Grab a roadie and your barber jacket because we're headed out of the swells.

We know each other well enough by now, but please remember that adults who use adult

language told me these terrifying tales.

These ghost stories aren't for kids.

Some are maybe over soon, but we're not out of the woods quite yet.

So keep on applying the kids sunscreen, then apply it again, put on their swimming

and then take them off and get the kids their chicken fingers hot dogs and apple juice.

Now, possible.

Lock yourself in the bathroom with desperate attempt to get a single moment to yourself.

Ignore that banging on the door.

Here's out of the swells story, number three.

A widow's walk, a creepy hotel, and a coincidence.

Blue seven lent his name this week so I could protect an old friend's identity.

Thank you so much, Blue, for donating so generously to the podcast.

Here we go.

My world is rather small, and I don't travel very far from the swells, so here we are,

headed to Nantucket, again.

Let's brave the Cape traffic and shoot for a hiatus where our fairy boat awaits.

August and Nantucket is humid.

If you brought your hair dryer, you're a rookie.

When it isn't engulfed by dewy fog, the sun beats down relentlessly on the island,

and the surrounding ocean sparkles a deep dark navy, hiding great whites, stalking seals

...