A storm came in the night—bright jagged lightning, thunder rumbling and crashing in response. I hugged the covers closer. Moist air gusted through my open window.
It appeared in a single electric moment—a headless apparition floating by my bedroom door. My throat dry, I retreated to the plaster walls, willing them to shelter me. I was terrified, particularly since I hadn’t really believed in ghosts.
The dark being danced—not coming closer but not leaving either. I wanted to cry out, but I’ve never been a screamer. Fear just kind of locks itself tight on my throat making it difficult to breathe and impossible to scream.
Suddenly, the air was filled with lightning and thunder in unified chorus. With the storm totally present, the room brightened like day. In that moment of illumination, I saw it. I saw it clearly. Daddy’s long johns hung on the inside clothesline, dangling. My ghost. …
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