Friday Fictioneers is a challenge to write a 100 word story from a picture prompt hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
I climbed the steps of the old bandstand. Years of exposure had turned the brilliant white wood to grey.
‘Some say you can still hear the band play when one of their descendants is about to die,’ I said. ‘But its all rubbish.’
Mal laughed, leaning over the edge of the pier. ‘The music is just there to scare the tourists,’ he said.
I stared at him as a large ocean swell rose up behind him.