I was walking down the narrow street of our small island, where nobody ever stays year round except for my Dad and I. Some claim our island is haunted. Some say they can hear the screams of children along the rocky shores. Some even claim that they don’t remember getting the phone call. Tourists come back thinking they’ve been cursed, which I suppose isn’t far from the truth. Before I get into the details of the past, let me introduce myself. I’m Cleo Black, the only 13 year old kid-and actually the only kid- on the Island of Drumport, Maine. It’s a quaint town that overlooks the gray sky and murky sea, set on the literal smallest island ever. I’ve tried everything to get off this island and begged my Dad to come with me. Ever since Mom has died, the island became dusty, old, and rotting. The beautiful Candy shops and tourist shops with brightly colored facades, the old General Store that we used to go to and get root beer candies from, before…never mind. The most drastic change since Mom, well you know, is these weird numbers popping up on buildings, spray painted in red and yellow, and all the same numbers!!! If your hearing this, that means I’ve managed to survive. Just be warned, every so often the audio will cut out and you’ll be forced to wait until my connection comes back. Now as I was saying, let me explain what happened that cold December day of 1998. It all started when-I-w-as- ERROR MESSAGE: CONNECTION LOST, predicting connection to come back in about a week.