Boating is a very popular past time in the town where I grew up. Many people have cabins on islands "out the bay", one of which is called Swan Island. Swan Island was once inhabited by Beothuk Indians, all of which were killed by diseases or murdered by white people. There is a confirmed Indian Burial ground on one side of the island.
When I was seven years old, my family and I were staying withe my Uncle and his family in his Cabin cruiser, which was tied to the dock in Swan Island harbour. About 3 or 4 o'clock in the morning, we all awoke to the sound of footsteps walking across the deck, inches above our heads. The footsteps walked from the bow of the boat, over the flybridge, down the ladder, and across the lower deck to the stern. Thinking it was a late-night caller, my uncle put on his boots, went up through the wheelhouse and out to the lower deck where the footsteps were last heard.
The fog was so thick outside that it took a couple of seconds for him to get his bearings. He first noticed that there was no one on the lower deck. Then he noticed that we were nowhere near the dock in Swan Island Harbour, but were drifting out to sea. He had no idea where we were, in which direction we were going, or why we were drifitng away. He moored the boat in deep water and kept watch until the next morning, when he dicovered that we had drifted for miles, towards the burial ground side of the island. The bowline that had previously secured us to the dock was slashed with what must have been a very dull knife. No other boats were nearby.
We all went above deck only to find, disappearing in the morning dew, fading footprints --- bare feet --- in an almost straight line from bow to stern.