Don’t Camp at Isolated Islands

“F. W. Island you said?” I turn to Jack, my superintendent, confused.

“Yes,” he says, frowning. “F. W. Island. A young man named Henry Grount who has gone there camping is reported missing this morning.”

I remain silence. F. W. Island is one of the small scattered islands near the city. When summer finally comes after a long, brutally freezing winter, lots of people love to go to some of those islands for camping. But no one really goes to F. W. Island because 30 years ago, a couple went missing there, and the case is never solved. My dad was the inspector who investigated the case and drowned on duty. That was a few months after my mom was pregnant with me. I can never understand how my dad would drowned there, since he used to be in the swimming team in university as I was told, but for some reason the case has been left unresolved like that. My mom never allows me to bring up this topic.

I snap back to the present and realize Jack is studying me.

“Sorry, sir,” I straighten up. “I…”

“I know what you were thinking about,” he says, his eyes still on me. “Do you want to take this case?”

“Yes.” Keep on Reading!