John’s eye widened. He felt she was looking right through him, and he was sickened at her appearance. Maggie’s eyes were sunken deep in their sockets. Her skin was pale like white powder, and her fingernails were long, curved, and brittle.

She turned and walked up the stairs looking back at him. With an eerie tone, she said, “Leave.”

The rain soaked everything in sight. John left the porch and sopped in the muddy puddles and around the property. He noticed a mound of dirt surrounded with rocks and dried wilted flowers.

What in the world? he said to himself. John ducked down close to the ground hoping he wouldn’t be struck by the cloud-to-ground lightning. Before the next lightning bolt, he removed the mud off the tombstone.

John’s heart stopped as an M appeared, followed by the letter A. He vigorously moved his hands over the letters as the name and dates became visible: Margaret Horton (1883-1899). Bewildered, he sat back, crawling backward in the mud in disbelief.

Read a Review

Author Bio