he said. The bench was free, no one was near, and the moon started to set. It was bright, not a full moon, but still massive. Big. “Bigger than normal,” Timothy said.

Crickets and frogs were talking among each other. ‘No singing yet.’ Everything else was quiet, the tribunes were bright, the lights never went out. “Always shining on the lake,” he said and pointed to it. “They do it for night owls, like us, pretty neat.” They sat down.

A slight fog appeared on the lake. Like clouds that arose from the trees. The moon got more and more close the lake, not long until they were parallel. “You think it’s about to happen?” the blue-eyed asked. He slid a bit closer to Timothy, which let his heart beat faster. A story about ghosts, wandering this place for centuries, was nothing compared to this now. “N-no… that’s regular here.”

The slight sound of a melody appeared. From the other shore, a voice was heard.“This can’t be,” the red-eyed said. As if this myth was reality. In the distance, through the fog, it looked like there was a person sitting. Cramped together, pulling their legs to the chest. Looking to the sky.

“You see that too?” the blue-eyed said.

A humming. And then a song.

Could I go back, to you,

I would do it yesterday,

Torn apart from me,

My mistake

Was your end

Now only eternity is my friend

No hope for going back

No hope for future

So may this misery,

Passed to other’s feets,

Will make all wither

It disappeared. The moon passed the lake, time was fast. It, what sung the song, repeated it three times. It seemed short, but three hours have passed. “Unbelievable. It is true,” the blue-eyed said. He was shocked, but also amazed by this supernatural being. They were both staring forward, at the shore, not believing what they saw. The red-eyed’s mouth was wide open. Never before, he has experienced something so vivid. Something, that was supposed to be a myth, seemed like reality.

And still, it felt so familiar.