The Mystery of Cabin Island

“It’s dark in here already,” Chet muttered as he entered the woods. He plowed along the trail the boys had made earlier, wishing he had not come alone. The white woods was eerie and the pines moaned and tossed in the wind, showering him with snow. Once Chet put up an arm to protect his face and stumbled off the trail into a clump of brush. He fought clear, found the path again, and went on. Suddenly the wind stopped. Startled by the silence, Chet paused. Why did he feel he was not alone? As he stood, breathing heavily, he heard a low moan behind him. It rose into a weird cry and trailed off into silence. Chet’s lips opened and closed, but he made no sound. With effort he forced himself to look back. Was there something tall and white standing against a snowy bush? As he strained to see, the thing vanished among the trees. With a hoarse cry Chet plunged down the trail and did not stop until he was in the cabin. Gasping, he locked the door and leaned against it.””

— Franklin W. Dixon

“What a view!” exclaimed Biff, looking out the front window. Below, the curve of Barmet Bay lay like an ice-blue jewel, with Cabin Island a white pearl in the distance. Biff focused the binoculars on the spot.””

— Franklin W. Dixon

“The strong wind of the previous evening had blown most of the snow to the land, so the iceboat tacked across the surface at a fast clip. Looking back at the island, Chet remarked, “It’s sure a pretty place.” Tall pines looked like white pyramids, and bare branches were coated with ice which glittered in rainbow colors. On the mainland directly opposite, the four boys spotted a shack built of sun-bleached boards. Smoke was drifting upward from its rickety stove-pipe chimney. Frank slackened sail and let the Sea Gull drift to a complete stop. “Let’s talk to the person who lives here,” he suggested, putting down the brake.””

— Franklin W. Dixon

“Everyone set to work with a will and plodded back and forth between the Sea Gull and the cabin. Joe noticed that Chet was less talkative than usual. “Thinking about your meal?” he asked. Chet shivered. “Not now. I’m thinking about Hanleigh’s warning. What did he mean about ‘this spooky place’?” “Probably meant it’s haunted,” Biff said somberly. “You wouldn’t mind a couple of ghosts for company, would you, Chet?” “Cut it out!” Chet quavered, glancing around into the deepening shadows. “If there’s a ghost here, I wish he’d show himself,” Frank put in, chuckling. “We could use an extra hand. But this should be the last load.” He unreeved the main sheet completely, so the sail would be free to swing in the wind. The four were halfway to the cabin, their arms filled with provisions, when suddenly Chet stopped short and gave a startled cry. The provisions he had been carrying fell to the ground. “What’s wrong?” Joe asked. For a moment Chet could only point. Then he declared in a strange, hollow voice, “There! In the woods! A ghost!””

— Franklin W. Dixon

“Moon-faced Chet Morton, who was much fonder of eating and relaxing than he was of dangerous adventures, was constantly bemoaning the Hardys’ habit of becoming involved in crime cases. But the stocky youth was a loyal pal and could always be depended on in a tight spot.””

— Franklin W. Dixon