Submitted by Trish

My daughter and I arrived at Pike Place Market, buzzing with energy. It was our first time there together. We felt like explorers stepping into a vibrant world. The air was filled with chatter and the smells of fresh food and sea breeze. People were everywhere—tourists taking photos and locals weaving through the stalls.

As we walked, a street musician’s tunes followed us. My daughter pulled me toward a booth full of colorful flowers. Suddenly, we both felt a chill run up our spines. We looked at each other, confused. We tried to brush it off, blaming it on the wind from the waterfront.

We passed an old shop selling vintage items. I swear I saw something move in the corner of my eye, like a shadow darting away. It wasn’t a normal shadow—it seemed to have a mind of its own. I joked, Are we being ghosted by the market’s past? My daughter giggled nervously.

Even as we ate warm pastries and drank coffee, the weird feeling stayed with us. Looking back, I can’t shake off the mystery of that day. It felt like we crossed paths with something not quite of this world. Maybe it was Pike Place’s history whispering to us, reminding us of the stories hidden in its old walls.

As we kept walking, the market seemed alive around us. Every step showed us new sights and sounds. Yet, there was an odd feeling in the air—like a whisper we could almost hear. Maybe it was just the sea of busy people, their voices rising and falling like waves. But every now and then, I felt a weird shiver, like someone was watching us.

We stopped at a fruit stand, the bright colors of berries and apples catching our eye. My daughter laughed as she tasted a sample. I tried to focus on her joy, but I kept looking around, as if expecting to see someone watching us.

I turned it into a game, pretending to spot famous ghosts from the market’s past. Over there, I whispered, pointing to a spot where the light looked strange. Maybe that’s where they used to meet, to share stories and secrets. She rolled her eyes at my silly tales, but it helped us feel better.

As we left the market, the sun was going down, making long shadows. My daughter swung our joined hands. The odd feeling of being watched had faded. Whatever it was—real or not—added a touch of wonder to our day. It made our trip even more special, like a story waiting for its last few lines.

We went into a small antique shop hidden in a corner. The air inside felt heavy, like it was full of old stories. Shelves were packed with odd things, each one seeming to hold secrets from the past.

My curious daughter ran ahead, touching the old items lightly. Suddenly, I felt cold again. It wasn’t just the room’s temperature—it was deeper than that.

I thought I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. Then, I heard a faint whisper. The words were unclear, but it felt like the walls were talking in an old language.

I looked at my daughter. Her eyes were wide with wonder and a bit of fear. I tried to smile and said, Probably just the air conditioning, but I didn’t believe it myself.

We walked through aisles of old mirrors and faded photos. The whispers followed us, sometimes louder, sometimes softer. It felt like we weren’t alone, like the shadows were watching us.

When we left the shop, we were both relieved to be back in the busy market. We tried to joke about it, but the memory of those whispers stayed with us. Maybe we had touched something from long ago—a quick dance with echoes from the past.

Back in the busy market, I tried to explain what we’d felt. Old buildings make strange noises, right? Maybe it was just the wind or someone playing a trick. I told my daughter these ideas, hoping to make her feel better. She nodded, but still looked unsure.

We tried to forget about it, letting the lively market cheer us up. We tasted spicy pickles and sweet jams, watched street performers, and let the normal sights and sounds wrap around us like a warm blanket.

As it got dark and the market lights came on, we walked arm in arm towards home. That odd feeling still clung to us like a shadow, a strange footnote to our day at Pike Place. I couldn’t help thinking we’d seen a glimpse of something beyond normal life—a brief touch with the curious history of this old place.

By the time we got home, our adventure had become a comfortable memory. My daughter and I shared one last smile as we opened our door, silently agreeing to keep our mysterious tale as a special part of our shared experiences.

On the drive home, my daughter turned to me with bright, curious eyes. Do you think it was a ghost, Dad? she asked, sounding both scared and excited.

I thought carefully before answering. You know, sweetheart, I honestly don’t know, I said with a smile. It could be anything—wind, shadows playing tricks, or maybe just something we can’t explain. It’s okay not to have all the answers.

She nodded, her mind racing. Like one of those mystery stories, she said happily. Where you never really know the answer, but it’s fun trying to figure it out.

We talked about the other parts of our day—the cheese shop, the fish toss—laughing and letting the earlier unease slip away. As we pulled into our driveway, a comfortable quiet settled over us.

Ready to tell Mom our story? I asked, knowing she’d say yes.

Yeah, but maybe we don’t mention the ghosty stuff, she suggested with a mischievous smile. At least, not at the start.

Deal, I said, chuckling as we went inside. Our day at Pike Place might not have given us clear answers, but it had given us something just as valuable—a shared moment of mystery and wonder that we’d remember for a long time.