Misty’s Place in the Moonbeam Circle

Misty hovered at the edge of Moonbeam Meadow, trying to tuck her mint-green glow behind a puff of cloud. Across the grass, the young ghosts were gathering in a circle. Their lights were moon-white, like little lamps made of milk and moonlight.

“Come join us, Misty!” called Pip, bobbing beside a patch of daisies.

Misty looked down at her green hands. “My light is different,” she said. “What if it doesn’t fit?”

“It can fit right here,” said Clover, pointing to an open space in the circle.

The ghosts began their practice. They floated slowly around the ring, brightening, dimming, then brightening again. Their pale path markers—small, flat stones scattered through the meadow—showed where the circle began and where each ghost should pause.

Misty edged closer. She wanted to join the turning dance. She had practiced at home, making her glow grow and shrink like a little green lantern. But when she imagined every face looking at her, she tucked herself behind the cloud again.

“Ready?” Pip called. “First we follow the markers to the circle, then we take our places.”

The young ghosts floated toward the far side of the meadow, where the path began. Misty followed at a distance. A breeze moved the tall grass, and the pale stones seemed to vanish among the silvery blades.

“Which way?” asked Clover. She peered down, then turned in a slow circle.

“I saw one over there,” said Pip, pointing toward a clump of clover. But there was no marker there—only leaves and a sleepy beetle.

The ghosts searched along the path. Their white lights made the stones hard to pick out. One marker looked just like another patch of moonlit grass.

Misty could see the meadow clearly from where she hovered. She could also see the stones, though only when she looked from the side. Her own green light made their pale edges stand out.

She bobbed forward, then stopped. “I might be able to help,” she said.

Everyone turned toward her. Misty felt her glow flicker. Then she remembered the open space Clover had saved in the circle.

“I’ll try,” she said. “Follow my light.”

Misty floated over the first stone. Her mint-green glow fell across it, and a thin white rim appeared in the grass.

“There it is!” Pip cried. “I couldn’t see it before.”

Misty moved to the next marker. Again, the stone’s edge showed clearly beneath her light. The others lined up behind her, careful not to bump the daisies or the sleepy beetle.

“Left a little,” Clover called. “There’s another one by the fern.”

Misty guided them along the winding path. Sometimes she glided ahead; sometimes she hovered until everyone caught up. At one marker, Pip floated past without noticing.

“Pip, stop!” Misty called. “You’ve gone by the stone.”

Pip spun around, his wispy tail making a small loop. “I thought that was a moonlit leaf.”

Misty angled her glow toward the ground. The marker appeared, and Pip gave it a grateful nod.

Soon the path curved around an old willow and led back toward the meadow’s center. The ghosts could see the moonbeam circle waiting there, but its far side looked faint and broken. A few markers were almost hidden beneath the grass.

“Will we be able to make the whole circle?” asked Clover.

Misty glanced at the empty spaces. She could see each stone when her green light touched it. She also noticed that the other ghosts’ white lights made a lovely pattern, but left the markers difficult to find.

“Let me stand beside each one,” she said. “Then you can take your places by the bright edges.”

She floated to a marker and lit it. Clover moved beside her. Pip found the next one, and the others followed. The circle slowly came together, one pale stone at a time.

When the last ghost reached the ring, Misty hovered just outside the open space Clover had pointed out earlier. Her light looked greener than ever beside all those moon-white lights.

Clover reached out a misty hand. “That space is still yours.”

Misty’s glow wavered. “Are you sure?”

“Your light helped us find the way,” Pip said. “And our circle needs every color.”

Misty floated into the open place. The ghosts shifted gently, making room. She stood between Clover and Pip, with a marker shining at her feet.

“Now,” Clover said, “let’s glow together.”

The young ghosts began with their familiar moon-white light. One by one, they brightened, then dimmed, moving in a slow circle around the markers. Misty watched their rhythm and joined in.

Her mint-green glow rose beside Clover’s pale light. Pip’s turned the color of a warm pearl, while another ghost, Fern, made hers a soft lavender. No two lights were quite the same, and none had to be.

“Your turn, Misty,” Pip said.

Misty brightened. Green light spread over the grass and made the white stones easy to see. Then she dimmed, just as the others did. The ring stayed whole.

They practiced once more, slowly enough that Fern could hum a little tune as they floated. When Pip forgot which way to turn, Misty pointed out the next marker. He spun the right way and bowed to the stone.

“Thank you, wise green guide,” he said.

Misty gave a tiny curtsy. “You’re welcome, moonlit dancer.”

After the practice, the ghosts rested in a loose ring among the clover. They talked about their favorite parts: Clover liked the careful turns, Fern liked humming, and Pip liked not mistaking any more stones for leaves.

Misty looked around at her friends. The circle had made room for her, and her green light had helped them all find their places. She no longer tried to hide it behind a cloud.

The moon hung over the meadow, and the grass grew still beneath its silver light. The little ghosts said good night to the daisies and to the beetle, who had already settled beside a leaf.

Misty floated home with the others, carrying the calm pattern of the circle in her thoughts: white, lavender, pearl, and mint green, each light beside the next. At the meadow’s edge, she gave one last little wave.

Then Misty tucked her glowing hands close, let her mint-green light grow quiet, and rested beneath the moon.