When the wraith begins to take what the village "owes"-a drowned man's minute, a lost boat's course, promises once made to the sea and carelessly left unpaid-someone must reckon with the ledger the North Sea keeps. Our narrator follows quiet clues: a foghorn that speaks out of order, a rescue log with gaps where time should be, a child's toy washed up full of sand that tastes of tears. To lift the haunting, they'll have to pay the right debt in the right coin-and walk the wraith back to where grief belongs.
The Salt Wraith of Cullercoats is a taut, stand-alone North-East gothic-industrial salt and chapel hush, lifeboat courage and harbour superstition. Read it in one sitting; carry it for days.
You'll enjoy this if you like:
- Coastal hauntings with real weather (fog, bell buoys, harbour walls)
- Ghost stories about duty, debt, and names-not jump scares
- Slim, atmospheric reads with exact, quotable lines
Content notes: Maritime peril, grief handled gently; no graphic gore.
Curl up with a mug, listen for the buoy, and mind the ledger the sea keeps-some accounts are closed only when the right name is spoken back to the water.
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