Towards the north end of the property a shadow sometimes passes that does not coincide with the passing of the full moon. The shadow is the ghost of an old man. Rumor has it that this ghost perpetually glides over the grasses hoping for a chance to outwit those that attempt to pursue him, for he knows he is about to be hung. His problem is that he is only witness to a murder, but has been wrongfully sentenced to death. He knows the bloodthirsty prosecution will not bend in their judgments, and to escape the prying jaws of mortality, he seeks to elude the authorities by making crafty movement among the trees and bushes until they pass by. The day of his execution a dog had found him and he was taken to that very tree where the wind sometimes blows the moaning sound of his expiration, and now his ghost is dumbstruck and caught between worlds thinking he can somehow hide from his fate.

I felt this ghost one night. I went to the tree to observe the strange markings told to be seen only by moonlight. I stood and a chill shot through my spine unlike any other, and I knew, I could feel the presence there before me. Unknown to such phantoms of feeling, I bolted with great fear, back to the house where my family would await to hear my fantastical story. As I approached I noticed a strange difference in the nuance of light emitting from one of the lower level windows, a light that seemed somehow slightly brighter than the rest. Struck by this detail I headed in this direction with the intention of ascertaining the reason. Instead of going in through the front door I went to the window to peer in, where I saw the spectacle that sent me shivering: I, myself, was in the room.

My father was watching as my mother was on the brink of plunging a great knife into me where I lie on the couch, and I became edgy with fear and cried out at this perfidious display. But my effort came to no avail, for my voice was not heard, though I thought for a second, my father turned and looked out the window. Before long my scream pierced the room as the hand of my mother’s rose high into the air, then plunged the silvery blade into my chest.

Why was I outside? Was I dead?

Why did my father not prevent the ghastly act?

Nothing became of my mother for she wore strange fragrances and utilized potions for as long as I could remember; she’d simply vanished. When I ran around the house to enter, all was dark and not a drop of life stirred. The hallway was empty and the low howl of the wind penetrated the silence. Before long I felt the presence I’d felt out by the north end of the property, and I shivered with biting fear, for I perceived I was not alone; the dreadful presence had followed me. I hid in a closet where I might find some safety, and soon, footsteps could be heard entering the room, slowly, one by one. I kept the door open with just a slight crack that I might discern the nature of the intruder. Clip, clop, clip, clop. In time the moon lit onto the face of one morbid and white, with eyes of coal and skin of pale like that of a corpse, and the features were of a haunting familiarity, for the features were that of none other than my father, wandering around the room as though looking for something.


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