500 words or less
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GHOSTS No 2 I once met a man who had lost his son. I was thirteen years old and had a weekend job at the local store. One day he came in, and as he was placing his order, I walked in from the storeroom. When he saw me he stopped mid-sentence and stared at
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I was walking around a department store, browsing about some counter that was displaying jewellery, the shop assistant watching me carefully as if she expected me to slip some trinket into my pocket. I met her stare and smiled, forcing her to look away awkwardly. That was when Kate tapped me on the shoulder. It
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It was her hands that triggered it. The way they were folded over one another as though she was clutching at herself in disbelief or shock. It was strange to see how smooth the skin was. It looked plump and youthful, pumped up with a chemical waxiness that allowed the death to somehow drain from…
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There was a flap on the letter box, which would rattle, rat-a-tat-a-tat, as the mail landed on the mat with an empty thud, and Mary would watch for it every morning, waiting for it to arrive. Every morning without fail she did this. Though she couldn’t say why. Not exactly.
