“The highway’s got to be just ahead.”
“Tim, this is the spookiest place I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah,” the ghost said. “Try living here.”
Tag: ghost
#quikfic 75
The ghost has a new trick: screaming in your ear while you’re on the stairs. I kept from dropping the baby or landing on her.
#quikfic 59
“Ghosts aren’t real,” Roni said. Her mother’s spirit smiled. “Don’t be difficult. I came a long way to wish you a happy birthday.”
#quikfic 47
“Tell me, Fenster, how is being a ghost working out for you?” “Well, Tom, not so great, actually. I’m barely eeking out a living.”
Fiction: A Halloween Interlude
“Pumpkin! Pumpkin! Come here, kitty, kitty, kitty. Pumpkin!”
As twilight approached, Karen zipped up her jacket against the chilly wind and searched for her cat. He had managed to slip past her as she gave a candy bar to an early trick-or-treater.
Karen pulled the flashlight from her jacket pocket and used it to search the places where evening’s shadow had already fallen. When she reached the end of the block, she aimed the light at the porch of the long-empty house just in time to see Pumpkin enter through a broken window. She huffed and trotted up the sidewalk.
It was an early ranch-style house and wouldn’t have required much work to make it look nice again. But silly rumors about odd noises and spooky sights combined with the horrible economy to keep the “For Sale” sign permanently at curbside.
Karen was surprised that the real estate company hadn’t put a lock box on the door. The doorknob turned easily and she went inside.
“Pumpkin?” She walked in, shining the light around the floor. “Kitty, kitty, kitty?”
She turned to look down a hallway. There was Pumpkin, placidly considering the ghost at the far end.
Fiction: The Master of Rusbridge Manor
Dr. Sir Jonas Clark Sheppy stood on the balcony of Rusbridge Hall as the sun set and reveled in being master of all he surveyed.
Well, to the river, anyway, he amended. His neighbor’s property began on the other side of the bank. Still, Rusbridge Manor was a pleasant piece of land, complete with tenant farmers working the acres surrounding the demensne. Sheppy had purchased the manor from the Rusbridge family, which had fallen on hard times due to the riotous style of living its last heir had finally fallen victim to.
There was also, he recalled sourly, some question as to how much the master of the manor he really was. Not quite out of sight was the corner of a barn, almost as ancient as the hall itself. Sheppy didn’t think much of the barn and had voiced his thoughts on it to his estate manager, Pocock.
Fiction: Little Drummer Boy
The ghost was back again. Every day in the early evening, just for an hour.
“Listen!” the ghost said cheerfully.
Rat-a-tat-tat. Rat-a-tat-tat. Rat-a-tat-tat.
Warren tried to work around it, tried to do the crossword puzzle in the newspaper, tried to wash the dishes, tried to weed the flowerbed. He could hear it wherever he went in and around his house.
Continue reading “Fiction: Little Drummer Boy”