It’s their empty souls.
The place used to be a paradise. A lake, with boats and suntan lotion on beautiful people. The kind of people that owned more than one home and wore gold jewelry to the grocery store.
The drought happened. Then the market crash. Then the rumors started that the whole area might be cursed. A couple of homes got sold, then no one could sell because the lake started to disappear.
All that is left is the lake bed, some memories, and the ghosts. Everyone sees them. They aren’t really scary for anyone, they stay on the piers. Some people even think they are funny, and sometimes they are. They dance, move like a chicken, and wave to you if they notice you.
At sunset they always look at the sun. On every pier, at every sunset, they all silently turn toward the sun.
No one knows why they are there, or when they might leave. No one has been able to cleanse them from the area. Priests, rabbis, shaman, they’ve all come to try and help them pass on. New-agers with their sage and crystals and God knows who else with their fancy empty ideas. Everyone leaves except the ghosts.